#and i love all the opportunities to show up to lectures and seminars and talks and reading groups

[proto-language]

a question for people who are in/have been in academia: how do you get past the absolutely awful fear that you are going to do badly at this thing you are incredibly passionate about?

like. i am (meant to be) working on a dissertation. i can't even express how insanely cool and interesting and exciting the topic is to me. if i end up getting a bad mark in it, it's going to (a) kill my career aspirations (i have not wanted to do anything except academia since i was about 13) and (b) kill... i dunno, my will to live? if i can't do well in this thing that i am passionate about over everything else, what good am i?

it's not like i don't have other stuff that i love - i have got plenty of hobbies and interests, i'm involved in more extracurriculars than i maybe should be, and of course i have people whom i adore - but linguistics is the thing that's obsessed me for the entirety of my teenage years (which are finally beginning to draw to a close, lmao). and the thought of being told that i'm not actually that good at it is enough to make me never actually want to do this work.

[drabbles-mc]

Catching the Red-Eye

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anon: I just saw a funny post that gave me a fic idea: Friend says “Our flight is at 3am so we could go drinking and then straight to the airport.” Y/N: “Sound like a great idea!” Narrator: “It was not a great idea.” Can I request a Juice x reader where she & her gf (maybe Tara or someone?) are coming back from a girls trip and Juice(&Jax or whoever) have to deal w/ whatever state they find their girls in? 😂😂

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I started a draft for this months ago when you first sent it in and then my computer deleted it. But I got back to it tonight because apparently my muse is only awake between 11pm and 1am these days 😂 I did tweak a couple little things from the original request but the idea of writing reader an Tara as friends just made my heart way too happy. I love them so much and I hope they have many adventures together going forward. I've missed writing slice of life stuff like this. 🥰 (Also I can't lie this made me want to write more fic for Jax and Tara. It's such a small glimpse of them here but god I mourn the missed opportunities of them just having normal relationship moments man idkidk)

A/N 2: My requests are closed this is an old one that's been sitting in my inbox for literal months. Unedited and unbetad as always lmao

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @juicyortiz @meadowofsinfulthoughts @i-just-read-stuff @bport76 @withmyteeth @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @yourwinchesterbros @nessamc @garbinge @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was the first time that you’d ever actually been drunk on a plane. For all the times you heard people talk about airport bars, and all the times that flight attendants had offered you cocktails, you had never really thought much about it. You were always on the go through the airport, always had a book or something to keep you company on the flights. You had never even been buzzed near a plane, let alone drunk and on one.

Apparently the missing ingredient had been traveling with Tara. You had no idea what you had been missing out on until you had it. All because of a trip for a hospital conference. The two of you had spent the better part of your week sitting through lectures and seminars. Sure, the information was interesting, and sure, you were both thankful for the opportunity. But after an entire week in a swanky resort it felt like the two of you had nothing to show for it.

Then to top it all off, your flight got delayed. So you and Tara were stuck at the airport with a few extra hours to kill. It wasn’t long enough to justify leaving just to have to go back through security, but it was too long to just sit there doing nothing. You had no interest in the book in your backpack, and the way that Tara was looking around the airport had you thinking she was in the same predicament.

Then she turned and looked at you, eyebrows raised and a little bit of a glint in her eyes. “You know,” she leaned on the armrest between your two chairs at the terminal, “since our flight isn’t until three now, we could just…” she shrugged casually, “hit one of the bars here and head straight to our flight afterwards.”

You chuckled, trying to gage just how serious she was. “R-really?”

She shrugged, “Why not? The plane has a designated driver. Plus,” she stood up from her seat, “I think we deserve something besides pamphlets and lecture notes for the week we’ve had.” She held her hand out for you to take. “Come on. Closest bar is just a few gates down.”

Despite knowing that it was most likely going to end in a hangover on a plane, you slapped your hand into hers and let her pull you up from your seat and down the hallway. The amount of laughter erupting from the two of you were the sure sign of an impending good time.

It was such a good time, in fact, that it was a just before midnight when your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You pulled it out to see who was calling at such a late hour. You half-stifled a giggle as you showed Tara the name flashing across your screen.

“I forgot to tell him the flight got delayed.”

Her eyes widened as she laughed, taking a sip of her drink before saying, “Oh. When you tell him, make sure he tells Jax.” She let out another laugh. “I forgot to tell him, too.”

You were laughing as you answered the phone. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” Juice had been confused the second he dialed your number, but the drunken lilt to your voice only made him more confused. “Are you good? We're at the airport and—”

“Promise me you won’t get mad?” you asked, still giggling.

“He better not!” Tara chimed in with a laugh before ordering the two of you another round of drinks.

Juice couldn’t help but to laugh at the fact that Tara was also drunk. After getting it together, he said, “I promise I won’t get mad. What’s up?”

“Our flight got delayed.” You laughed. “Until 3AM. We aren’t,” you took a sip of the drink that Tara handed you, “we aren’t gonna be home until morning.”

Juice sighed but he wasn’t mad. All the shit that you went through because of him being in the club, all the changed and canceled plans for a myriad of reasons, you more than earned this one. Tara too.

“You’re mad,” you said.

He laughed. “I’m not mad. Just, you know, don’t get carried away and miss your flight.”

You smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “We won’t.”

“Text me later with an ETA?”

“As soon as we board the plane.”

“Alright. I love you.”

You were beaming. “I love you too.” He was halfway through saying goodbye when you remembered, “Oh! Shit. Make sure you tell Jax! Tara forgot too.”

Juice laughed. “Yea, I think he might have figured it out by now.”

You heard Jax's muffled hello on the other end of the line, laughing before finally getting around to saying one more I love you to Juice and saying goodbye.

The rest of the night into the tiny hours of the morning flew by in a bit of a blur. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of drinks. If your memory served right there were a decent number of them that you and Tara didn’t have to pay for yourselves which always seemed to make a drink taste better. It was a great time, and despite the amount of alcohol in your systems you still made it to your flight on time. You even remembered to update Juice.

The two of you managed to get your laughter somewhat under control for the sake of the other passengers on the plane. You didn’t want to keep them up with fits of giggles so you dialed it down. It didn’t take long for Tara to drift off to sleep, but you knew that wasn’t going to be happening for you until you home and in your own bed. And, with any luck, curled up with Juice.

Not sleeping had the unique upside of allowing you to nurse another drink or two on the flight. Just enough to keep you buzzed, to stop you from getting slammed with a brutal hangover. You kept yourself perfectly amused on the relatively short flight home. A few hours on a plane seemed to go by faster than in the car. Being able to watch the sun come up while still having a buzz certainly didn’t hurt.

Tara woke with a groan when you nudged her shoulder after the plane landed. She shook her head at you, not opening her eyes all the way as she felt around on the floor for her purse. “This is why I don’t drink,” she grumbled.

You laughed as you stood up, slipping your backpack on your shoulders. “No, you don’t drink because we always have to be grownups.”

“If we’re both grownups, why am I the only one who’s dying?” she asked as she reached over and snatched your sunglasses off the top of your head and put them on.

“I stayed up,” you laughed as you walked through the airport towards baggage claim, “and I stayed drunk.”

She had to laugh at that. “Smart. I’ll have to remember that next time.”

“Next time?” you said with a grin as you pulled your suitcase and then hers from the carousel. “Hell yea.”

When the two of you stepped outside, Tara immediately let out another groan at the bright morning sunlight. You couldn’t help your laughter as you continued walking, looking for either your car or Tara's. She followed along behind you, trusting you to do the real scouting on her behalf.

It wasn’t long until you saw both Jax and Juice standing on the sidewalk, leaning back against the side your car. You waved to get their attention, picking up your pace, not caring about the suitcase rolling and bouncing along behind you. The second you were close enough, you let go of the suitcase and ditched it on the sidewalk in favor of running up and hugging Juice. You hopped up, wrapping both your arms and legs around him as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

He laughed, the impact of your jump making him stumble a step but he still caught and held onto you. He hooked his arms underneath you, holding you as your legs wrapped around his waist. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, holding you tight for a moment before you let your feet hit the ground again. Pulling back, you kissed him hard on the lips, leaving the both of you breathless and somehow still laughing.

“I missed you too,” he said with a chuckle. He leaned into it as you cupped his face in your hands. “The trip was good, then?”

“It was great!” you beamed. “Missed you, though.”

“Looks like you two did just fine without us.” He paused, looking over at Tara who was leaning into Jax as he chuckled at her hungover state. “Well, one of you did just fine.”

Jax kissed the side of Tara's head. “Rough trip, babe?”

She shook her head. “The trip was great. I’m still dying, though.” She hugged him and kissed him on the lips. “Take me home so I can die in peace.”

He laughed. “Is this how I am when I’m hungover?”

“You’re worse,” all three of you replied in unison, laughing when you realized.

Jax rolled his eyes but he was laughing too as he picked up both your suitcase and Tara's to toss them into the trunk of your car. “Let’s get you party animals home.”

You immediately ran towards the front of the car. “I call shotgun!”

You were comfortably slouched in your seat with your feet on the dash before Jax and Tara finished settling themselves in the back seat. Jax had his arm draped around her shoulders, keeping her tucked snug against his side as she got ready to lightly doze for the duration of the ride home.

Juice reached over, resting his hand on your thigh as he drove. You interlocked your fingers with his, watching the scenery through the windshield and the passenger window.

Juice squeezed your hand. “How the hell are you not, you know, super fucking hungover?”

You were too busy laughing to answer the question, so Tara piped up from the back seat for you. “Hair of the dog,” she mumbled.

You laughed as you nodded. “Something like that. I just didn’t let myself sober up all the way.” You saw the way Juice peeled his eyes off the road to look at you for a moment and shrugged. “What? The flight attendant offered! Who was I to say no? Don’t worry,” you patted his hand, “when I wake up from my nap in a few hours I will be plenty hungover. By then Tara will be doing better than I’m doing now.”

Juice dropped the two of them off at Jax's. You said a lazy goodbye from the passenger seat, the exhaustion of the week and the all-nighter finally catching up to you. You were starting to close your eyes when Juice got back into the driver's seat. He looked over at you before he put the car back in drive, unable to stop smiling at the sight of you.

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was looking at you. “Yea?”

He laughed quietly. “Nothing. I love you.” He leaned over the center console so he could kiss the side of your head. “I’m glad you two had fun. I’m even more glad that you’re home.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him with a smile. “You’re a sap, Juan Carlos.”

He chuckled as he backed out of their driveway. “You love me, though.”

You couldn’t deny that. “I do. But remember that you love me in a few hours when I’m cranky and hungover.”

“When you’re trying to bury yourself in all of our pillows and blankets?”

“And trap you there with me.”

“And all of your crankiness.”

You laughed, resting your hand on top of his on the console between you. “Exactly.”

[thetinypsychologist]

HOW TO SURVIVE UNIVERSITY AS A FIRST-YEAR STUDENT

So! I am currently in my first-year at University but I’ve been studying for a couple of months now and feel as though I have enough information and experience to make this post!

MANAGE YOUR TIME

Whether it’s a timetable, to-do list, writing in your planner - you need some sort of method to manage your time and note what tasks you need to do and when. Set a specific time for each class and plan your own class schedule. Even better, study for your classes at the same time they should be held. This will create a sense of routine and make things so much easier. Find what works for you! Your perfect system won’t work great for your friends! There’s no shame in not being able to keep up with the schedule you’ve made. If you’ve tried or if it hurts you mentally or physically, then that schedule is just not the one for you. Finding a system that works for you takes time, patience, and courage. but it will be absolutely worth it. Find yourself a routine that works best for you! I know that my method doesn’t work well for my peers: I make a to-do list for the week and note down the tasks I want to do for each day and do a little bit everyday but I know some people would rather do everything in two days and have the rest of the week free! Below I’ve showed how I organise my week:

BE ACTIVELY ENGAGED

In your lectures and seminars, engage!!! Ask questions, answer questions, take part in the discussions!! It’ll help you retain the content much easier and you’ll enjoy learning so much more compared to just sitting there mindlessly listening. Take notes, even if you can record your lessons and/or access the lessons later. This will force you into focusing and minimise the chance of you getting distracted and zoning out. If you have any face-to-face lecture/seminars then it’s a good idea to sit in the first few rows, towards the front - again, this minimises the chance of you zoning out and increases the chance of you engaging.

ACCOMMODATE YOURSELF

Accommodate yourself, not just with comfort, but also with actual necessities that you cannot usually get in your usual classroom/library due to whatever reason. Whether it be stress balls, stim toys, motivational cards, calming music/candles. comfort items. chewing gum. As long as it helps you focus better, keep it with you. Other necessities may be water, a snack, sticky notes etc. Make sure to declutter your study space. put your phone out of reach & turn off notifications. If you have problems with this, I recommend using an app called Forest or putting your phone in another room.

FIND WHAT WORKS FOR YOU

I know that I will start a lecture around 9/10am. But all mine is asynchronous (narrated powerpoint or videos) and so I will sit for literally two hours just listening to the lecture trying to take notes but very quickly losing focus. I’ve now realised that I can make notes from the powerpoint slides, and then use the narrations/videos for when I want more detail or don’t understand something. This saved me a lot of time, cutting down my time spent on one lecture from around 70 minutes, to 35. This gives me more time to start other content, work on my assignments, and give myself the breaks I need to work efficiently.

WORK TOWARDS YOUR CAREER

Since more and more people go to universities each year, the job market is becoming increasingly competitive for academics. It is important that you obtain skills outside of your studies – for example through societies or volunteer work. Just find something that’s fun and doesn’t feel like another burden. You might also want to become a student representative or part of a student parliament if your university has one. Your university’s career service provides you with tips and resources for a good start into your work life. Things are competitive - find something to make you stand out. Examples of things I’ve done (not just at university) include: Senior Prefect, write and directed my own play for younger students to perform, TEFL course, taught at an Arabic school, volunteered as a youth worker, Duke of Edinburgh Award, Course Representative etc.

MAKE FRIENDS

Being at university can be lonely. You might have moved to a different place, you’re faced with new challenges, and you might find that adult life is not at all like you imagined. Having someone to talk to is important. Good thing that it’s never easier to make friends than at university. You are surrounded by people your age (and it’s actually a lot easier to not see people you don’t like than it is in school.)

Fresher’s week is full of opportunities to meet new people! Check out the societies at the fresher’s fair. In the UK, there are usually societies for every niche interest you can think of. You might end up not actually going, but sometimes you still keep a friend. Another idea is to make a group chat with people in your classes - introduce yourself to the people sitting next to you. Ask them if they would like to go to lunch together, check out the library etc.

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF

University is not all about working 24/7 and pushing yourself. Listen to your mind and body. It’s normal and okay to feel lost or overwhelmed. Please take care of your mental and physical well-being during this very, very weird time. Keep yourself active. Re-ignite old interests/ hobbies. Give yourself some love. A tip I always give to people is to have some sort of creative/kinaesthetic hobby - whether it’s writing, art, embroidery, making collages, journalling etc. Having some sort of fun creative outlet is just what I need when I don’t want to do work but still want to be a little productive. Make sure you’re eating enough, and make sure you’re getting at least 8 hours of sleep. Take care of your body.

MISC TIPS

Make cheatsheets to revise from

See if your university offers free/discounted versions of resources like MS Word etc

Talk to your tutors. Get to know them so they know who you are.

Don’t be afraid to ask you tutors for help - that is what they are there for. They LOVE students that are self-advocates for their own learning.

Give yourself breaks.

Learn your methods. Learn how to use whatever resources / software your university uses. Learn what study styles work best for you.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Face Heel Turn || Morgan & Ben

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Ben face an unpleasant problem on campus and make a run for their lives.

(art credit @professorbcampbell)

With a sigh, Ben removed his glasses and slipped them into the soft travel case that he then tucked away into his attache case. Meetings. While he was sure that many of his colleagues despised such events, Ben had always thrived in them. There was nothing quite like watching the interdepartmental politics at work and he enjoyed giving the invisible strings that wrapped around his peers a gentle nudge from time to time. One of the other professors approached him, asking if he wanted to go for drinks with the others. “Ah, no thank you,” He said with a polite shake of his head, “I was hoping to talk to David- chair duties and all.” Ben gave a regretful smile before stepping to the side. To his great annoyance, Ben caught sight of David making a quick exit from the room, escaping one Morgan Beck. Of course it was her. She was the mousy looking thorn in his otherwise pristine working life. “Morgan!” He said with a hearty smile, “Wonderful to see you.”

Morgan didn’t need to have real magic to work her will. Lots of pagans didn’t have a mainline to the universe and did just fine. She could too. She could. And if her will was getting a real contract with real responsibilities, something worthy of settling into for a few years, maybe until she stopped being able to convince people about her age, then she would take any opportunity the universe presented to her to make it happen. Sometimes that opportunity was cornering the dean of the liberal arts and social sciences college after a meeting.

Unfortunately, the dean wasn’t having any of it.

“Not now,” he mumbled, sliding past her.

“I just noticed three deceased faculty from my department in the obituaries, sir, and rather than waste university resources looking across the country, it be to everyone’s credit to promote from within and--”

“Not now, girl.” He shook his head. “Building codes.”

It took Morgan several seconds to process what she’d heard, and another to decide that, no, she was not going to respond politely. But that time was more than enough for the dean to get away. Worse, it was time enough for Ben Campbell to get in her way. She fought herself not to sneer openly at him. “Hi, Ben,” she managed, her cheer thin and shrill. “Great seminar today, right? Just love those PD review sessions. Keeps it fresh!” She shouldered him out of her way, scampering out the room and toward the dean’s office as she said, “Woops! So sorry, Ben. But I really need to catch David for something.” And maybe consider reversing her new policy on violence. “So sorry! Tootles!” Surely, she thought, Ben would hate her enough to not try and follow.

It had been amusing, at the very least, to see the Dean completely brush of Beck. Ben didn’t let any emotion show on his face, pretending instead to be focused on trying to see where David went. But on the inside, he couldn’t help the smug, triumphant gloating wash over him. Served her right, for getting ideas beyond her position. She should keep her nose down, like any good adjunct would. Work hard, don’t bother people who clearly couldn’t give a shit about you, and make relationships. And the only relationships she’d made, as far as Ben could tell, were negative ones. Pathetic. “Oh yes, PD review, absolutely riveting.” He said with a good natured nod. Grunting as she shouldered him with more force than he would have expected out of such a tiny woman, Ben’s eyes followed her as she headed for the door. “Ah, you’re trying to talk to David as well? Wonderful, so am I. Co-chair duties. Quite a lot of work, but at the end of the day, it’s all worth it.” Ben said with a warm smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What,” Exactly, “are you asking him about?”

Politeness kept Morgan from sprinting down the hall to the dean’s office, but determination kept her pace brisk and steady. “Oh, co-chair duties, of course. I bet you have lots to discuss and get approved. But so much of our paperwork is digital, right? I’m sure David would appreciate it so much more if you sent him a solid email with bullet points.” She walked a little faster. “I just need a few minutes with him alone to make a proposal for the english department. Plans for next semester, staffing, the usual problems this university seems to be facing. I’m sure you’ve got a hot date or somewhere else you’d rather be.” She skidded to the door and grabbed the handle. “But it was so nice running into you!” If she said it loud enough, he’d get the idea and leave, right?

Eyes narrowing as Morgan moved past him, Ben sucked in a breath and forced his face into a smile. Walking after her, his own long strides more than keeping up with her shorter ones, Ben shook his head. “I wish it was so simple. We’re meeting about recruitment for the prospective graduate students to the college. I need to hammer out some of the finer details with him that an email simply wouldn’t cover.” He said with a long suffering sigh. As Morgan explained what she was going after, Ben’s eyebrow arched. What exactly was Bitchy Beck up to? Staffing… they’d had quite a few deaths in the department-- nothing related to him, of course. But there had been some unexpected openings. With a laugh, Ben shook his head, “No dates for me, I’m a bit too busy for that.” As she pulled open the door, he followed quickly behind her. There was no way he was letting Morgan monopolize David’s time. “I’m sure Dave can pencil both of us in.”

“Aw, no someone special?” Morgan said, barely bothering to put on a guise of sympathy on her words. “That’s so sad. You should really do something about that, Ben. I mean, unless you’re aro in which case, friend dates are still a thing! In a place like this, you could die alone tomorrow.” And sometimes she wished he would. “And that would just be kinda sad and tragic, right?” She twisted the handle and swung open the door onto the dean, or who she thought was the dean, fumbling to open the window, not realizing it was sealed. This would have been enough to make her freeze in the doorway on its own, but by the desk, another dean writhed on the floor and clawed at the smooth fleshy plane that was once his face. The secretary was next to him, the skin around her sealed, lipless mouth already turning blue.

“Uh…” Morgan edged back until she stepped on Ben’s toes.

The dean who was not the dean whipped his head around to look at them. He opened his mouth.

The corner of his lips quirking with barely concealed irritation, Ben hurried after the woman. How could such a tiny thing be so quick? “No, no, not aromantic. Or asexual. I’m a very average American man, just with a busier than average work schedule. But, I might try to see someone, who knows.” He said, remembering that the Nichol’s woman had mentioned knowing Beck when she’d dropped by for that post lecture disaster. Just as he was about to mention that he was very interested in getting to know Erin better and, oh, did she happen to know her? What a coincidence, what a wonderful coincidence indeed--Morgan had already pulled open the door to the dean’s office without even the slightest decency to knock. And he was startled to see a pair of bodies writhing on the floor, their faces smooth, fleshy masks.

“Good Lord!” Ben swore, raising his arms instinctively to defend himself as the decidedly not-dean stood and screamed at them. The human lips split like seams and Ben could have sworn he saw circular rows of teeth lining the thing’s throat as it bellowed. His hands clasped over his ears at the harsh shriek and he stumbled backwards, not in fear but in pain. He’d seen demons do far worse than this, he’d done far worse than this himself. But, he was only human, after all. And without a weapon at his disposal, he could hardly do anything to protect himself. And, as irritating as Beck was, it wouldn’t do to explain how she’d been murdered as well. “Let’s get out of here!” He said, grabbing her by the shoulder and tugging her to the door as the dean moved with jerky, alien movements across the office towards them.

Several things happened at once before Morgan’s eyes: a very bright dangerous-looking something spewed out of Not-the-dean’s mouth and landed on the door next to her head, Ben pulled her away, and her confusion and panic erupted into a scream. She didn’t fight Ben. Not-the-dean had leapt to an open chair, landing on all fours and his toothy, four lipped mouth spread open again.

She started to run with Ben, but from the galloping thumps behind them, she could tell it was gaining. “Fucking fuck,” she hissed. She pulled back on Ben’s arm and made a sharp turn down the nearest hall. “You’re too slow!” Then again, so were her pumps. Morgan stopped long enough to kick them off, which so happened to be enough time for Not-the-dean to come bounding down the hall. He stopped just shy of the turn Morgan made and swiveled his head.

“If I carry you, are you gonna be a baby about it?” She asked.

The dean leapt for them, apparently determined. No time to find out. “Hold on tight, spider monkey,” she said. Then she swept her arm under his legs and went off with him.

The way the imposter’s face opened into a disgusting, peeling-apart mouth was enough to convince Ben that they needed to go post-haste, immediately, now. Scrambling out of the room, he sprinted down the hallway as quickly as he could and was startled to see Morgan was keeping pace with him? What? How could she possibly do that-- he wasn’t that old. But this tiny little thing was running alongside him, barely even winded from the effort. Turning an unexpectedly tight corner, the combination of his momentum and his considerable frame had him smacking into the side of the wall. Meanwhile, he could hear the loping sound of the creature echoing behind them.

“Carry me? I’m nearly 200--” Ben started but before he could finish his sentence, Morgan had already grabbed hold of him and was lifting him off the ground. And then, she began to run. Instinctively, Ben clung to her shoulders tightly, not wanting to fall off the woman’s thin frame. Gritting his teeth in irritation, he muttered, “Twilight? Really?” under his breath as Morgan sprinted his way through the hallways. As thoroughly emasculating as it was, to be packmuled out of danger by Beck of all people, there was a silver lining. Morgan had revealed herself to him. She was distinctly not human-- what breed of that, he had no idea-- but she was… unfortunately, a part of the true world.

Morgan managed to laugh wryly as she ran. “Got a problem with that, Bella?” Just a few more feet. It would be easier out in the open, right? Not-the-Dean thundered behind them, galloping the way no person should be able to. The air hissed, and Morgan heard something sizzling on her back and bubbling splatter on the wall beside her.

“Was that acid?” She wasn’t sure why she was alarmed. It wouldn’t do anything to her that couldn’t immediately be undone. But who liked getting acid thrown at them anyway? And there was still Ben in her arms, even if wiping away his face might be an improvement to his character. “Maybe duck your head!” They were almost out the hall. “And brace for impact!” If he was so tough, he shouldn’t mind her blasting through the double doors. Once outside they could split up, or double back and have it lose their trail that way.

Morgan barreled through the doors and into the purple evening, still running, until she crashed into the bike rack and fell over, dropping Ben and sprawling onto the ground.

“Yes.” Ben grunted emphatically, as he was jostled on the woman’s back rather roughly as they ran through the corridors. What the ever loving fuck was happening? What the hell was Morgan? Definitively not human, not human in the slightest. Unless she was moonlighting as some kind of bodybuilder or pro wrestler or something, but that seemed doubtful. But, he couldn’t dwell on this for very long as something hot, wet, and bubbling splashed against the wall next to them. Chancing a glance over, his face went pale as he saw bits of exposed concrete peeking through spots where acid had already begun to chew through the structure.

“Acid. Yes, yes, that was acid-- run faster, Beck!” He yelled, holding on tightly to the small woman’s shoulders. Twisting his head, he watched as the thing behind them was still hot in pursuit, barrelling after them on all fours. “What?” He asked, before turning back just in time to duck, though the crossbar of the door still caught the back of his head. He was seeing stars as Morgan barrelled out into the quad and spilled out on the ground when she slammed into the bike rack. Stunned, barely able to see, and head splitting with pain, Ben blindly scrambled backwards, wanting to put as much distance between him and the creature as possible.

For one terrible second, Morgan stayed on the ground. Too fast and she might be seen, identified for what she was, or else frighten Ben into telling enough people about her that she found herself hunted in her office one day. Too slow and it wouldn’t matter because Not-the-Dean and his acid was going to eat her. Ben was already moving beside her, getting up and far the fuck away. That was as good enough of a cue as any. Morgan jumped to her feet and kept running, past Ben and toward the nearest building. As she passed him she called, “You’re welcome! Don’t die!” Then she kept running, into the music building, then architecture, in and out praying that just this once the universe would bend her way and that she hadn’t been seen and she wasn’t a good enough target to be worth pursuing anyway. When she finally made it inside her car, she let herself take a beat and scan the horizon for signs of...whatever the hell she’d just seen. But it could look like anything, couldn’t it? One of the teenagers ambling toward the parking lot, the janitor pushing their cart into the next building, the MBAs strolling out in their suits. And she hadn’t even looked back, had she? Was Ben still alive? And what about the students, playing frisbee in the sunset and coming in for their late night classes and-- Morgan let her head hit the steering wheel and sighed. Too late to tie up loose ends now. She needed to go home, be grateful, and not think too hard about how bad she didn’t feel about Ben Campbell maybe losing his face.

Blinking the spots from his vision, Ben picked himself up to run from the creature that was still pursuing them-- him, he realized. Because as he was turning to dash away, he watched as Morgan scrambled past him, shouting such incredibly insightful advice as she left. Bitchy fucking Beck was going to leave him to die-- or worse, have his face ripped off and masqueraded around on some disgusting creature. “Lord!” He swore as he ran across the quad, his tie whipping behind him as he sprinted away. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yanking open the nearest building’s door, he fumbled to pull his lanyard from his pocket, his staff keycard in hand. The top floors here were barred to relevant staff and he had access, he could go up there. Running towards the staircase, Ben chanced a glance behind him and saw that the creature had shoved open the doors of the building. A fresh spray of acid was shot his direction and he let out a yelp before slipping into the staircase.

Taking the steps three at a time, Ben hurried up the spiraling staircase and waved his keycard frantically at the heavy metal door. Green lights flashed over the electronic lock and he threw himself inside, slamming the door behind him. Sore, tired, and breathing hard, Ben slumped against the door and listened for the creature. He could hear it tearing through the stairwell, screeching and raging as it ran. But, it didn’t seem to know where he was. And he was fine with that. As the monster’s screeches faded, Ben was at last able to relax and reflect on just what exactly had happened. His mind was putting together all the pieces, forming a very hazy, very concerning picture.

About three things, Ben was absolutely positive. First, Morgan wasn’t human. Second, there was a part of her, and he wasn’t sure how large this part of her was, that was fine with him being dead. And third, he unconditionally, irrevocably hated her.

[bensk]

Be curious. Be humble. Be useful.

I was invited to give the annual Taub Lecture for graduating Public Policy students at the University of Chicago, my alma mater and the department from which I graduated. This is what I came up with.

---

I am incredibly grateful and honored to be here tonight. The Public Policy program literally changed my life.

My name is Ben Samuels-Kalow, my pronouns are he/him/his. I’m a 2012 Public Policy graduate, and I will permit myself one “back in my day” comment: When I was a student here, the “Taub Lecture” were actual lectures given by Professor Taub in our Implementation class. I’ve spent the last nine years teaching in the South Bronx. For the past two years, I have served as Head of School at Creo College Prep, a public charter school that opened in 2019.

I was asked tonight to tell you a bit about my journey, and the work that I do. My objection to doing this is that there is basically nothing less interesting than listening to a white man tell you how he got somewhere, so I'll keep it brief. I grew up in New York City and went to a public high school that turned out Justice Elena Kagan, Chris Hayes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, among many others…none of whom were available tonight.

We, on this Zoom, all have one thing in common — we have been very, very close to graduating from the University of Chicago. I have never sat quite where you sit. I didn’t graduate into a pandemic. But the truth is that everyone graduates into a crisis. The periods of relative ease, the so-called “ends of history”, even the end of this pandemic, are really matters of forced perspective. This crisis isn’t over. Periods of relative peace and stability paper over chasms of structural inequality.

You went to college with the people who will write the books and go on the talk shows and coin the phrases to describe our times. You could write that book. You could go into consulting and spend six weeks at a time helping a company figure out how to maximize profits from their Trademark Chasm Expanding Products.

You could also run into the chasm.

What is the chasm?

It is the distance between potential and opportunity. It is a University on the South Side of Chicago with a student body that is 10% Black and 15% Latinx, with a faculty that is 65% white.

It is eight Black students being admitted to a top high school in New York City...in a class of 749.

What is the chasm?

The chasm is that in our neighborhood in The Bronx, where I’m standing right now, 1 in 4 students can read a book on their grade level, and only 1 in 10 will ever sit in a college class.

It is maternal mortality and COVID survival rates. The chasm is generational wealth and payday loans.

It is systemic racism and misogyny.

It is the case for activism and reparations.

In my job, the chasm is the distance between the creativity, brilliance, and wit that my students possess, and the opportunities the schools in our neighborhood provide.

In the zip code in which I grew up in New York City, the median income is $122,169. In the zip code where I have spent every day working since I graduated from UChicago, the median income is $30,349. The school where I went to 7th grade and this school where next year we will have our first 7th grade are only a 15 minute drive apart.

In my first quarter at UChicago, I joined the Neighborhood Schools Program, and immediately fell in love with working in schools. I joined NSP because a friend told me how interesting she found the work. I’d done some tutoring in high school, and had taught karate since I was 15. I applied, was accepted, and worked at Hyde Park Academy on 62nd and Stony Island in a variety of capacities from 2008 to 2012.

At the time, Hyde Park Academy had one of very few International Baccalaureate programs on the South Side, and every spring, parents would line up out the door of the school to try to get their rising 9th grader in. I worked with an incredible mentor teacher and successive classes of high school seniors whose wit, creativity, and skill would've been at home in the seminars and dorm discussions we all have participated in three blocks north of their high school.

In my work at Hyde Park Academy, I learned the first lesson of three lessons that have shaped my career as a teacher. Be curious. I had been told in Orientation that there were “borders” to the UChicago experience, lines we should not cross. I am forever grateful to the people who told me to ignore that BS. Our entire department is a testimony to ignoring that BS. We ask questions like, why did parents line up for hours to get into what was considered a “failing” high school? Why had no one asked my kids to write poetry before? Why are they more creative and better at writing than most of the kids I went to high school with, but there is only one IB class and families have to literally compete to get in? I learned as much from my job three blocks south of the University as I did in my classes at the University...which is to say, I was learning a LOT, but I had a lot more to learn.

I knew I wanted to be a teacher from my first quarter here. I did my research. The Boston Teacher Residency was the top program in the country, so I applied there. I was a 21 year old white man interested in education, so...I applied to Teach for America. In the early 2010’s, I looked like the default avatar on a Teach for America profile. It was my backup option. I was all in on Boston, and was sure, with four years working in urban schools, a stint at the Urban Education Institute, and, at the time, seven years of karate teaching under my belt, I was a shoe in.

I was rejected from both programs. Which brings me to my second lesson. Be humble. We are destined for and entitled to nothing. There is an aphorism I learned from one of my favorite podcasts, Another Round: "carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." If you are a mediocre white man, like me, do as much as you can not to be. If you look like me, you live life on the "lowest difficulty setting." This means I need to question my gifts, contextualize my successes, and actively work against systems of oppression that perpetuate inequity.

Over the last two years, I have interviewed over 300 people to work at this school. There are a series of questions that I ask folks with backgrounds like myself:

Have you ever lived in a neighborhood that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked on a team that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked for a boss/supervisor/leader who was a person of color?

The vast majority of white folks, myself at 21 included, could not answer “yes” to these three questions. This is disappointing, but I've also lived and worked in two of the most segregated cities on this continent, so it is not surprising. By the time I sat where you’re sitting now, I had learned a lot about education policy and sociology. I'd taken every class that Chad offered at the time. I'd worked at UEI, I'd worked in a South Side high school for four years, and I still thought I was entitled to something. Unlearning doesn't usually happen in a moment, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but these rejections were the best thing that has happened to me in my growth as a human.

I moved back home to New York, was accepted to my last-choice teaching program, and started teaching at MS 223: The Laboratory School of Finance & Technology. I ended up teaching there for 5 years. I had incredible mentors, met some of my best friends, started a Computer Science program that’s used as a model at hundreds of schools across New York City…and most importantly, while making copies for Summer School in July of 2015, I met my wife.

All this to say — if you aren’t 100% convinced that what you’re doing next year is Your Thing, keep an open mind…and make frequent stops in the copy room.

I learned that teaching was My Thing. I didn't want to do ed policy research. I got to set education policy, conduct case studies, key informant interviews, run statistical analysis…with 12 year olds. This was the thing I couldn’t stop talking about, reading about, learning about. I really and truly did not care about the “UChicago voices” of my parents and my friends who kept asking what I was going to do next. My answer: teach.

If you look like me, and you teach Computer Science, there are opportunities that come flying your way. I was offered jobs with more prestige, jobs with more pay, jobs far away from the South Bronx. I was offered jobs I would have loved. But I’d learned a third lesson: be useful. If you have a degree from this place, people will always ask you what the next promotion or job is. They will ask "what's next for you" and they will mean it with respect and admiration.

Here’s the thing: teaching was what’s next. “But don’t you want to work in policy?” Teaching is a political act. It is hands-on activism, it is community organizing, it is high-tech optimistic problem-solving and low-tech relationship building. It is the reason we have the privilege of choosing a career, and it is a career worth choosing.

I had internalized what I like to call the Dumbledore Principle: “I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.” This meant unlearning the very UChicago idea that if you were smart and if you think and talk like we are trained to think and talk at this place, you should be in charge. The best things in my life have come from unlearning that. Learning from mentors to never speak the way I was praised for in a seminar. Learning from veteran teachers how to be a warm demander who was my authentic best self...and more importantly brought out the authentic best self in my students. Being useful isn't the same thing as being in charge…and that is ok.

I believe this deeply. Which is why, when I was offered the opportunity to design and open a school, my first thought was absolutely the hell no. I said to my wife: “I’m a teacher. Dumbledore Principle — we’re supposed to teach, make our classrooms safe and wonderful for our kids.”

I also knew that teaching kids to code wasn’t worth a damn if they couldn’t read and write with conviction, so I started looking for schools that did both — treated kids like brilliant creatives who should learn to create the future AND met them where they were with rigorous coursework that closed opportunity gaps. In our neighborhood, there were schools that did the latter, that got incredible results for kids. Then there was my school, where kids learned eight programming languages before they graduated, but at which only 40% of our kids could read.

We were lauded for this, by the way. 40% was twice the average in our district. We were praised for the Computer Science — the mayor of New York and the CEO of Microsoft visited and met with my students. It felt great. I wasn’t convinced it was useful.

Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up didn’t have to choose between a school that was interesting and a school that equipped them with the knowledge and skills to pursue their own interests in college and beyond. Why did our students have to choose? I delivered this stressed-out existential monologue to my wife that boiled down to this: every kid deserves a school where they were always safe, and never bored. We weren’t working at a school like that. I was being offered a chance to design one. But…Dumbledore principle.

My wife took it all in, looked at me, and said: “You idiot. Dumbledore RAN a school.”

Friends, you deserve a partner like this.

The road to opening Creo College Prep, and the last two years of leading our school as we opened, closed, opened online, finished our first year, moved buildings, opened online again, opened in-person (kind of) and now head into our third year, has reinforced my lessons from teaching — be curious, be humble, be useful. These lessons are about both learning and unlearning. A white guy doing Teach for America at 21 is a stereotype. A white guy starting a charter school is a stereotype with significant capital, wading into complicated political and pedagogical waters. The lessons I learn opening a school and the unlearning I must do to be worthy of the work are not destinations, they are journeys.

Be curious

I didn’t just open a school. Schools are communities, they are institutions, and they are bureaucracies. If you work very, very hard, and with the right people, they become engines that turn coffee and human potential into joy and intellectual thriving capable of altering the trajectory of a child’s life.

First you have to find the right people. I joined a school design fellowship, spent a year visiting 50 high-performing schools across the country, recruited a founding board of smart, committed people who hold me accountable, and spent time in my community learning from families what they wanted in a school. There is studying public policy, and then there is attending Community Board meetings and Community Education Council Meetings, and standing outside of the Parkchester Macy's handing out flyers and getting petition signatures at Christmastime next to the mall Santa.

I observed in schools while writing my BA, and as a teacher, but it was in this fellowship that I learned to “thin slice,” a term we borrowed from psychology that refers to observing a small interaction and finding patterns about the emotions and values of people. In a school, it means observing small but crucial moments — how does arrival work, how are students called on, how do they ask for help in a classroom, how do they enter and leave spaces, how do they move through the hallways, where and how do teachers get their work done — and gleaning what a school values, and how that translates into impact for kids. Here’s how I look at schools:

Does every adult have an unwavering belief that students can, must, and will learn at the highest level?

Do they have realistic and urgent plans for getting every kid there? Are these beliefs and plans clear and held by kids?

Are all teachers strategic, valorizing planning and intellectual nerdery over control or power?

Is the curriculum worthy of the kids?

Can kids explain why the school does things they way they do? Can staff? Can the leader?

If I'm in the middle of teaching and I need a pen or a marker, what do I do? Is that clear?

What’s the attendance rate? How do we follow up on kids who aren’t here?

How organized and thoughtful are the physical and digital spaces?

Are kids seen by their teachers? Are their names pronounced correctly? Do their teachers look like them? Do they make them laugh, think, and revise their answers?

Would I want to work here? Would I send my own kids here?

Be humble

I learned that there are really two distinct organizations that we call “school.” One is an accumulation of talent (student and staff) that happens to be in the same place at the same time, operating on largely the same schedule.

These were the schools I attended. These are schools you got to go to if you got lucky and you were born in a zip code with high income and high opportunity. These are schools where you had teachers who were intellectually curious, and classmates whose learning deficits could be papered over by social capital…and sometimes, straight up capital.

“Accumulation of talent” also describes the schools I worked at. These were schools where if you got lucky and you were extraordinary in your intelligence, determination, support network, and teachers who’d decided to believe in you, you became one of the stories we told. “She got into Cornell.” “That whole English class got into four year colleges.”

Most schools in this country, it turns out, are run like this. I knew all about local control and the limits of federal standards on education and the battles over teacher evaluations and so much other helpful and important context I learned in my PBPL classes.  But when thin-slicing a kindergarten classroom in Nashville on my first school visit of the Fellowship, I saw a whole other possibility of what “school” can be.

School can be a special place organized towards a single purpose. One team, one mission. Where the work kids do in one class directly connects to the next, and builds on the prior year. Where kids are treated like the important people they are and the important people they will be, where students and staff hold each other to a high bar, where there is rigor and joy. A place where staff train together so that instead of separate classrooms telling separate stories about how to achieve, there is one coherent language that gives kids the thing they crave and deserve above all else: consistency.

We get up every morning to build a school like that. It’s why my team starts staff training a month before the first day of school. It’s why we practice teaching our lessons so that we don’t waste a moment of our kids’ time. It’s why everyone at our school has a coach, including me, so we can be a better teacher tomorrow than we were today. It’s why we plan engaging, culturally responsive, relevant lessons. It’s how we keep a simple, crucial promise to every family: at this school, you will always be safe, and you will never be bored.

Be useful

Statistically speaking, it is not out of the realm of possibility that several of you will one day be in a position to make big sweeping policy changes. You will have the power to not only write position papers, but to Make Big Plans. I will be rooting for you, but I hope that you won’t pursue Big Plans for the sake of Big Plans.

The architect who designed the Midway reportedly said "make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood." I had that quoted to me in several lectures at this school, and you know what?

It’s bullshit.

I am asking you not to care about scale. Good policy isn’t about scale, it’s about implementation, and implementation requires the right people on the ground. Implementation can scale. The right people cannot. We can Make Big Plans, but every 6th grade math class still needs an excellent math teacher. That's a job worth doing. I could dream about starting 20 schools, but every school needs a leader. That’s a job worth doing. Places like UChicago teach us to ask "what's next" for our own advancement, to do this now so we can get to that later. I learned to ask "what's next" to be as useful as possible to as many kids as I have in front of me.

I hold these two thoughts in my mind:

The educational realities of the South Bronx have a lot more to do with where highways were built in our neighborhood than with No Child Left Behind or charter schools, and require comprehensive policy change that address not only educational inequity, but environmental justice, and systemic racism.

The most useful policy changes I can make right now are to finalize the schedule for our staff work days that start on June 21, get feedback on next year’s calendar from families, and finish hiring the teachers our kids deserve.

I will follow the policy debates of #1 with great interest, but I know where I can be useful, and I’ll wake up tomorrow excited to make another draft of the calendar. I hope you get to work on making your Small Plans, and I will leave you with the secret — or at least the way that worked for me:

Find yourself people who are smarter than you and who disagree with you. Find problems you cannot shut up or stop thinking about. Do what you can’t shut up about with intellect and kindness. Use the privilege and opportunity that we have because we went to this school to make sure that opportunity for others does not require privilege. Run into the chasm.

Be curious, be humble, be useful.

Thank you.

[kvngjoong]

she was a rainbow [three - seo changbin]

→ seo changbin x f!you, university!au, in which changbin discovers that his feelings aren’t as easy to understand as he first may have thought → 7.4k+, it’s fluff. all fluff and cute things, with a last minute confession

part 3 of 3

“Do you remember when I got mad at you about the project?”

“Mhm.” Changbin was busy eating his noodles and didn’t pick up on the signs you were showing him. He tries to make a joke, since when he looks up you look a little sad. It was just the downturned lips and sparkly eyes. Glassy. Changbin means glassy. “You told me that you wouldn’t talk to me again.”

You hum, facing the table for a little longer than usual. “I was a bitch ‘cause my boyfriend and I broke up.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Changbin replies honestly. He should have expected it. You both hadn’t know each other that long then, and you already had broken up with your boyfriend? It surprises him. It angers him that someone hadn’t appreciated you enough to love you.

“Hwang Hyunjin?” His name burns some hatred into Changbin. That asshole? Yeah, everyone know who Hyunjin was. He didn’t realise you two dated, and he would have warned against it if he did know, even though you both weren’t that close. “Yeah, I should have realised that was going to end up that way.”

Changbin has a pick of everyone he wants.

Realistically, it’s always been the same for the Korean boy. He’s rich, he’s handsome and like hell does he know it. Ever since high school when girls would flock around him to see whether he really was that flawless in real life (he was, for the record) and if his hair really did stand to be the most beautiful style on the grounds. His spoiled ways proved to be too much for people to handle and they quickly disregarded him leaving the best option for him being to move abroad and act like he never even knew the streets of the various other countries he lived in.

He used people and he didn’t care, and that never really changed. Sure, he had two good friends. The first was a boy named Chan who usually would be found in the music production rooms with his headphones on, creating new songs like the genius kid he is. Chan is from Australia and didn’t have any other friends. Seeing him as, for lack of a better description, weak, Changbin managed to make friends with Chan but then realised he truly did value the friendship he had. Then there was Jisung, the first year student who had helped Changbin out in the music department when he first started. Changbin, in his own way, admired Jisung for carrying on his passion for music despite studying International Business. Another rich kid that Changbin emphasised with too much.

But Changbin realised in university he can’t be the person he used to be. There’s no cliques like in high school, the majority of people are just genuinely interested in studying and he often looks stupid when he expects the girls to come flocking in the clubs. His pearly white smile and equally white trainers don’t attract the attention he wants.

Not that he doesn’t get any. Changbin might not have the same charm as before but girls do love him. They love his persona and how if you hang around with him you automatically get the reputation of dating a rich kid who had a lot of money to spend which his parents sent him every week. Girls used him, actually. They used him for the reputation like he used to use them for the same thing.

It drives someone to loneliness, actually.

Changbin sits alone in lectures now. He used to sit in the middle with girls either side, sometimes not paying attention but often having a girl or two chatting about a possible date and another on the phone sending him photos he shouldn’t have been looking at in the middle of a lecture.

He walks into his class on international markets, his least favourite unit this year, expecting the back row of the lecture theatre to be completely empty like always. He pulls out one earphone, analysing the girl sat in the middle of the back row with an emotionless face; reading a book, studying each word, lost in the fantasy world which is created from it.

Changbin frowns. He takes a seat two places down and uses the seat to his left to keep his bag on so he can easily pull out his phone later to concentrate on something other than his lecturer who is the quietest, but most lovely Chinese lady to exist. The act manages to catch your attention as you don’t expect it. Your eyes meet Changbin’s and he feels like he’s frozen for a second.

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing your book shut. Changbin is stuck looking at you so forgets to check what you’re reading. He hopes it’s worthwhile. “Do you want me to move up?”

Changbin shakes his head. He brings his fingers back through his freshly washed hair as he clears his throat and looks away. “It’s fine. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

When Changbin didn’t spend his Saturday nights watching anime and checking snapchat to see if there was a party he could jump in on, he would have took this as an opportunity to continue speaking to you. Right now he looks back towards the front of the lecture hall and scratches his ear as he sighs. He doesn’t care, if he’s honest.

“This is the lecture on international markets, right?” you ask him. Changbin doesn’t look back to you, as he really does not care all too much for what you’re saying, and instead continues looking forward and planning on what game he’ll be beating Jisung at this evening. “I’m new and I guess… everything has been kinda messed up for me so far. I never end up in the right place.”

Changbin hums, nodding quietly again. “Yeah, it is.”

“Okay,” you answer, smile on your lips. You seem to ignore his blatant lack of interest which surprises Changbin a little. He pulls the disinterested card on girls and usually they beg for his attention and make it known that they’re not happy which how he’s treating them.

You, on the other hand, don’t even bat an eyelid.

That’s the thing which surprises him the most, especially since his cold and unattentive personality would usually have a girl angry at him for not trying too much with them, or have them rolling their eyes and vowing never to speak with him again.

He spends far too much of the lecture watching you concentrate on the topic being taught from the corner of his eye, your face burnt into his memory whether he wants it or not. Primarily he would have hoped at some point you’d have noticed his gaze shifting your way every so often, but when you don’t acknowledge him until you’re asking him politely to move out of your way so you can get to your next class, Changbin decides that he’s not going to let you bother his thoughts again.

Except he does let it bother him, a little too much if he’s honest.

It’s easy to shake you from his mind each time he stares at a blank wall or zones out from Jisung speaking with him about something he doesn’t care all that much for. It’s not so easy when you force your actual presence into his space a few days later at his seminar for International Trade later that week.

You sit beside him at the back, which again was usually a row he sat in on his own, but don’t pay too much attention to him since you were busy texting someone and didn’t notice him in the corner.

At least he thought that, since you didn’t even look in his direction until the teacher had everyone talking for a reason Changbin didn’t know - since he was busy on Instagram (trying to find your profile, for science of course).

“Hey,” you say, turning to him and catching his attention. He panics a little, eyes wide as he locks his phone and places it face down just in case you saw him searching through group followers to find anyone who resembled you. “I saw you in the lecture on international markets.”

Changbin finds your way of speaking with him a little unusual. You remind him ever so slightly of Jisung. Forward, but friendly, and somewhat good intentions. “Yeah, that was me.”

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Great,” Changbin replies. He may have come across as more rude than he intended to be, though he wanted to make it less obvious he had been waiting for your name this entire time. Pretty, he thinks, and it suits you. He panics, again, and tries to recover himself in possibly the worst way possible, “do you need something?”

“We need to work in pairs for the project on trade policies. I was wondering if you wanted to work together?” you ask.

Damn, he had hoped for more than that.

“Oh. Right.” Changbin’s quota for smiling had already been filled up since Chan slipped in the kitchen this morning when he dropped his milk everywhere. He might have been able to give a little more happiness if you asked him for more than just uni work. Well, saying that, you wanted to spend some time with him so you must have liked him in some shape or form. “Sure. We can work together.”

Changbin responds to your smile with his own tiny one which he spares for you from the bottom of his heart. He regrets it when he realises you probably just sat with him because you remembered him and didn’t know anyone else, but he notices there are quite a few empty seats around the room that you could have sat in should you want to make some other friends.

So he takes it as a win, even if you did probably enjoy the familiar aspect of having Changbin around you. Oh well. His ego will take it the other way until he’s ready to accept he’s lonelier than ever and anyone is better company than Jisung at this point. No offence to Jisung, he was just going through a… phase.

“I’m Changbin, by the way.”

Giving you his name goes a long way to creating a relationship between the two of you, since you exchange numbers pretty soon after and Changbin walks home with a less blank than usual look on his face. When he gets home he lingers in the living room for longer than usual and even Chan asks him what’s made him so happy.

He could have been happier if it didn’t take you two days to actually ask text him. Sure, he could have texted first, but didn’t want to overstep a boundary you might have wanted to keep. He could message you but you knew what the project was about and he would have probably cleared his schedule for you anyway, so he waits patiently for you to come to him.

Maybe to restore that mindset that people wanted him, or maybe because he was nervous. The latter was pretty much impossible.

Providing that Changbin’s (pretty much) squeak when he sees you’ve finally text him after all this time.

You: Are you free tonight? Changbin: Yeah You: Okay, do you want to go to the library? We can meet there and work on the research? Changbin: It would be easier if you came to me. I’ll send you my address.

Changbin’s parents were always apprehensive about him giving out his address, hence why he went elsewhere for parties and avoided having people back here. He asked Chan and Jisung to live with him with a pretty cheap rent for the company of having them around, and so far they were the only ones he had ever actively asked to be at his.

This was a different story, however. He trusted you enough to give you an address that his parents specifically wanted on the downlow (they didn’t want anyone to take advantage of Changbin’s wealth, and you didn’t seem like the type to do that). The first one ever. Changbin was really firsts with you already.

It brings butterflies to his stomach, almost as many as when two minutes later he realises his room is a mess and he does his best to tidy everything in the twenty minutes he probably has before you arrive, if you lived where he suspected you did.

He was just about right - nineteen minutes after he started cleaning and making sure his washing was (less than neatly) placed in his washing bin, you’re knocking at his front door and he’s running out of his room begging that no one else heard the door and opens it for him.

Lest be it that Jisung or Chan caught wind of him inviting you here; Changbin would never hear the end of it.

Changbin, slightly out of breath from mad-pace cleaning and running at full speed to get the door, forgets the smile he promised himself he’d give you, instead staring blankly at you and letting you walk in. To his surprise, you ignore a greeting too and walk inside, looking around the room at the barely covered walls (apart from the mirror Jisung took pictures in, and a shelf for Chan’s books). “Your place is… Nice.”

“Yeah, nice,” Changbin replies, clearing his throat as he shuts the door. He’s usually so talkative, what is about you that stops him from being able to form coherent sentences? Changbin isn’t sure. He stumbles over some more words as he follows you in staring down everything he jointly owned. “It’s uh… let’s do some work in my room. My friends will only cause problems if we’re in here.”

You nod, walking after him as he leads you to his room on the back at the right. He shuts the door behind the two of you, weary that Jisung would be able to hear your voice and come to inspect all that was going on.

Changbin watches as you sit on his floor, beside his desk, leaving the chair open for him. Not wanting to be a dick, he sits opposite to you and copies your stance in the hopes you won’t feel awkward being in a new environment. Changbin will learn that one of the things he loves about you is that you never seemed to be bothered by things like that.

He’s busy watching you log into your laptop, so your voice catches him by surprise. “I was actually looking into some studies yesterday so we can use that as a starting point. Unless you want to start over, and we take a different approach?”

“You already did some work, so you clearly know what you’re doing.” Changbin likes that you’re smart, too. He reveals in the fact you’re not just there for him because of his money, or because he can music,or even because you thought he was cute. You’re there for work and he respects that. “Just let me know what you need doing and I’ll help.”

He respects it to the degree that he can, anyway, since he didn’t particularly like doing the work and also felt bad when you sat there and did absolutely everything on the project whilst he just admired your pretty eyelashes and soft lips and… That’s for another day.

He sees you a few nights of the week, and somehow he manages to avoid both Chan and Jisung the entire time. It’s for your sake more than his, the pair of them were both on the get Changbin a girlfriend bandwagon and it annoyed the shit out of him.

Which is why he panics when he knows that Chan and Jisung are going to be at home and you’re most likely going to see them.

“Can I come over today?”

“That’s forward. Why?” Changbin asks, surprised by your presence directly next to him in the lecture hall. You usually left at least one seat between the two of you, but given your panicked voice, you were trying to cozy up to him for a reason he already knew the answer to.

Maybe he’s acting like this because part of him really just wants you to ask to come over so you can both spend time together without the underpinning task of your joint project. Yeah, Changbin hopes that you see more to him than just work.

Judging from your deadpan look, that is not the case. “For the project. It’s due soon and we’ve barely done anything.”

“Because it’s not that deep.” Changbin replies, shrugging as he returns to his notepad and writes the date in the top left corner. “If we fail, we fail. They’ll pass us anyway because if they fail us they look bad on rankings. Why bother?”

You don’t react to his words. Changbin should try a different approach to get some emotion from you, and the right emotion at that. “So we can get a good grade.”

“That’s not important to me. I don’t even wanna be in that class,” Changbin tells you.

“But I do, and I want to do well. So please, Changbin, just put a bit of effort in for me? I won’t bother you after this project, I won’t even talk to you, just help me get a good grade and it’s done. We won’t work together again.”

Ouch.

That hurt Changbin more than it was meant to, or at least more than he should have allowed it to. He sits in silence the rest of the lecture, checking on you every so often out of the corner of his eye, though not bothering to distract you from your work any more than he already had.

Part of him thinks that he should have stopped you before you left the lecture hall to apologise, but unfortunately for him his mind doesn’t work that quickly and he’s not sure how to make it up to you straight away.

He’s not even sure why he’s so bothered. You don’t mean that much time him, you’re just his partner for a university project and you probably won’t speak to him again afterwards.

Except he hoped you did speak to him afterwards, and he hoped you saw a friendship like he did, because it’s not often that Changbin has someone on his mind so much.

He didn’t want to sound like a stalker or anything. He wasn’t going to follow you around, he wasn’t going to make sure you were the only person he was talking to (since he was pretty sure you had your own group of friends which included one of Chan’s other friends, Felix), but he couldn’t help but wonder what you were up to at different times, or if you were thinking about him too.

God, it was like you were a drug he caught wind of and now he’s hooked to.

Which is why, the next day, he shows up at the library where he knows you’ll be (since you were always there on that day at that time, according to your snapchat), with the intention to apologise to you in a way that only Changbin can do.

It takes a while to find you, but when he does, he’s glad you’re on your own because he had a feeling that Felix boy had a thing for you given that he posts about you all the time and looks at you with massive heart eyes that Changbin wasn’t particularly in the mood for.

“Hey,” he says, sitting on the opposite side of the booth to you.

“Changbin?” You ask, raising a brow at him. You were clearly surprised to see him, too. Given his slight smile in your direction, you warm to the possibility of a conversation to him and pull out your earphones, abandoning the work you had in front of you. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Changbin finds himself at a loss for what to actually say to you. On one hand, he could say sorry, but that doesn’t really mean anything unless he’s actually showing you that he’s sorry. He should invite you over, he should ask you to do something with him, he should offer to finish the project for you, he should--

“Do you need something?” you ask, cutting off his thoughts before they got too much for him.

“Oh, yeah. I do, actually.” Changbin clears his throat, leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together. He can make it genuine, because for you he is genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry about before. I was an asshole to you for no reason. You want to do well and so should I. So, you can spend the weekend at mine and we can finish the whole project then, and do it well. I cleared my schedule.”

His apology works like a charm, actually.

Probably because he was genuine towards you, and you could see that. He stays with you for a little bit but leaves eventually, heart a little warmer and blood free from any emotion he didn’t want (ie animosity). His walk home is filled with ideas for what you can both do together, since he didn’t intend to have this project take up the entire weekend, and he settles for getting you to play video games with him and actually asking you for your social media so it’s acceptable for you to follow him on everything.

Having you around fills him with this emotion he couldn’t quite process (ie, not animosity, but something more like adulation) and it does strike him exactly like the strongest drug he could have ever purchased. One right at the bottom of the black market, with a selling price of well over what he could have ever afford.

The difference with an actual drug? The effects were permanent. So maybe you were like therapy for a blackened and closed heart.

“I’m so tired,” you say, laying on his floor with your eyes shut.

He hides his silent chuckle at your form and his pout because he can’t stroke your hair like his gut told him to. Is that what you do in a relationship? Likely so. He wasn’t entirely sure, but that’s what they do on Jisung’s dramas. “I literally just got us pizza.”

“I know, but I’m still tired,” you reply, opening your eyes and looking straight to him, “we can just get up early and work on this tomorrow.”

Changbin shakes his head at your suggestion, gesturing over to your laptop that now has a black screen since you haven’t touched it in roughly… forty minutes. “No, I don’t get up early. We’re finishing this tonight. We just need three more paragraphs and we are done.”

You don’t concur. Changbin looks down to his keyboard, attempting to finish his sentence, though he feels your eyes on him and is compelled to look back to you and see what you need. Just like a relationship.

“What?” Changbin asks, studying your pout like he’s never seen one before. Well, he has, but mostly because he was rejecting a girl who didn’t care all too much for him. “Why are you doing that?”

When he brings up your pouting, you stop and return to an emotionless stare. After a few moments of unbroken eye contact, you sit up and push the chair from your face adjusting your sleeves. “Let’s just take a break then okay?”

“A break?” Changbin repeats, one brow slightly raised. He couldn’t dream of saying no to you again, since last time he hurt your feelings and he wasn’t ready to do that again. He likes talking to you. You’re interesting, and you make him feel like he is too. Whatever feelings you have towards him, it’s most definitely mutual. “Okay, we’ll take a break. For five minutes.”

“Tell me more about you, Changbin.”

“What do you want to know?” Changbin replies, noticing how quick you jump on the opportunity to ask him something person. Did you can about him? It would seem to be that way. No one really wants to know about him. He didn’t even want to talk about him, either.

But for you, he’ll say everything.

“Anything. Everything. Tell me your life story. That will get my mind working again so we finish this and have tomorrow to do whatever we want,” you return.

Changbin assumes you’ve forgotten the whole not talking after the project is over, and he’s happier than he’d want to admit about it.

That’s almost a turning point in your relationship. Almost because it changes again, all thanks to him, but that marked the two of you actually being friends, and Changbin likes that more than he would care to admit, too.

And friendship for him is more than he could have ever thought to ask for.

He thought that he say Chan and Jisung a lot, but compared to you it was nothing. The nights he would spend on his own were suddenly filled with your presence and he actually enjoyed being around other people for once, in the nicest way. There was something about his mostly extroverted but potentially introverted persona that meant he enjoyed the loneliness in the slightest way.

Except now, he didn’t at all.

He’d invite you over whenever he could, make sure that he had you around him when you were able to. Though your days were reserved for your other friends, which did include Felix and his friends, you spend your evenings with Changbin doing both work and friend things.

He enjoyed both, much to his surprise, but it was probably because he enjoyed the way you told him about business things much more than his teachers. Did he ever mention he loved how smart you were? Because he does, so much.

He also loves that you’re so effortlessly his best friend, in every way that you can be.

“No, Changbin,” you say, pushing his hands away from you. He acts surprised by your defiance, not giving up on having you play like you had agreed. You, however, continue your protests with a  “stop it. Don’t make me say it again.”

“You started it! I’m sorry you’re a major pussy and can’t play horror games. We said we would take turns!”

“It’s not funny!” You look away from him with a pout, the very one he’s grown so fond of over the time he’s know you, and face the door. Hearing Chan and Jisung chanting at the TV over some football game that was on, probably wasn’t the best thing for the situation. “Your friends probably think I’m stupid. I screamed loud.”

“Wanna bet?” Changbin asks, challenging your words in the best way he knows how.

Because you haven’t actually met the double team of Christopher ‘Chan’ Bang and Han Jisung, and Changbin knows that people aren’t usually that easy to adapt to their friend’s other friends.

If you’re easy to warm up to them, then Changbin knows you’re going to be easy for him to get on well with in the future. Who knows, maybe he can extend his relationship with you and you can be more than friends? That’s on him though, since he’s sure you don’t actually have any feelings towards him and he’s going to respect that until he’s one hundred per cent sure that confessing you is the most appropriate thing to do.

So Changbin drags you out to his friends, despite your very basic protests, planting you straight in front of the TV and making sure to deal with Chan and Jisung’s eye rolls and complaints that they were interrupting whatever team was playing.

“Chan, Jisung. Do you think she’s stupid?” Changbin asks, his dominance in their friendship clear from how he approaches them. He looks between them, then to you, switching between the two until he gets the answer he’s looking for.

“Stupid?” Chan repeats, looking over to you. He shakes his head, careless to what Changbin’s actually intentions were here. “No, you were playing Outlast, weren’t you?”

Jisung, on the other hand, has the full intentions to make sure that Changbin regrets ever trying to impress you with his friends. The youngest has a smirk as he directs his comments at both of you, but mostly you. “Hyung, you were screaming louder than her, you’re the pussy.”

Honestly, Changbin didn’t know someone’s laugh could brighten his entire day.

But that’s normal right?

To want to make you laugh every day, to listen to it on reply, to have to you laughing at something he said (so that you’re laughing because of him)?

He’s not sure, maybe he’s got a delusional idea of what is right and what is wrong in his head. Either way, Changbin vows that your friendship will be good and you’ll enjoy every minute of it that you’re in it with him.

And that means that you’ll be doing everything with him, whether you like it or not.

Changbin hopes you do like it, though. He can’t keep wondering whether you will, so he decides one day when you’re both walking to class together that he should check. “Let’s do more stuff together.”

“More stuff?” you repeat, looking up to him questioningly. He nods, though you’re still not buying. “You literally leave the house for lectures and that’s it.”

“But you like doing stuff, so I’ll do it with you,” Changbin says, hoping to convince you with a little bit of affection.

That works well, too.

Changbin went from not being able to talk to you, struggling to know what to reply to you, and being as awkward as he ever could be around a person, to silently begging for you to want to spend more time with him.

And do you? Well, Changbin would wait for you to answer that. At first he thinks not, since you don’t approach him with anything, but when you spot him at the cafeteria in one of the business buildings, and you run after him with a wide smile, he changes his mind a little.

Skip the formalities, a greeting from you is a form of therapy within itself.

“There’s this thing.”

Changbin hums, looking to you as you both approach the elevator to go to your class on the third floor. “Right. This thing.”

“Can you come with me?” you ask, surprising him a little. He doesn’t frown, his eyes just widen a little. You must have noticed because you’re quick to try and convince him. “It won’t take up too much of your evening. I don’t want to go on my own.”

Oh, you must want him to come if you're convincing him.

“I don’t even know what it is you want me to come to,” Changbin returns, shrugging.

“It’s just a… poetry, thing.” Changbin thinks it’s cute, though keeps his look placid to make sure you’re not quick to read him. He worries, given that you’re basically an empath, you’ll catch onto the fact that his feelings are becoming a bit too prominent for him to control. “Boring, I know. I’ll make it up to you, but you might enjoy it. Who knows.”

He didn’t need to enjoy it to go along; Changbin was going to seize an opportunity to spend some time with you on your invitation again.

Since your presence was the drug he couldn’t kick from his system as of yet, or a therapy session he paid above and beyond for, and a poetry session with you was a strange way of getting a high, or help, he needed.

To imagine you each time they spoke of a starry sky, a roaring fire, even a firework that explodes in the sky, he would have paid a lot for that anyway.

And he got it for free.

Spending time with you was something Changbin would have given a lot up for. As it turns out, you liked it too, since you let him walk you home and even invited him in (politely asking him not to judge your place since you weren’t rich and student loans didn’t provide that much to an international student anyway). No, nothing happened, as much as anyone may have thought it did.

Changbin didn’t have the intentions to do something with you, and maybe you felt the same. He didn’t notice you didn’t have any pictures of you with any guys at home, or their clothes in your room, so maybe he did have a chance.

That was a weight off his shoulders, at the very least. You probably didn’t have a boyfriend, and he was moving more in that direction now.

“Hey,” Changbin says, distracting you for the lecturer at the front. You look over to him, since you both sit directly next to each other now, and nod for him to continue. “Are you free, later?”

You nod again. “All day, why?”

“Do you want to do something together?”

“Sure,” you return, bringing some relief to Changbin’s heart that was beating at about 200 miles an hour. He lets his cheeks twitch a little, but never does actually smile at you. You keep your voice down but still keep your interest at hand, “what do you have in mind?”

Changbin shrugs, passing his phone across the desk to you, since he had a film already opened that he thought would be cute to see with you. A horror movie, at that, but it was up his alley and yours too. “This movie came out recently and if you wanted to, we can see it together?”

It’s a terrifying three seconds waiting for you to answer. “I’d like that.”

So seeing a movie becomes your weekly thing together, alongside the things you already do. You really do end up spending every night with him, the bonus being that you also get along well with Jisung and Chan too, and the four of you somehow form a friendship that Changbin would never have been able to foresee in the past.

You were once someone he sat a few seats from in a lecture, and now you’re standing in his kitchen playing hot potato with a sponge that Jisung had used to mop up (quite a bit of) soy sauce from the side that he spilt. Given that Chan and Jisung had been throwing at each other, and then Jisung involved you, it was a given Changbin was going to get involved to.

“Hey Changbin,” you shout, the boy looking up to you with wide eyes as he leaves the bathroom, still drying his hands on his jeans, “think fast.”

Changbin’s heart is heavy because you remembered to include him, of course he very much enjoys your thoughts going straight to him, so he doesn’t get much time to react to a soy sauce soaked sponge launched directly at his chest. “Hey!”

“I said think fast!”

Chasing you into his bedroom is one way to get a girl in there, even if it’s because you know he works out and if threw that back at you, you would probably lose a rib because of the sheer force. Not that he would actually do that - he throws it back to Chan who looks at the two of you like you are a resident married couple.

No that you have to know that. “Get back here!”

Yeah, his bedroom. You have a lot of memories there. From getting to know him in there, and finally understanding what goes on in his deep, dark mind, all the way to watching horror movies together and eventually sleeping in his bed together.

On your demand that is. You think Changbin has it in him to ask if you want to stay over? The poor boy could barely get out 4 words about his feelings, yet alone ask you something like sleep in my bed or even just stay over, and he would stay on the couch.

“Your bed is so comfortable.” Your words, like always, catch him off guard. He was working on a song with both Jisung and Chan, and he had the lucky job of producing the final product. “Let me sleep here.”

Changbin avoids having another internal meltdown and deals with this by not actually dealing with it at all. He nods, noticing that you’re pretty comfortable already. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, slightly questioning his response. Did you expect him to say yes? Probably not. Changbin gave you the impression he liked his personal space. Luckily he knew he would be pretty boring tonight and would be up to the early hours of the morning, so letting you sleep meant he could get on with the song without the recurring thought of you. “I bet girls ask you to do this all the time.”

“Sure,” Changbin answers. You weren’t wrong, they used to, but he hadn’t even spoken to another girl since… you came into his life.

He has all of about ten minutes of actual music time before he realises you’re already asleep, tucked away in the corner of his bed under the black blanket he usually didn’t use because it got to hot.

You’re cute when you sleep. Changbin can’t help the warm feeling that spreads over him as he admires you from the other side of the room, smiling to himself as he tries his very best to get on with the song he wanted to.

He does have to stop a few times to look back at you, check you were okay and we’re too cold (or too hot, for that matter), but he finishes what he wanted to around 4am and practically collapses in the bed beside you without even considering whether he should have slept on the floor instead.

His eyes were too heavy and mind clouded by music to even consider that you were nothing but his friend and the few inches of space between the two of you was easily filled if one of you moved.

If both of you moved, well… it would mean you ended up with your head on his shoulder, his arm around you and resting on your waist.

“Sorry,” you say softly, lifting your body when you realise what position you’re in. Changbin was an active participant in that too, but you probably didn’t realise. It will forever remain a mystery which one of you initiated the (kind of) cuddling. “I didn’t mean to…”

Changbin shakes his head, pulling you back down to where you were before when he sees the numbers 07 on his clock at the end of his bed. He’s too tired to notice you place your arm over his chest, and he’s practically sleeping again when he mumbles to you that he’s okay with it. “It’s fine. I didn’t say anything.”

That’s practically where your relationship starts to change. Not that you both confessed your feelings to one another when you woke up later, but there was a definite shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

Things continue as normal, with a hint of a romantic feeling between the two of you, though neither of you address it. Changbin’s content with where you both are, even if he realises that he does get jealous of you and Felix, you and whoever isn’t him, because he most definitely has feelings towards you which reflect that of a boyfriend.

A boyfriend you already had, mind you.

“Do you remember when I got mad at you about the project?”

“Mhm.” Changbin was busy eating his noodles and didn’t pick up on the signs you were showing him. He tries to make a joke, since when he looks up you look a little sad. It was just the downturned lips and sparkly eyes. Glassy. Changbin means glassy. “You told me that you wouldn’t talk to me again.”

You hum, facing the table for a little longer than usual. “I was a bitch ‘cause my boyfriend and I broke up.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Changbin replies honestly. He should have expected it. You both hadn’t know each other that long then, and you already had broken up with your boyfriend? It surprises him. It angers him that someone hadn’t appreciated you enough to love you.

“Hwang Hyunjin?” His name burns some hatred into Changbin. That asshole? Yeah, everyone know who Hyunjin was. He didn’t realise you two dated, and he would have warned against it if he did know, even though you both weren’t that close. “Yeah, I should have realised that was going to end up that way.”

Of course Changbin reports this information back to Jisung (and Chan, since he was there) since the youngest had been the first to realise that Changbin was, you know, in love with you.

Even before Changbin. That little asshole figured it all from the silence of his own bedroom. Is it weird that he was listening through the walls to figure out just how his hyung felt towards the pretty girl who kept coming over. Then he shared it with Chan, who also had his suspicions, but kept it quiet.

“He said he didn’t love her,” Jisung retells a tale he heard from one of his other friends who knew Hyunjin from some society, Woojin. “What a dick.”

“You should tell her how you feel,” Chan interjects, seeing an opportunity for things to be made better.

Changbin, however, does not see things the same way. It’s probably his fear for the situation, a genuine worry that anyone who loves another has when it comes to confessing. “What if it makes things worse?”

“No, it won’t,” Jisung states, taking a bite from his apple.

“You sound sure.”

Jisung nods at Changbin’s words, finishing his bite before talking. The youngest, like most of the youngest in friendship groups, sees himself as a bit of a prodigy in relationships. Didn’t Changbin write the love songs? He did. Jisung nods again before confirming. “‘Cause I’m right.”

Changbin hopes Jisung’s right, too.

He’s a nervous wreck the entire day he plans to tell you how he feels.

Probably the fear of rejection, no matter how much Jisung told him that he wouldn’t be rejected. He asked to meet you at 1pm and he shows up twenty minutes early, expecting to be alone, but sees you sitting at the able you both claimed as your own in the cafe near to uni.

He panics briefly, walking away with his head hung low, though stops himself and walks back to you when he remembers that he’s doing this for more than just his own state of mind.

It’s so that you know not everyone is like Hwang Hyunjin, and you can have someone love you.

“Can we talk?” Changbin says, stopping beside the table with wide eyes.

“About what?” You look up to him and frown at his expression. Though you gesture of the seat opposite to you, Changbin takes a few moments to actually sit down. He’s surprised you already bought him coffee, and it’s exactly how he likes it too. “You’re the second person today who looks like they’re going to pass out on me. Seriously, are you okay, Changbin?”

“I’m fine,” Changbin answers.

The coffee is hot and burns his tongue a little. He tries his best not to react, staring at you with the most affection he can actually process. It’s for the best to tell you, and it won’t change things drastically. If you wanted to reject him, you wouldn’t have returned some of his signals. Whatever they were. Jisung was convinced they were there.

Fuck it. Changbin places his hands flat on the table when he realises that he needs to just say it rather than keep it as a thought in his mind.“I needed to admit to you that… I’ve seen you differently, recently.”

“Differently?”

You were clearly both on different wavelengths.

“I think I love you.”

“Love me?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was love but then I was thinking more about it and I realised that every time I’m with you, it’s like the sun has a single beam that is shining right down on me and I literally just want to stare at you and listen to you laugh and watch you smile because you are the very definition of what makes me happy and it’s hard for me to explain because I know how much you doubt yourself and you will never see yourself the way that I see you, but… I do love you, and there’s nothing in this world that I could want more than showing you that.”

Changbin could put that in a love song.

He’s breath is a little shaky as you look back at him without an answer. He doesn’t particularly need one, lest it be for you to admit that you do actually feel the same way towards him. He stops thinking about it, like he should have a long time ago, and asks you what he’s wanted to since you slept in his arms and you laughed at his jokes and you showed an interest in him that no one else ever had.

“So please, for the sake of my own sanity, will you be my girlfriend and let me show you the love that no one else has?”

He’s sure that no matter what answer you give to him, he’ll always love you anyway.

For you were the one that showed him what it’s like to have a different perspective on life, too.

You didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, but it was the same vice versa. The very definition for happiness in your own personal dictionary always had his name written down in it. Seo Changbin, the one who could love you back.

The song that never leaves your memory.

The key to a lock that was never opened before.

Saying no wasn’t an option.

You were a rainbow, and Changbin had been waiting for you the entire storm.

[bittysvalentines]

Would That I

From: @lizards-online

To: @pieandpucks

Sometimes in life, things are missed. Opportunities are lost, but as a whole we cannot stop moving. Still, something feels left behind, dropped in a time before. We keep going, with something lost and something gained, until life gives us our chance again,to take destiny’s chance to reconnect and find what is lost. 

At Samwell University resided one Dr. Jack Zimmermann, a professor of history with an affinity for ice sports and queer literature. His smile was kind and his hair was just beginning to hint at touches of grey. He was a hard grader, and his readings were long, but his passion for teaching and his love of his students always showed through in his work. Students left his classes better thinkers, harder workers, and with only the smallest crush on him. Okay sometimes, not so small. Even the straightest of men recognized that Dr.Jack Zimmermann was a resident hottie. Rumor had it that he was voted “Samwell’s Most Gorgeous” four years straight back in the day.  

 Jack shuffled a few papers at his podium so as to get them in order before the end of his lecture. “Everyone, thank you for your attention today, just remember if you want to earn some extra credit points, you can attend one of the alumni guest lectures that will be on campus this weekend, and then write a one page response on the speaker’s topic and your thoughts. I’ll be popping in to a couple of the speakers myself, so if you see me, don’t be afraid to say hello.” 

Jack began walking across the front of the classroom, dispersing flyers advertising the Alumni Symposium to be passed back. 

A student in the back of the room raised her hand, staring down at the flyer in her hand “Dr. Zimmermann, when did you graduate Samwell?”   

Jack paused for a moment. “2015. Why?”

“Well, I was just looking at the graduation year of some of these alumni, and it says here Eric Bittle Graduated in 2017. So that means you were only two years ahead of Eric Bittle when he went here!” 

The class erupted in murmurs and comments. Eric Bittle was one of Samwell’s most famous alumni. He led Samwell to the Frozen Four his senior year, while being the first out NCAA hockey captain, was drafted by the Falconers and was the first openly LGBT+ player in the league. He won the Stanley Cup his rookie year (first of many) along with the Calder and Art Ross. Even outside of hockey he was famous for his witty vlog which evolved from a cooking vlog to a hockey, cooking and life blog with now over 18 million followers from all walks of life. 

Jack swallowed hard. Yes, it was true, his time at Samwell and Eric Bittle’s time did overlap by two years, and in fact, during those two years, he ran into Eric all the time. They were...friends. Shitty made sure of that. Jack would watch the hockey team’s games, not only to support Shitty, but to watch Eric weave and maneuver across the ice unlike anyone else. Even though Jack had decided against playing in college, he never did lose his love of the game. Meanwhile Eric would hover about the library doing anything but homework when Jack was working. Plus, the semester they took a class together was definitely a bonding experience. But it had been a long time since they had spoken. After Jack graduated, he felt too awkward reaching out to someone who he had a massive crush on but was WAY out of his league. And when one month turned into two, and then one year turned into five, and five years into a decade, Jack had trouble remembering where all the time had gone.

“Hah. Uh, yes he was two years younger than me. We had a class together once.” Jack decided firmly against mentioning his large crush on the blond to his entire History 336 Seminar. 

The students in the room all lamented about how cool it was that their professor knew a celebrity. 

Jack closed the door to his office and scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a sigh. Would it be awkward to see Eric again? Would Eric even remember him? Probably not. It was just a youthful crush. Even if Eric was still as attractive and charming and wonderful as he was back in the day, Jack was far past his prime. He could just not go to that lecture, but he felt drawn to it, as if something wanted him to see Eric speak. Jack picked up his phone and dialed the most recent number. It picked up on the first ring. 

“What the FUCK is up Zimmermann, to what do I owe the pleasure of one of your rare and coveted calls? Are you in legal trouble? Did you kill someone? Did you kick a goose and now you’re losing your Canadian citizenship?” Shitty was Jack’s best friend. He was boisterous and energetic but genuine nonetheless. His words washed over Jack with a wave of excitement and familiarity. 

“Haha Shits. I’m good. And no, no geese, at least not this time. I was just wondering, would you want to come down to Samwell this weekend? There’s an alumni symposium going on, and I think you’d enjoy the speakers.” 

“Ah ha old Jackabelle misses me. Of fuckin course I’ll come down to the symposium, but I’ll warn ya man I’m not gonna sit through more than ONE old white man talk. ONE. Who's the lineup anyway?”   

“I can forward you the flyer but  just off the top of my head: there's the current head of the English department, Dr. Masawa, she’s gonna be talking about her book, um Dr. Atley is going to present some research, and um, Eric Bittle is going to be there.” 

“Bitty fucking Bittle? The myth, the man, the legend himself? Well fuck my ass and call me chicken we HAVE to go to that. It’s been like FOREVER since I’ve seen Bits. What a fucking beaut. We texted a bit last month but it's been like a year and some since I last got to hang with him. You know he’s got a daughter now?” 

“Oh. Uh, no?” A daughter. Jack’s head spinned. He knew he didn’t have a chance with Eric but he didn’t realize that Eric had gotten married and had a kid. That would’ve been big news right? Was Jack really that out of the loop? He needed to read the news more. 

“Yeah she’s fuckin adorable as fuck. Like, two, three now maybe? He posts pictures of her on Facebook like all the time.”

“That’s uh pretty cool. Listen Shits, I have to go I have a, uh, book to read. I’ll see you this weekend. You can stay at my place. Text you bye.”

“Bye Jac-” Jack hung up the phone before Shitty could fully say goodbye. Why did he feel like there was a pit in his stomach? He didn’t care that Eric Bittle was a married father. So what? It’s not like he had a chance with him anyway. What would he have done? Gone up to him after his speech and say “Hello, I had a crush on you in college, and then we never talked after I graduated. Want to go on a date?” Even if Jack had had the confidence to do so, it was literally impossible now because Eric was a married father, a professional hockey player, celebrity, and an A Level hottie. All Jack had was a doctorate, a wall of books and a million papers to grade. He wasn’t even in the shape he had been in when he was in college, so really, he didn’t have anything to offer. Jack should just shut out all the fantasies of those big brown eyes, and golden hair, and gorgeous toned legs. Gosh what was he doing? 

Jack crossed the room and slumped into his chair behind his desk and picked up a stack of papers sitting on a chair beside the desk. The best way to distract himself was to drown in work. 

Eric Bittle woke up at 6 a.m. Saturday morning to the sound of his daughter crying. He was tired and sore from his game the night before, and a bruise was starting to form on his left thigh due to a nasty check from a Bruins defenceman but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. 

Eric threw off his sheets and rushed into his daughter’s room. Allie was just about two and a half years old, and was in the midst of potty training. Unfortunately for him, Eric was also in the middle of the thralls of hockey season so a lot of the potty training fell on her daycare teachers. Being a single parent was tough. When his cousin Elizabeth had passed away, leaving her and her partner’s daughter to him, he had no idea what to do. He had been five years into his professional hockey career, out, single and totally unprepared for the hurdles of parenthood. 

He pushed open the door to the nursery to find his daughter sitting upright whimpering. “Oh you poor thing. Looks like we’re going to have to get you changed real quick now aren’t we Miss Allie?”

Eric brought her to the changing table and cleaned her and dressed her for the day. It was a little earlier in the morning than he had planned, but he needed to get a move on to get to Samwell in time for his guest lecture. Eric had reached out to his old advisor and she recommended him an education major who would be glad to watch his daughter while he spoke and mingled, not wanting to be away from her for the entirety of his day off. He dressed her in cute bunny socks and a yellow shirt and white pants. She was just about the cutest thing in the world. Soon Eric himself got dressed, packed a diaper bag and headed out. 

On his way Eric’s thoughts winded through his head. It had been quite some time since he’d been back to his alma mater. Samwell had been such an influential and formative place for him. From developing his hockey skills to coming into his own as a gay man. And even though he never did have a long lasting romantic relationship, the friendships he made there pushed him through his life and helped him become who he was. Thinking back to some of the people, he thought about the boys, Lardo, some of the other team captains, and his mind landed on one Jack Zimmermann. 

Eric had always had such a massive crush on Jack, with his boyband bangs, his droopy eyes, jaw that could cut glass and a behind that would give greek statues a run for their money. Eric had first met Jack through Shitty, but then subsequently kept running into him in the dining hall, gym and then one semester for a class. Jack would come to their games and Eric would watch him stack books in the campus library while he pretended to do homework, but always ended up back at the circulation desk, talking about everything and nothing until it closed. They had been friends, and Eric had had the largest crush on earth on the sad-eyed Canadian. But Jack was way out of Eric’s league.  He had been voted Samwell’s Most Beautiful for four years straight, and suitors were constantly trying to ask him out. And then Jack graduated, leaving Bitty yearning for what could have been. According to Shitty, Jack was a professor at Samwell, but the two hadn’t really kept in contact. After the fact, there had been some boys, some boyfriends, even some hookups, but nothing lasting more than a few months at a time. At 30 years old Eric Bittle had never been in a relationship longer than 9 months. 

The sight of Samwell pulled Eric out of his thoughts and Eric shook his head. He had things to do, and he wasn’t going to let ghosts from the past distract him from his job today: to speak about Samwell, sports, and his activism. 

Jack entered the packed auditorium with Shitty in tow. He smiled and waved to a few of his students while Shitty was speaking as if he was a physical manifestation of stream of consciousness. They took their seats in the front row reserved for faculty, staff and alumni. 

“I wonder what he’s gonna talk about. I hope he brings up all the swawesome shit the SMH did. Like that one kegster when-” 

“Wait Shits shhh there he is” Jack cut Shitty off. 

Eric Bittle walked onto the stage with a mic affixed to his shirt. He wore tight fitting navy blue slacks that highlighted just how well the NHL had bulked him up. His top two shirt buttons were unbuttoned on his white and navy blue patterned shirt. The sleeves were rolled up ¾ of the way showing off the definition in his arms. Jack’s throat immediately went dry with his face getting more red as the moments ticked on. 

Fuck. Eric Bittle was even hotter than he remembered and was a million times more attractive in person than he had been in promotional pictures. And his voice, the accent was so cute! Keep it together Zimmermann, that’s a married man. Jack was going to have a hard time sitting through this entire speech. 

  Fuck. Eric walked on stage, scanning the audience and almost immediately his eyes landed on one Jack Zimmermann. He was wearing a tweed jacket, with glasses and his hair was just a touch grey. Time had been very kind to Jack. Eric’s throat became dry as he stumbled his way through his introduction. Shit Jack was in the front row. How was Eric going to concentrate when the hottest man in the world was right in front of him, watching him speak for an hour and a half. 

Clapping. Jack was clapping. He zoned back in after having not actually comprehended a single word for the past 90 minutes. He had just sat and stared at the most gorgeous man he had ever seen and tried not to get a boner. Shitty was speaking to him. Jack needed to respond. 

“Yeah. He does look good in those pants” Shit. Probably not what Shitty asked him. 

“Not what I was talking about, but yeah you know what now that you mention it, mother fucker looks fresh as fuck! I gotta fuckin tell him those pants are doing it for him.” Shitty bolstered himself out of his chair, and up the steps and onto the stage where some faculty were gathering to congratulate him on his speech. Jack followed. 

“Eric Mother fucking Bittle” Shitty bellowed as he walked, Jack close behind, to where Eric stood, now holding a young baby girl on his hip as he spoke with alumni and faculty alike. 

Eric turned to face the two men and smiled. “Shitty B. Knight you best not be swearing around my daughter like that. And Jack, it’s good to see you. It’s been awhile.”

“Fuck yeah it has been. You two were adorable back in the day. You should’ve kept touch more!”  Shitty laughed. 

Jack smiled awkwardly. “Yeah it has been a bit hasn’t it? I’m sorry I never kept touch. Congrats on the hockey, and the Stanley Cup, and the marriage and uh, kid.” 

Eric’s face twisted into a confused half smile. “Marriage? Jack Zimmermann I am not married. I was her godfather. Life happened and now I’m her Daddy.” Eric looked at her, and kissed her forehead softly.

Jack’s brain short circuited. Not...married? “Oh so are you…”

“No I’m not seeing anyone. I’m doing quite fine with her all by myself.” Eric blushed. 

“Okay I see where this is going, I’m gonna back out of this convo..” Shitty etched away from the two men. The latter hardly noticing. 

Jack awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. “In all honesty, Eric, remember all those years ago, when we went to Samwell together. I had the biggest crush on you, but you were so out of league I never did anything about it. I should have, but I was a bit of a coward.”

Eric’s face turned a bright shade of pink as he stammered out a response. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann! You had a crush on me back then? I’ll have you know I pined for you for two whole years thinking you were straight until someone told me YEARS later that you weren’t, and then when I did realize you were an option, I never thought in a million years that you would be in my league anyway. You’re meaning to tell me you had a crush on me that entire time?” 

Jack blushed furiously. “We both had crushes on eachother I guess. I’m sorry I never made a move on you back then. If it means anything, I’d like to uh make one now.”

“Well how about our timing. Gladly Jack. Here, ” Eric pulled out his phone with one hand, careful not to disturb Allie, and handed it over to Jack. “ text me.” 

Jack put his number into the phone and texted himself. “In the meantime, would you like to catch up? It’s been a long time.”

Unbeknownst to the two men, several students stood by in shock, watching their professor flirt with and score a date with a literal celebrity. Two in the front high fived. “Get it Dr. Zimmermann!”

[strugglingclassicist]

35-39-41 for your University ask :))

thank you anon!!!

35: Do you think you study enough?

eh, not for my courses, no. I’ve found it difficult to create the proper structure, especially to do what I need to do to study the language latin, so my grammar and vocabulary is really shit:/ Part of the problem has also been that I’ve found it difficult to learn with the methods we’ve been taught and encouraged in. Lately I’ve looked into alternatives, and it is slowly paying off I think!

I have always gone above and beyond when it comes to extracurricular learning tho. At the classics department here there’s for example been very regular research seminars, where I’ve always showed up, often as the only undergrad. I really like that it gives me the opportunity to see what is and can be done within this field, and also hear about stuff I otherwise might not have encountered! In general I really enjoy showing up to different talks and lectures, both at and outside of uni, when it’s not for a class I have to pass. I feel like it gives me the freedom to just enjoy learning for the sake of learning, without any pressure that I have to understand all of it! and in the end, it does also go into the amount of accumulated knowledge which in one way or the other has payed off!

39: Are you involved in any clubs/societies/extracurriculars?

Yes, I’m part of a sort of student’s council for the classics department. We organise social and social-academic stuff for the students but also as a medium between admin/staff and the students. I joined sometime my first semester, and it’s been very rewarding!

41: What is an interesting subject that you would never study yourself?

hmmm there are lots of subject I’d like to study closer, and might do in some way or another as well. The least likely one is probably maths tho. I really loved it in school and I’ve kind of missed it since. I might look a bit into it, but i think my background and temperament makes me more inclined to do more within humanities/social sciences and I’ll probably never get to study maths properly at uni:/

[wintersxsoul]

You Saw Me (3)

Summary: You have the life you’d always dreamt of. The job of your dreams, the perfect boyfriend and the best group of friends. But what happens when that life is not enough and your soulmate is not who you thought it would be?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Italics are flashbacks.

A/N: My lovely @all1e23 is the beta for this series so give her some love because she has to put up with my infinite bullshit because my brain was fried. A reblog and comment are always appreciated and what feeds my soul to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this as much as I am. In order to be tagged, please send an ask, I won’t be counting comments/reblogs or pm, I am a mess and forget it so please do it!

“I don’t understand why they haven’t showed up…” You asked more to yourself than to Jake, staring at the ceiling of your dorm. He rolled on the bed and leaned his head in your chest, smiling when you traced his jawline with your fingers and stroked a few strands of hair.

“What do you mean, peaches?” He placed his hand on your cheek and you looked at him adoringly, smiling tenderly at his lovestruck expression.

“The soulmate mark dude, why don’t we have it?” He frowned at you and sat on the bed, holding your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“We don’t have to be soulmates to know that we are together, to know that my heart beats only for you…” You closed your eyes and sighed, taking in his words. Jake pressed his forehead to yours and you opened your eyes, finding his big green eyes glancing at you.

“Jake, I don’t need them either to know that I am totally in love with you, but I want you to be the one, I really do.” He smiled and pressed his soft lips to yours, a soft groan leaving him when you pressed his body against the mattress, your legs straddling him, your hair cascading on your face covering half of it. Jake pushed your hair back, placing it behind your ear and raised his head to kiss you again, more fervently, passionately, pouring all his love for you, making your heart flutter.

“I love you so much, my sweet peach.”

“What are you thinking about, peaches?” You smiled into your cup of coffee and held your head back so he could kiss you on the forehead, as he always did on the mornings. You placed the mug on the counter and grabbed the mug that was in front of you.

“I went to that organic store that is a few blocks away from Tasha’s house and bought that matcha green tea powder you love so much…” You handed him the iced coffee mix, smiling at him widely.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He took a seat next to you and drank his frappe in two gulps, setting down the mug and putting down yours as well. He looked at his watch and smirked, muttering something about having ten minutes more right before crashing his lips against yours.

You stood up and sat with his help on the counter, opening your legs so he could stand between them.

“Jake...p-please…” You stopped him before the situation got more heated, you really had to leave for work earlier today because you had to prepare a lecture you had forgotten to do last night.

He stepped back and helped you down, straightening his clothes and helping you with yours.

“Oh I didn’t tell you, Orion, one of my kids, drew me a picture of your favorite constellation.” He took out a paper from his case and handed it to you, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“This is so sweet!! I really have to go back to your class one day.” You went to the fridge and sticked the drawing of the pisces constellation.

All the way to the car, he was silent, the sweet moment on the kitchen seemed to be forgotten.

“Y/N, I was thinking and...maybe we should talk about us?” You stopped dead in your tracks, making him stop as well since you were holding hands. It was the first time in seven years he had said those words and you felt your heart drop to your feet, your face showing the pain you were feeling.

“Hey, hey peaches, it’s nothing bad. Nothing to worry about!” You sighed relieved when you read his expression. He was a terrible liar and also hated to lie, so all kinds of worries and doubts left your mind immediately.

“I was just wondering that after all this time together, maybe we should...I don’t know, move in together?” He shrugged trying to appear calmed and nonchalant, but you knew that deep down he was as nervous as the first time he asked you out.

You stared at him silent, your eyes widening when the words sunk in. Moving in? If you thought about it, it really made sense. You were both adults with stable jobs and you almost lived together already, but why did the idea of actually moving in with him shocked you so much?

“I...I don’t know, you’ve caught me off guard dude.” You started walking again, your legs finally responding to your brain.

“You don’t have to answer straight away, it was just a thought I’ve had for a while and wanted to know your opinion.”

“Ugh, you really are the best.” You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him goodbye, waving at him once you fasten your seatbelt and started the engine.

The whole group was totally hammered the day you introduced Jake to them, walking hand in hand to Bucky, Sammy and Stevie’s apartment. Friday nights were the group’s night, all of you meeting at the same place and doing the same stuff. But every night felt different, it felt like a new beginning.

Everyone adored Jake, him and Bucky miraculously hitting it off immediately and they all turned into besties. Nat elbowed you, her drunken state obvious, and leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Is he...is it him?” You felt a bit of sadness in the tone of her voice but you shrugged it off, probably it was the buzz already clouding your mind. You shook your head but smiled.

“No, at least not yet!” You said animatedly, totally missing Nat’s change of expression. A hopeful smile crossing her face.

“Are you planning on moving out? Because I really love your apartment and it would be a pity to miss the opportunity to live there…”

“Nat, focus please.”

“Hey, all I’m trying to say is that you maybe should, you practically live together.” You shrugged agreeing with her because she was right. It was the right thing to do, after all, you really did practically live together.

After months of planning and discussing, you decided to move into Jake’s apartment. It was closer to campus and it was way much bigger than yours.

A strong knock at your door startled you, loud voices echoing in your half empty apartment. You’d been packing for almost three weeks, every day you had to fight with yourself to pack at least a box or two. Everything in there had a memory attached, every corner, every window, everything. You looked at your friends, and smiled widely, they were the comfort you needed right now.

“If you don’t want to go, why are you doing it?” Sam handed you a beer while he sat on the floor next to you, both of you looking at your friends.

“I don’t know Sammy, it was the right thing to do.” You frowned when you saw Steve and Bucky fighting in the kitchen because it was something rare to witness. Usually it was Nat fighting with Bucky or with Steve, but never them. Nat was sitting on the windowsill talking to Peggy, who was sitting down on the fire escape, both of them laughing lightly, like they had no cares in the world.

“...so are you?” You looked back at Sam and frowned, not knowing what he meant at all.

“I zoned out, what were you saying?”

“I was telling you that Bucky finally opened his piano academy, and the inauguration is on Sunday. So I was asking you if you were planning on coming at all.” You glanced at Bucky and caught a glimpse of red on his left arm, and you were certain that he had never mentioned that he had a tattoo.

“Yes, I’m going. Jake told me that he wanted to support him and that he wanted me to go as well, so yes.”

“Where is he?”

“He had to leave to Chicago for a few days, there’s a seminar for school teachers and he had to attend.” Sam hummed and stood up, patting Steve’s shoulder and grabbing another beer from the fridge.

You scanned the whole room again, sighing nostalgically. You were really going to miss your apartment but you were never gonna miss your real home, and that wasn’t a roof and four walls.

[gwoongi]

ways to say i love you (07)

jung hoseok / reader genre: ghost au, angst rating: mature words: 2.5k warnings: character death, reference to a past suicide, mental health mentions, ghost hoseok, it’s a big ball of angst and i’m really sorry :( a/n: ways to say i love you has come to an end !!!! thanks for joining me on this painful angst series :’) please read the others on my masterlist + listen to the songs/vibes attached to all of ‘em :D (the end is super inspired by goblin)

➸ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Like, properly say it; because they’ve said it before, but today they say it one last time, when it’s the only thing left to say.

⚠️ this story is NOT intended to glamorise mental health or suicide, and this story should be approached with caution if topics such as those offend or upset. thank u sm for following this series <3

It started with a median.

There had been a time where you prided yourself on your disbelief in an afterlife, dismissing medians on television, laughing at ghost hunters and paranormal movies depicting demons and ghouls climbing out of screens. Although now, those times seem to long ago, phantom memories - even the person you were in those memories seem to be different, as though looking into the mind of a stranger, disconnected and vacant. 

Seokjin had told you that was a coping mechanism. Hyojung assured you it was normal. Your sister said it was mental illness.

After the loss of Hoseok, you didn’t know what to think anymore. After the loss of the love of your life, thinking just became pointless.

When the news of Hoseok’s passing had reached you, it had reached you last. At least everybody in your close circle of friends knew a few hours before you, Hoseok’s family and Jeongguk who had found him being the first who found out almost a day before. The absence of Hoseok for those long and tortuous hours were ones you misjudged. You thought he was going back to Gwangju to see his family for the weekend. Seokjin thought he was with you. Jeongguk had returned to his shared flat and found the truth hanging.

The only reason as to why you were last was because nobody knew how you would react. Amongst the chaos and shock that was Hoseok’s death, the reaction that would be drawn from you would change everything. Looking back at it, you even remember where you were and when it had happened, when the pin dropped. Originally, they wanted Jeongguk to tell you, but, overcome with grief, he sent Yoongi instead. You will never, ever forget the look on Yoongi’s face as you opened the door, and the news followed a cup of tea and an unexpected, clueless, and genuine smile had settled on your lips. “What are you doing here?” you had asked, “is everything okay?” He’d said nothing, and then broke down when you asked if he’d heard from Hoseok this weekend. He’s missing my calls. Has he contacted you?

Even after the funeral, after the original shock and after the news had been broken out around University, people still didn’t know how to act around you. The Hoseok Subject was never spoken about or touched upon. Pictures of Hoseok were turned over or taken down when you came over, his name buried with him in the pretty cemetery by the river. It took some time, a real long time, but eventually, the pain began to ever so slightly fade; only to come rushing back again like the sudden pull of the tide when Seulgi had approached your booth in the dorm common room with a leaflet about a median.

You don’t know why you went.

Hyojung had come, too, as emotional support and because she wanted to be there to see if it was as real as Seulgi and the leaflet were making it out to be. You hadn’t even booked a session, turning up unannounced and anonymous for the meeting in one of the older lecture rooms on campus. The question of why and how a median was permitted onto campus was never addressed - you just had to see and hear it for yourself. Nothing had come out of it, and you were glad to keep it that way. That was until the median called out for a Y/N, and your heart sank.

“There’s a Hoseok in the room, and he’s asking for a Y/N...is there...a Y/N here?”

You had no reaction other than paralysed silence. Hyojung was scandalised, angry and confused. The median surely must have heard about Hoseok’s death here and that’s why the session was on campus. She said all of this accusingly, crying in hysterics, this is wrong, how can you do this to someone in grieving?

You left the lecture hall, leaving a piece of you behind with it.

Since that day, you’d returned back to the comfort of your bedroom, leaving for your lectures only. Seminars were skipped in silence and the teachers understood, sending emails to cover for it, and the notifications piled up like the tissues in the dustbin. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that the event with the median was a scam, something set up as a sick practical joke, you couldn’t shake it off. What if’s and buts whirled around in your head, chaotic, loud, invasive and sad.

Hoseok was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. But what if you had stayed -? What if it was true? What if you just missed your last, and final opportunity to say goodbye?

(Presently).

“Why are you here? All of you?”

“We never left.”

You blink.

“Does it...does it hurt? Dying?”

You close your eyes slowly. “Quicker than falling asleep.” And exhale.

Something deep into your apartment bumps. 

The noise is quiet whilst still being loud enough to bounce off the volume of the movie, playing quietly on your television screen sitting on top of your desk. Lately, your living room has been pulled into your bedroom, all rooms besides the connecting ensuite now in one. Phone calls from worried friends and family were set to silent and on days where the front door rang, it remained closed. Like you did many months ago, all you need right now is the space. Hyojung had told them why. They didn’t blame you.

Sniffing and wiping your eye with the side of your hand, you push the covers folded up around your breasts down and kick your feet to the floor, staring towards your bedroom door as if probing it for answers. Silence, and then another noise. On a normal day, this might alarm you, but your body is numb, aching and tired, and so you move towards the door without thinking and pull it open, stepping out into the hall. A glance in either direction shows no immediate threat, and you’re too lazy, too tired and too unbothered to step out to investigate. The noise is likely somebody upstairs or down, and if it is an intruder here to kill you, then what do you have to lose?

You move back into your bedroom, shutting the door gently. The bathroom rope-light swings in the breeze from the door moving and you slip into the bathroom quickly. Light floods the box room, illuminating the exhaustion on your face. You look ghastly, sunken and stale. You feel it too. Depression clings to you, life moves outside but stills in. God, you feel so ugly, so worthless and disgusting and alone - splashing your face with cold water, you gasp in the air like you’re depending on the taste, passing up looking at your reflection in the mirror in fear of what you’ll see staring back. When the bathroom light is turned off and you shut the door behind you, you turn to shuffle back into your bedroom and pause.

There is somebody by the window. It’s undeniable, real and solid- but you blink several times, wondering if it’s just a dream. Nothing registers in your body, no reflex to scream or panic. Instead, you simply stare.

The silhouette against the window shuffles, anxious, and then steps into the light. For a while you say nothing, staring in a stunned silence as the figure reveals itself. It has to be a dream. This is a dream. You’ve dreamt it a hundred times. You’ve dreamt Hoseok stepping towards you. You don’t know what to think.

“Hobi,” you say, lifeless. “Am I...dreaming?”

“Baby-” Footsteps across the carpet. Moves like him. Sounds like him. “Oh, my baby girl.” Something cold touches you, but something familiar. Old friends. Old lovers, fleshy hands. Feels like him. “My beautiful girl.”

“Hobi. Hobi?” you stumble. The Hoseok before you watches your eyes fill with tears instantly, and the tightness in your throat he can visibly see causing your hands to tremble. “Hoseok? Am I. Am I dreaming? Am I sleeping?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he settles with. Maybe that’s for the best, maybe that will calm you down. His hands engulf your own, massaging the shakes to sleep. “You’re dreaming, baby.”

“You. You feel so real,” you choke. “Fuck. Hoseok, fuck, what’s happening, why does it feel real-”

“Please-”

“I’m scared, wait, what’s happening, Hoseok-?”

The hands you felt on your hands move to your arms. A tightness follows, like he’s holding you. He did this, he was good at calming you down with his hands on your arms and lips on yours, whispers in mouths. This time he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not now. Not again, never again.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you insist, tears pouring out of your eyes. “You’re. You. Baby, you died, you left me, you left us, why did you. Where did you. Baby, Hoseok, what...?”

“Calm down, Y/N, calm down baby, okay?” Hoseok whispers comfortingly. “Capture your breath, and then we’ll talk okay? I don’t have too long left.”

This repeats for a little while, as Hoseok follows a method he used to when he tried to calm you down. After three long and amazing years of dating, Hoseok had learned what worked and what didn’t, what to say and what not to. The crazy thing about love is how you dedicate everything to getting to know that other person inside and out, learning their secrets and exploring interests, making memories to remember and frame and tell kids about. There was a time when Hoseok thought about all of that, and a time where he could have had it.

“Is it really you?” you ask quietly, after several long minutes of Hoseok holding your head in his hands and bringing you out of the storm onto the calm shore. “I’m not going crazy?”

“It’s me,” Hoseok promises, smiling as best as he can. You’re crying, maybe you can’t see his face. His throat feels hot, tight and firm.

“I miss you.” You rasp out your words, gasping for air every few seconds, “I miss you so much, Hoseok. Why did you leave me, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I. I thought you were going to your parents for the weekend, but. But Jeongguk found you and- why did you lie to me? Hobi, why…? Was, was it me?”

“No.” Hoseok grabs your hands tightly. “Don’t ever say that. It was never, ever your fault. Not at all, okay? Don’t think that.”

“Then why?”

Hoseok can’t think. “I don’t want you to think it was your fault, okay? You were- you are, everything to me. You were the light of my life. But, fuck, I was so unhappy. And I didn’t know how to stop being unhappy. I hurt. It hurt me. I was hurting everybody around me in my own little way. Every time I would tell you that I was doing extra readings at the dorm, all I was doing was struggling, thinking about how unhappy I felt even though I was surrounded by people who made me feel worth it. And you all deserved so much better. Still, you deserve so much better.”

“Jeongguk found you. None of us knew you were hurting, Hobi, I didn’t know. We should have noticed the signs, I should have been more careful.”

“No. I was good at hiding it, I never wanted you to worry.”

Suddenly Hoseok’s eyes widen, his hands stroking your hair pausing. With a quick exhale of breath, his smile tightens and he lets out a shaky sigh. “I haven’t got long left. I need to go soon.”

“Go? No, go where?” you frantically ask. “No, please Hobi, don’t leave me again. You can’t leave me again, please.”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay. I tried to call for you the other week, but you left,” Hoseok explains quickly.

“The median? That...that was you?”

Hoseok laughs quietly, “Yeah, baby. But, I get it, you never believed in all that stuff, huh. I should have known better. I had to come here, come to see you. I had to.”

I had to one last time.

“Please,” you whisper, grabbing his hands. “Please don’t leave me again. Please. I love you so much, please don’t leave me alone again. I need you.”

Hoseok shakes his head, attempting a curly smile that you can’t even see past the blur of his own tears. “Y/N L/N, you have been the love of my life. I have loved being your boyfriend and you are my best friend. I will never, ever forget how amazing you are.” Nodding, sniffing his tears back, Hoseok kisses your forehead. His lips are cold and wet, ghostlike and light. “I love you. I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry, for everything- none of it is your fault, okay, honey? Mmm?”

You feel his hands in your hair as you nod. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry too. I could have helped you.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Hoseok says. “You being happy, and you knowing that it was never your fault, will help me now. Okay?”

Sniffing loudly, you nod again. “Okay.”

For a long moment, Hoseok just stares: “I’m gonna miss you so much.” You mumble something in reply to him, and he sighs shakily, “but now, I have to go.”

You grab his hands as he tries to pull away. “Don’t leave me, you’re leaving me.”

“I never left. I’ll always be here, watching over you. Always, and forever.”

Whether or not Hoseok’s appearance was a dream or not to you, you wake up the next morning with a headache and the memory of him, his voice saying I love you on loop with an echo in your ears. The sun shines into the room, frost outside. On the desk there’s a glass of water, and a letter. He was right. He never left. Not really.

(“All is said and done?”

Hoseok steps into the long hallway and smiles at the hooded man. He’s seen who he needs to; several stops around to his family, one to Jeongguk who had it the worst with finding his body. The final one for you. Y/N, the love of his entire life, remembered in memories and gone in touch.

It’s okay.

“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. Death nods, his hood falling slightly as he points down the hallway with one hand and with the other, passes Hoseok a small cup. Hoseok reaches for it, exhaling gently. “Just like falling asleep.”

He drinks the contents and hands the cup back to Death, heading down the hallway. For a moment, his hand hovers above the handle. He’s said his piece on Earth. He’s done what he needs to do. Now, he can move on in peace.

He turns the handle. The hallway fills with white.)

disclaimer: the choice not to explicitly state a reason towards hoseok’s suicide is because i understand the subject is already touchy enough. with the anniversary of a close friend coming up, unfortunately during a time of my life where i’m going to be stressed due to university, i decided to store my feelings into the final piece of this series. in a way, this is to deal with my own grieving. i’d appreciate consideration into this fact + i also hope that everybody is doing okay with their own issues. please don’t be afraid to speak to somebody about your feelings- a friend, a stranger, me. please stay safe. please stay happy. thank u for everything

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

‘As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.

[theevilesteviled]

Time for my long-ass tribute post to the late great Rik Mayall, who would have been (should have been) 62 today. 

When I was little, I had an imaginary friend. Well, actually, being an only child meant that I had a massive collection of imaginary friends from all over the shop. Books, games, films, my own imagination. But the one that had the most profound effect on me (oftentimes without me even realising it) was without a doubt, Drop Dead Fred. I swear, from the age of about 9 or 10, I must have watched that movie a billion times. Well, I did until I hit high school anyway. But even though I didn’t watch it once during my five hellish years of senior education, Fred still had a huge impact on my life. I remembered him as an important, fundamental part of my childhood, and began referring to everyone I loved as Snotface. (Amusing to some, I don’t think my significant others were overly impressed, however.) I don’t know why I never watched it during that time, even though I talked and thought about it often. If I had to guess, I think it had something to do with the ending. It just seemed a little too sad. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t remember what I was up to when Rik passed away. A self-centered teenager with boy problems and a pretty serious Motley Crue obsession isn’t exactly the key demographic for heartfelt mourners, after all.

Now, some of you know this, some of you don’t - I’ve never been overly closed off about it - but from about the age of 15 onwards, my mental health was a disaster. I won’t get into that here, but suffice to say I didn’t get a diagnosis until I was 17, and didn’t get the right help and treatment I needed until I was about 18, almost 19. Once again Drop Dead Fred came to mind, though not in the most cheerful of circumstances. The only psychology clinic that could take my case was for children, so I was left feeling like Lizzie sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by children while the chaotic mess of OCD, Anxiety, and Dissociation I’d been walking around with for nearly 4 years wreaked havoc inside my mind. And taking my medication - something I’d steadfastly avoided for as long as possible, convinced it was akin to some sort of weakness - did feel a bit like taking those little green pills. Especially when the side effects left me in a pretty sorry state.

But I’ll admit I didn’t seriously think about Fred or Rik until last year, when I was shaking off the tail end of my dissociation and trying to adjust to a life without my mental illness taking up 90% of my time. Without that focus, I was a bit lost. I’d got into my university course somehow - I have no memory of this, I was fairly convinced the rest of the world was a two-dimensional figment of my imagination - and was doing pretty well, but it felt a bit odd since it was a writing course, and I wasn’t sure I still knew how. Anything I did write was depressing, clunky, and didn’t sound quite right. 

And look, I’m not going to sit here and say that Rik and Ade saved my life or anything like that. They didn’t. I did, and my medication did, and my therapy did. And I was happier by then. A bit clueless and directionless and not really sure of who I was without OCD driving my every move, but optimistic and cheerful. I even started making friends.

Still, even I have to agree that they did have a profound effect. One that began when, by chance, Drop Dead Fred showed up on my dash. I laughed, realised I hadn’t seen it in such a long time (privately noted that Fred looked a lot cuter than I remembered) and then googled the film. And then googled the actor. And then googled the Young Ones, because it rung a bell from some long-ago part of my childhood. I was there for Rik of course, but I burst into tears as soon as Vyvyan came onscreen and I realised one of my other old imaginary friends wasn’t some bizarre flu-induced fever dream. I binge-watched the entire first season, went out the next day and bought the box set, and watched it all in a day. But that wasn’t the truly amazing part. The amazing part was that I started to write. And it wasn’t...well. It wasn’t great, but it was fun. I realised I was sick of writing the depressing horror I’d been churning out since the age of 13. I wanted to write comedy. I still do, although whether or not I’m actually funny is still up for debate. But its also worth remembering that I’d just started uni, so the Young Ones spoke to me on a level that it might not have otherwise. I saw myself in Rick, I idolised Vyvyan, and realised I was attending lectures and seminars with thousands of Neils and a surprising number of Mikes. I got a bit more confident, dressed the way I wanted to, was unapologetically loud and outgoing, made more friends and tried to make an idiot out of myself at every possible opportunity. I had a fucking ball.

Aaaaand then, of course I joined the Scumbags. Well, first I wrote Closets. That dumpster fire of angst you all seem to like so much. But then I got invited into the fandom, and I wrote fics and made friends and eventually formed a sort of family. Six months later and I’m still knocking about the fandom, writing fic and hanging out with other Scumbags, running zines and working on horrible og comedy novels that’ll never go anywhere, and having a bloody good time. 

So as I sit here, watching Clair de Lune, eating custard with a fork, thinking about Rik and everything he did in those short 56 years and trying really hard not to cry about it because @neil-neil-orange-peel will give me a good telling off if I get sad on what’s supposed to be a happy day, I can’t help but think about what life might’ve been like if I never watched Drop Dead Fred at the impressionable age of 9. It wouldn’t be worse, necessarily - again, he didn’t save my life - but I think it would have been far less interesting. 

So happy birthday you mad bastard. Thanks for all the laughs, and I hope you’re having a good one, wherever you are. I’m sure you know we all love and miss you loads down here, but I think it bears repeating anyway. <3

[parayhoe]

Do You Wanna Talk it Through? | Part One

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Warnings: None! This story is just fluffy... for now.

“Come on, babe… take a study break.”

A hand reaches over the dining table to push your laptop screen down just enough to reveal Colton’s bright blue eyes gazing at you. He’s been patiently waiting for your attention all evening, which made your heart squeeze. Giving his signature lopsided smile, you know this probably wasn’t what he had in mind when you told him you’d be coming over to study.

“Colton…” You, sigh.

“Just 20 minutes…” He loosely holds your fingertips in his palms, “I don’t want you to burn out.”

He was always right. You’ve been swamped with school all week. If you weren’t swamped with school, you were swamped with work. And if you weren’t swamped with work, you were swamped with studying. This was one of the rare nights that neither you nor Colton had solid obligations to attend to… and you were stuck staring at a computer screen.

But, when you glance at the clock, you remember why. These five chapters weren’t going to memorize themselves if you wanted to get into graduate school.

“Colt, it’s getting late. If I don’t get this material down before I head home, I might never get it.” As much as it pains you to do so, your eyes wander from your boyfriend back to your PowerPoint material.

His eager tone softens, “Why don’t you just stay over then?”

“What?”Your head shoots up to stare at him, but his doesn’t bat an eye.

“Stay the night,” Colton stands up, taking your empty mug with him, “That way, you can cram more studying in.”

Colton gives you another lopsided smile and turns back to the sink, meticulously scrubbing every inch, giving you time to consider.

There were a couple of thoughts that persisted. For one, this was the first time Colton’s ever suggested to stay over. You two started dating a little over two months ago, so it wasn’t surprising how long it’s taken. But Colton was built like a puzzle. Every day, there was something new to be discovered about him. A new piece. And yet, these pieces still didn’t fit quite right, keeping you at arm’s length. You would be patient enough, you reasoned, but your friends are always surprised to hear that the relationship hasn’t gone farther than some over-the-clothes action.

“I can’t ask that much of you-”

“I really don’t mind,” He wipes the mug clean with the dishrag, “There’s no practice in the morning so I can cater to your every need. And, if you’re nice enough, I can chauffer you around so you can study to the very last minute.”

“Are you sure?” You lock eyes with him again as he walks back over. Leaning down, he gives you a quick, but meaningful kiss.

“Absolutely.”

Your smile matches his as you pull him in for another kiss. You could kiss this boy for days; you think as his lips scale yours, alternating between your upper and lower lip. He abruptly pulls back with a quiet ‘pop’ of the lips, and you suddenly remember that you had a question to answer, “Okay… I’ll stay over.”

Colton smiles brightly and rubs your back. He mumbles about getting everything ready, quickly kissing your cheek before leaving the room.

Suddenly, a huge weight is lifted off your shoulders. There’s less tension in your jaw now that you can just focus on studying. As per usual, Colton is as accommodating as expected, and it’s no wonder why he thought of it before you did. Returning your attention to your laptop, you fly through the lecture material. Colton pops in and out periodically to check on, gradually switching into nightwear. First, he transitions from his contacts to black framed glasses that you adored. Next, he switches into gray sweatpants that truly left little to imagination.

The studying winds down as you reach the last set of slides and you call it a night. As if he could sense your exhaustion, Colton reappears just as you put your laptop away, revealing his final change of the night. This man was fucking shirtless.

You shamelessly gawk at him for a moment. When you two first started dating, between his college degree and quiet demeanor, you had no idea he played hockey. It wasn’t until he casually mentioned having a hockey game in New York City that you finally realized. From then on, you intensely scoured the internet for something… anything. The philanthropy photos made you sure of your choice and the fight photos made you a little bothered in places. Just a little bit.

What the internet truly lacked was photos of Colton in his absolute fucking prime. His muscle definition was a given, but it was the fair hairs that trickled down past the sweatband that got to you. Along with the deep V, you finally realize why it’s called a happy trail.

Your once-over isn’t lost on him, but he only crinkles his eyes with a soft smile.

“I have some clothes you can borrow if you’d like to,” He disappears into the bedroom and you follow in.

You two were grown adults in a monogamous relationship. There was no reason for your heart to race like a teenager in sex ed. Impending doom of what was to come. Maybe not now, but eventually. Your blood pulses against your ears as the heat crawls up your neck.

Colton crouches over the drawers and you almost want to shout, ‘hail Mary.’ His wideset shoulder flex as he digs through clothing. And you get a front row seat to it all. Embarrassingly, it sinks in. This was your fucking boyfriend.

The boyfriend you haven’t had time for all night but dotes on you anyway. The one that doesn’t leave the parking lot until you’re in your apartment complex and texts you to wake up in time for your 8 am seminars. The one that calls you after every game, home or away, win or lose. Colton was your boyfriend that you could enjoy every moment of as he straightens up to hand you something to wear.

It’s a pair of black boxers and one of his old University of Alaska sweatshirts, old and rough from years of sentimental wear and use. You reach for it, allowing your fingers to linger over each other’s, “I hope these are okay…”

“It’s great,” You tilt your head up to kiss his jaw, “Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“It’s my pleasure,” You two chuckle awkwardly, but you take the opportunity to kiss his jaw again, rough against your lips. He involuntarily grips your hips, bumping pelvic bones. He chokes out, “If I remember correctly… it looks like this is our first sleepover.”

“It seems so,” Every muscle in your body coils ever so slightly, and you swear there is a glint in his eyes. This gives you a little courage, “I look forward to staying up all night as we spill our deepest darkest secrets.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, loosening his grip, “Not tonight.” And just like that, the moment is gone as fast as it came. Retreating to the sheets, he says, “You have a big exam tomorrow… so I don’t think there will be any secrets spilling tonight.”

Fair enough. You turn your back on him to the clothes. If anything was going to happen, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. But that doesn’t stop you from looking over your shoulder coyly, “Okay… no peeking then.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Colton gives you a wink, and everything is back to normal. He makes a show of leaning back on the headboard against his palms with his eyes closed, “No peeking around here.”

You snort at this and unbutton your pants. When you take a hop or two out of your jeans, you hear a quiet chuckle from the bed. Acutely aware of his eyes now, you peel off the rest of your jeans as gracefully as possible. You pull off your t-shirt and you swear you hear Colton let out a soft sigh. You can’t help but grin to yourself. You were no professional athlete. There were plenty of stretch marks and disproportionate body fat to go around, but it was really nice to hear that you invoke the same response that he did.

You reach back for your bra strap and start to feel a little self-conscious. When you get it off, you quickly slip on his sweatshirt.

Turning around, Colton has his eyes closed, eyebrows raised to let you know that he ‘didn’t sneak a peek.” You slip into the sheets and cuddle up against him. His eyes flutter open, pulling you into the little spoon. There were a lot of things you still didn’t know about Colton, but you were sure of one thing, he loved cuddling up more than anything. Being so warm and so close was soothing, so clearly, your love languages were compatible to say the least.

He tenderly kisses your neck as he briskly runs his hand down the side of your thigh, back up to your hip. You sigh in contentment almost embarrassingly and his chest rises and falls with a laugh, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Colton… I love you.”

There’s a brief silence as you both hold your breaths. In response, he wraps his arms around you tighter, breathing into your hair,

“I love you too.”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This was really a way for me to get out of my writer’s block and I thought that I might as well post it on here! Let me know what you guys think of it! I’ll post more if it seems like people are into it. Title is from Pink Lemonade by James Bay.

[mitchellvernon]

Blog #1 (Weeks 1-5)

Week One

In week one of audience studies, we looked at defining the term “audience” and were asked to think about some of our personal audience experiences over the course of our lives. Audiences have been important to me personally being a massive sports fan so I was immediately racking my brain to think of some of the audience experiences that have shaped me as a person. When I was sitting in class I came to the realization that audiences have helped to shape the culture around all of us and have personally given me some of the most lasting experiences of my life. In the seminar we were asked as a class to think of the most memorable audience experiences we have ever had, this questioned opened my eyes to the various forms of audience interactions that there are. Initially, when I heard this question all I could think about was sports, to my surprise my classmates all had varying ideas of the term audience and they all had incredibly different memories than what I had thought of. It was soon clear that audience participation had more than one simple definition, my classmates presented memories of seeing their favorite films, attending political rallies, live theater and even simple things such as street performances. These ideas changed the way I thought about audiences as a whole and forced me to broaden my personal definition of the term. 

When we look at audiences it is important to identify the different behavioral characteristics between different events. My immediate instinct of sports audiences behaves far different from that of a movie theatre audience. My example in the seminar was my experience at the 2014 Winter Classic in Michigan where my beloved Maple Leafs took on the Detroit Red Wings. I distinctly remember this audience being incredibly rowdy and energized throughout the entire course of the game, it seemed like a rabid mob of people who cared about nothing but the outcome of that game. On the other hand, I think about some of my movie-going experiences and it is not hard to contrast between the two forms of audience. In a movie theatre, you are expected to be quite so that everyone sharing the theatre can hear and enjoy every detail of the film. This goes to show that not all audience experiences are the same and oftentimes your experience depends on the event you are attending. 

In week one we were also asked to think about how audiences have changed over the course of generations. Initially, this question stumped me in lecture, I simply could not understand why audiences would act differently based on the period of time they are living in. It was not until our seminar where I started to understand the differences in generations more clearly. The first point made by a classmate was the difference in dress wear, In previous generations, it was the custom to dress up for events like sports or even movie outings. It would be incredibly unlikely to see a person wearing the jersey of their favorite Maple Leaf at a hockey game in 1940. Events like these were a chance to be seen and it was expected that if you were in attendance you would be dressed formally.

 I found this incredibly interesting as I think about my own movie theatre attire, these days most people would likely wear something comfortable like sweatpants and a warm sweater unless they were on a date, even then most times the dress wear could be described as far from formal. This point made me think of the behavior of audiences from these generations, some of these events took place during economic hardship therefore only the wealthy could attend something like a sporting event. The overflow of wealth at these events would create a sort of social dynamic where the event becomes less about the game and more about being seen and socializing with the people around you. Today a sporting event is about the game and nothing else, the people in attendance are there because they have an active interest in the outcome of the game in most cases and would like to experience it with like-minded individuals all devoted to cheering their hearts out for the team that they love. It is clear to see that no matter what generation you come from audiences have an important place in culture, although the behavioral norms may change the importance of gathering has never wavered. 

Another mind-blowing factor of the week one lesson is that we are always part of an audience. This idea truly made me think about how often I am a part of an audience over the course of a day. Social media and technology have only served to enhance this point as now there are literally billions of people behaving as a virtual audience that is present 24/7. Twitter immediately came to my mind when I thought about this as this online community, specifically the account of United States President Donald Trump. For the first time in history, we are watching the most powerful man in the world argue with his own critics using a public forum on a daily basis. It is incredible to think how large the audience is in this specific case, people who both agree with him, disagree or are generally indifferent are all witness to the most soberingly horrifying reality show that there has ever been. These online audiences also provide the common person with the ability to have an audience of millions at a moment's notice. This newfound voice gives everyone the opportunity to have the eyes of the world upon them, in the past audiences were reserved for people in the public eye or in the public in general, now I can stay in my room all day and if I produce interesting enough content I can have an audience of millions. 

Week one of audience studies opened my eyes to the true weight of audiences and their evolution over time. This lesson also provided me with key knowledge about my own personal audience experiences and allowed me the opportunity to compare and contrast with the experiences of my classmates. 

Week Two

With the introduction of week two content, we take a trip through the history of audiences and their behavior to uncover the similarities and differences between audience participation over the years. I found it incredibly interesting when as a class we talked about Greek audiences and how the Greeks “institutionalized” audience participation through drama. One of the most interesting aspects of Greek theatre was the audience itself, the intimate setting allowed for the audience to intervene with the play itself and be apart of the story. It is difficult to think of a comparable to this today if one were to attempt to participate with a theatrical production without being asked they would immediately be removed from the theatre. The closest comparable I can think of would be stand up comedy where the phenomenon of “hecklers” has been a large part of the art form from the beginning. It is mentioned in the lecture that Greek theatre was often political and drew into question the status quo throughout the play. This could be comparable to the audiences of today, recently for example at the play Hamilton the cast was aware that Vice President Mike Pence was in attendance, the cast decided to use this platform as a chance to comment on the current government and create commentary about the republican’s behavior. Audiences have always been a platform where the performers have had the chance to express their beliefs depending on the performance and is often used to incite social commentary. 

In the seminar, we discussed the “rowdy” nature of the Greek theatre crowds and were asked to draw comparables to today's audience participation. It is difficult to see a comparable within the art world as theatre and film are seen as places of respect and attentive listening in modern times. The only real comparison would be sports where the audience can interact with the players, chant names, yell profanity or do essentially whatever they wish while they are caught up in the heat of the match. As we spoke about in the lecture, after the development of Greek theatre and the culture of “rowdyism” there was a shift towards a more mediated audience in the 20th century. As hypothesized in the first week's blog this was partly because of financial standing. This is a common theme in the hockey world when referring to the Toronto Maple Leafs, the team is notorious for selling corporate seats to wealthy business people which often means the entire lower bowl of the audience is fairly reserved in their cheering while the upper bowl is typically where the common fan would find themselves and is where “rowdyism” is alive and well. In theatre, on the other hand, it is difficult to think of a theatrical production in today's day and age where it would be acceptable to be rowdy. As a class, we struggled to think of a solid example but we came to realize that there are some performances that were quite attentive listening is not the norm. For example a cirque du Soleil performance is incredibly dependant on crowd reactions, this type of performance would not be the same without an engaged and active audience. Over the course of the “rowdyism” discussion, I came to realize that crowd participation is completely dependant on what they are bearing witness to, that being said there is always a cultural norm of how one is to behave at each possible type of event. 

In week two we also looked into the idea of the three models of media which are mass, outcome, and agent. The first of which is outcome and it focuses on the idea that the public is being acted upon by the media, this theory hypothesizes that the media can control individuals with the content they display. A solid example of this would be the body-shaming notion that females have been fighting against for years now. For generations, the media has broadcast what they believe to be the “ideal woman” which is often skinny with beautiful face and appealing features. This representation happens to be very damaging to the female community as 99.9% of people do not look that way, this leads to women feeling worthless and forces them to compare themselves to the .01% who do look that way. The second model we learned is the “audience as mass” which sees audiences as indefinable large amounts of people subjecting themselves to varying types of media. This model comes with more questions than it does answers as it leaves us to wonder which types of people subject themselves to different types of media. I find it difficult to understand how one would determine the type of people involved with different forms and channels of media, personally, I live with four other people and we all consume completely different forms of media even though we are of the same age and gender… This model is an enigma. The final model is “audience as agent” this is the model that I find myself most interested in. Agent focuses on the idea that everyone decides what media they will consume based upon their own interests and personality. I agree strongly with this media model. For example, when I decide to open up Twitter in order to inform myself my timeline is made up of accounts that I am interested in there are very few people in the world with identical interests to mine therefore the collection of media that I consume on a platform like Twitter is uniquely my own. 

Week two was a loaded week where we took a time machine through the history books to examine audiences through the ages. We also held up a mirror to examine our own audience habits to further understand how each individual consumes media and participates as an audience in 2019. This was an incredibly important week of study and I look forward to week three of the term. 

Week Three

Week three brought with it some serious discussions about the media and the impact that it can have on the minds of the audience. I found it extremely interesting that Chapter 2 of the Sullivan text opens with the story of a school shooting in 2007 and the implications on the national beliefs regarding violent video games. This week's lesson spoke to the fact that the media can change the minds of millions of people and even without concrete facts can develop a narrative that may not even be true. I believe that this belief has never been more important than it is today. As the state of international politics continues to become more heated it becomes more and more important than the truth be the primary motive for the media. Depending on your political leanings there is a television network and a newspaper directed right at you. For example, my father finds himself on the political right so he subscribes to the Toronto Sun, a local paper with right-leaning bias, these media forms only serve to reinforce previous beliefs and provide no countering arguments to make the reader think. In the case of the video game hypothesis by Dr. Phil, there was no real evidence provided at all and the claims that he and others made was simply opinion, still the statement he made shaped the minds of millions and to this day violent video games are always part of the discussion when it comes to violent crimes. This week's lecture was incredibly topical and I cannot wait to dive further into it with my readers. 

In the seminar, we discussed how media shapes us individually and we were asked to estimate how often do we consume media over the course of the day. The initial thought of everyone in our class was television and news media so a lot of the initial answers ranged from about one to two hours per day. We were then asked to think about social media and technology and how that has changed our media consumption. It seemed as though we all simultaneously realized that we each consume far more media than we first anticipated. Personally, I cannot go more than 10 minutes without checking my phone for new information, even sitting down to write this blog is extremely difficult and I have to force myself to put my phone in another room. So with these thoughts in mind, our seminar collectively agreed that we likely averaged about 3 hours of media consumption per day. The only logical conclusion that can be drawn from this information is that at the very least the media that we individually consume on a daily basis consumes a large portion of our constant thought. Cooley was far ahead of his time in this regard with his beliefs that the environment around an individual shaped their mind and generates their personal beliefs. This theory was created in the 20th century far before the birth of the internet and social media so one could only assume that these are truths that have only amplified in recent years with technological development. These days children are receiving smart devices at such a young age that the phone essentially acts as an extension of the person, whatever that person views on their phone are personal to them and have a direct stream to their mind. We spoke in a lecture about the effects of films on human consciousness and how these fake realities could play a part in the beliefs of a person. A solid example of this would be the 2012 Aurora Colorado shooting inspired by a character from the film “The Dark Knight”, in this case the gunman was so consumed and inspired by the beliefs and actions of “the Joker” that he decided to commit one of the most horrifying and violent crimes of the decade. In this case, the message from the film caused such a traumatic change within this man that he was willing to commit murder, this is a clear example of the “audience as objects” theory. This type of behavior is exactly what has been feared by media theorists and it played out on a horrifying scale. 

The object theory has been a political tool used for generations and is the reason for the birth of propaganda. In the lecture, we spoke about propaganda and how it has been used to control nations for generations by showing the home country as right and strong while the enemies are made to look satanic and evil. This tactic is also being used in our home country right now with the federal election coming up this month. Since the campaign has begun there have been vicious attack ads made by all parties in order to discredit the opposition and make their party look superior. These tactics have been used for generations as the people making them believe that if they can make the enemy look as bad as possible then the mass majority will be on their side. This idea goes back to Cooley’s theory regarding the individual’s consumption of media and the belief that if a person is surrounded by a certain form of media than they will be likely to believe and agree with it. As we spoke about in lecture and as Lazarsfeld mentioned, the effects of these attack ads in the world of politics are more directed towards reinforcing someone’s beliefs rather than creating them. Therefore, these ads are meant to take a pre-existing idea and expand it within the individual's mind until they essentially know it to be true. For example in the ads presented by the Conservative party they often address Prime Minister Trudeau's corruption scandal involving SNC Lavalin, this is to reinforce the idea within the minds of voters that Trudeau is corrupt and is not to be trusted. The world of media is an integral part of politics and propaganda was born from the theory of audience as objects. 

Week three reinforced the idea of the audience as objects and generated strong examples that oftentimes the media can control the beliefs of the individual. This control can be both intentional as it is used in politics, or unintentional like the tragic movie-themed mass shooting in Aurora Colorado. 

Week Four

In week four our audience studies class has taken a deeper look into the relationship between the audience and the news media. I have looked into this relationship briefly in my previous blogs but this week is directly targeted at the topic. Public opinion is something that is always shifting and is a factor within every major news story. As the textbook displays the idea of public opinion goes all the way back to the 5th century BC, where opinions were shared orally and were only discussed locally with the people surrounding. Since the 1930s the idea of polling has shifted the entire idea of public opinion and made it far easier to grasp the general feeling of the people. That being said the polling technique does not always work, the majority of people will not be polled therefore the poll consists of a very small group within the society meaning the results may be incorrect. The most popular example of this is the 2016 United States election in which all of the early polls from the media showed that Hilary Clinton was the heavy favorite to win the election, as we now know these polls were accurate and resulted in global shock. As we spoke of in lecture public opinion has been something that has shifted in delivery method time and time again over the course of history. I found it incredibly interesting that such important historical moments such as the french revolution could be created in a salon where like-minded individuals voiced their displeasure and shared ideas. As we discussed this in seminar I came to believe that this was the height public opinion as debates were still an important and useful tool in changing the minds of the public. As we discussed in lecture polling has taken away the need for debate and given the impression of a definitive right answer. In my opinion, social media has only hurt the practice of debating because the platforms make it so difficult to broadcast your opinions without being completely chastised by others and severely damaging your reputation. In today's day and age public opinion has become a matter of “you are either with us or against us”. 

One of the most important factors of the lesson from this week was the idea of data gathering and which ways are right and wrong. This is crucial for the presentation of data because the wrong collection method can present the information in a completely false and inaccurate way. In the Sullivan text, we learn that “survey methodologists today use probability sampling to select the individuals for the sample. This means that individuals are selected at random from the population” (Sullivan, 63). This method allows for the best chance of fully grasping the public opinion because it hopefully would include people from every possible walk in life in order to gather accurate results. The other major issue that we went over regarding polling was the non-responding candidates. This can endanger the credibility of the pole as it did in the 2016 election where many Trump supporters refused to participate in the poll which heavily skewed the results. Recently I have been receiving personal texts from polling agents regarding the upcoming federal election from all of the major parties, my friends have been receiving the same texts and I hate to admit it but none of us responded to them.

This is a common theme with this sort of polling in my personal experience because it is so impersonal I feel as though I have no need to respond, therefore I will not.  In our seminar we spoke about the idea of technological advancements and their impact on polling, this is an incredibly important topic because we now have the ability to make polls accessible to everyone. The simple fact is our media needs to find an appropriate incentive for polling. Telephone interviews have also been popular for generations and have been effective in acquiring an adequate amount of data from each participant, but the problem still remains: why would I waste my time on an interview? The text says the typical interview lasts about 20 minutes which is considerably longer than I am willing to spend on the phone with anyone let alone a complete stranger, at my household my father would often pick up the phone answer maybe one or two questions then realize he has more important things to do. The idea of polling has been a massive leap forward for the data collection of public opinion but in my opinion, we still must develop a more efficient way of conducting the polls in order to ensure that the citizen is heard and the information is accurate. 

The spiral of silence idea from the reading is something that I found to be incredibly truthful. This theory is based around the fact that our desire to be accepted outweighs our desire to express our opinions. Never has there been a time where that is more truthful than today. This is especially true in the United States where it seems as though social media has become a public shaming ground for people with right-wing ideals. People like Ben Shapiro and Canadian Steven Crowder have received serious death threats for simply expressing their opinions on social platforms. This forces people with these opinions to stay silence in fear that their reputation or even worse maybe at stake if they express themselves.  It seems through the research done that people are more willing to discuss their minority opinions offline as if it were to be online it would be searchable and public domain. In my opinion, in order to maintain a free society free speech is of the utmost importance, people should able to express their opinions no matter how controversial they may be. I found this research incredibly enlightening and it answered many questions that I had been asking for years. 

The idea of public opinion is something that has changed time and time again over the course of history, and as we learned this week so has the way that we have expressed it. Through all the change though there has remained one truth which is: in order for a society to continue to progress opinions must not be discouraged. We as a race must continue to express ourselves and learn from each other in order to make the necessary changes that we will always need. 

Week Five

As we move into week five we take examine closely the concepts of media ratings and target marketing. As discussed previously the media ratings are a form of majority rules decision making. The shows that draw the largest audience stay on the air and the ones that do not are canceled. The audience in this case completely determines the networks daily programing and the television shows are in a constant battle with possible cancellation. These rating systems are essential to large companies looking to advertise, these ratings provide a clear view of when the best time to purchase advertising space would be. Since television networks rely on advertising revenue they are inclined to listen to the desires of the major corporations. To further dive into this weeks lesson we must first define the term political economy, in the text it is described as: “at its core, political economy focuses broadly on social theory by connecting the systems of the economy-the organization of the corporations, the structures of the marketplace and the behavior of the market players” (Sullivan, 78). With this knowledge, it is easier to pick apart the relationship between television networks, large corporations, and audiences. When thinking of this theory I often think about the monetization of the internet in recent years and how it is trying to find its footing within the advertising world. There are enormous amounts of content on the internet for essentially whatever you're looking for and there are youtube channels and websites which draw millions of eyes every day, some of these locations happen to be controversial. This begs the question should a company put morals above profit or is the advertising landscape an impersonal profit machine. The system of ratings allows for corporations to grasp what is worth investing in and allows them to determine what is media draws the most eyes, these ratings are easy to understand and have been trusted for generations. 

Enter Dallas W. Smythe… This academic claimed that the media itself was less interested in the importance of their content that they are creating and more interested in the advertising revenue that comes with a large audience. By this notion, the more interesting the content the more interested the viewer and by extent more money from the advertisers. Karl Marx, on the other hand, had come out with differing opinions about the media years before stating that the media is used as a tool to support a capitalist society. In my opinion they are both partially right, there are lighthearted productions that look to do nothing more than entertain the audience, but on the other hand, there is a large amount of media content with a serious agenda. The simple fact is the media is far too broad to be covered by one simple umbrella definition, but it all boils down to the fact that if it’s interesting enough people will watch and money will be made. This theory by Smythe creates the notion of audience commodification which essentially means that the media is selling attention. Sut Jhally, on the other hand, took this idea even further arguing that the audience is the labor force within the media industry, without them watching the advertisement the media would have no source of revenue. If I'm being honest sometimes watching advertisements does feel like a job but now that I think about the importance of advertisements as a means to maintaining the media landscape as a whole it seems far more reasonable than I once thought.   

It is simple to see that after week five of my ideas regarding media viewership have been forever changed. I used to think the advertisement was a waste of time with no importance whatsoever. Now I realize that the entire landscape of media was built on the back of advertisements and the content that I enjoy would be non-existent without the companies that are willing to buy our attention.

[academla]

Hi, i love your feed omg! I’m a freshman in college and I’m king of freaking out. All of my classes are heavy on reading and writing, which I love, but it gets overwhelming and sometimes i can’t finish all the reading I’m assigned. I’ve heard people say that in college it’s impossible to read everything and you just have to let it go, but is that true? I feel like I’m not being efficient or productive enough even though i spend forever studying! Is it normal to not be able to finish everything?

Alright so this is 5 months late, but in case anybody else is still curious, or this can help people in the future, I figured I’d respond anyway! I can’t speak for every single person, but based on my experience after six semesters of college, YES it is totally, totally, 100% normal! If I read every single thing assigned to me last semester, I’d probably still be trying to get caught up. You can still be a high-performing, high-achieving, hard-working student and not be able to finish readings or even assignments.

I would say that the way to manage that is mostly prioritizing (that’s self-explanatory; decide which readings are most important to read thoroughly and then the ones that you can probably skim), time management (try to plan out a reasonable reading schedule, giving yourself enough buffers to account for life things like a shitty day or oversleeping or just not feeling motivated), and some BS-ing. Now, by BS-ing I don’t mean cheating, I don’t mean faking, I don’t mean slacking off and hoping for the best. Unfortunately, the school system is structured in a way that sometimes it’s hard for students to focus on learning because they are so stressed out on needing to get the A.

By BS-ing (and that is probably a bad term), I mean that sometimes you have to skim, or pull out specific sections of the book that you can discuss in class and just kind of BS the discussion about the rest of it. Truthfully, a lot of professors (not all) don’t expect you to read 100 pages in a night when you’re taking 4-5 other classes and dealing with a ton of other stressors. They just want to know that you are making an effort to internalize the material and, even if it’s only a section of it, think critically and be able to discuss and write a paper that demonstrates your knowledge and thoughts on the subject. They realize you have lives (some of them do, at least). They can distinguish between a student who didn’t do the reading because they don’t give a shit, and a student who probably has a million other things going on in their life outside of class but still went to the effort to do some of the reading.

Point being, don’t feel guilty or unproductive if you do a little bit of BS-ing. It’s college. You’re an adult. You figure out what works for you. Maybe skimming, reading Sparknotes, and/or annotating one 4-page section really thoroughly to discuss in depth (and then pretend you’re just giving others a chance to speak after you’ve said your bit) is the best way to minimize stress. Hopefully you’re still able to do it in a way that the professor is aware of your capabilities, even if they can tell that perhaps you didn’t read the other 96 pages. And, if the class has papers, there’s your opportunity to prove that even if you didn’t do all the readings and have absolutely no intention ever to open that book, you are a good writer, a strong student, able to apply your knowledge and work hard, and motivated.

I’ll give you an example, because we all know I love my examples and I have one for pretty much every single scenario ever. 

In my psych of personality class, we had to do a textbook reading for every class and then write down 3 things from the reading. Now, I’m the most extra, overly talkative, outspoken student ever. I participate constantly to the point where professors are blatantly like, sooo is anyone but Edye going to speak? Please? Somebody?? Just raise your hand?

Even if I haven’t done the reading, I talk all the time. I might say something wrong, I piss my classmates off regularly because how dare I actually engage in the class, but I participate constantly in discussion. I find connections to make to the concepts in the readings even if I can’t recite the facts. In this situation, I had not even opened my textbook. The professor kind of gave me this look because I was just sitting there with a blank piece of paper. I said, “Yeah, to be honest, I definitely did not do any of the reading this week.”

She waved it off, smiled, and said, “You’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

Professors aren’t going to tear you to shreds if you miss a reading or two. If you are able to think critically, bring something to the table in discussion, and show that you are a dedicated student (which it sounds like you are), they’re going to cut you more of a break than someone who’s sitting there highlighting willy nilly right before the professor comes by to pretend that they did the reading. This doesn’t apply so much to big lecture classes, but I’m talking about seminars and smaller class settings with more discussion. 

I’m not saying to slack off, I’m not saying that if you do work hard and are able to manage studying and reading every last page that you shouldn’t or it’s a waste of time, I’m not advocating for cheating in any way. I’m also definitely not generalizing every single professor. I’ve gotten incredibly lucky thus far to have very understanding and accommodating professors (another reason I would recommend community college, because you get those small classes and finish your gen-eds at a fraction of the cost) but this definitely won’t work for all professors, classes, subjects, readings, etc.

Hopefully that helped a tiny bit! Let me know (all of you), if you did make it to the end, whether you have other tips or follow-up questions.

[onemuseleft]

for the au meme, if you’re still taking prompts: stevetony as hosts of a tv show

This is 50% inspired by Sports Night and 50% inspired by Robin from HIMYM. I amused myself way too much wrtiting this, I’m gonna be honest with you. Hopefully you will get at least a fraction as much amusement reading it as I did writing it. :)

****

Tony looked straight into the camera and smiled as saccharine a smile as he could manage when he was still barely able to keep his eyes open. “Welcome back to It’s too Fucking Early for This Oh My God New York Go the Fuck Back to Bed.”

“Tony,” Steve said from the other side of the anchor desk. “Don’t swear in front of the audience. You never know who could be watching.”

“Steve, it’s four-thirty in the morning and the ratings show that we typically have six viewers, two of whom are in men’s prisons and one of whom is your mother.” He raised his coffee cup to the camera. “Hi, Sarah!”

“Then don’t fucking swear in front of my mom, Tony, for fuck’s sake.” Steve smirked at the camera and ignored their producer, Sam Wilson, as he bitched them both out over their ear pieces. “Hi, mom. Anyway, as we probably should have already said by now: It’s time to Get Up and Go, New York!” He paused for a moment with his hand out and sincerely hoped they remembered to put the graphics up this time so he didn’t look like a complete idiot. “I’m Steve Rogers-”

“And I’m not wearing any pants,” Tony said as he took a long gulp of his coffee.

Steve turned his head a little, just enough to get a glimpse of the shiny red silk of Tony’s favorite pair of boxers, then turned to the camera with an easy smile. “He’s really not. Announcements like this may be why thirty percent of our viewers are incarcerated felons, we’ll have to look into that. In the meantime, we have a great show in store for you today. At the top of the news, an Amber Alert for two-year-old Anna May Watson-Parker was called off late last evening after the little girl was found to have somehow crawled onto the roof of her family’s apartment building. She was unharmed and reportedly only wanted to pet the pigeons. Thank goodness,” he added and Tony pulled his face out of his coffee long enough to echo him. “Hell’s Kitchen has reports of a vigilante calling himself The Barrister. So far there are three reported cases of a masked man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, who interrupts purse-snatchings and muggings to lecture the would-be criminals on how expensive their legal fees will be when they get caught. So far no one has been hurt and one precinct is even reporting that The Barrister convinced someone to turn themselves in.”

“Doing more than the cops are,” Tony said. “Good on you, Barrister. Please do not get shot, that would suck. Also, I think the American healthcare system is even more prohibitively expensive than our legal one, so please take a page out of your own book there.”

“After the break we’ll also have our guest, Robert Drake, author of the New York Times bestselling LGBTQIA mystery series The Ice-Man Cometh, and celebrity chefs Thor Odinson and James Logan will show up how to make a dish from their upcoming new cookbook called “All You Need is a Fire: Cooking Like Real Men. All this, and our new intern Kamala Khan will be presenting today’s item on our ongoing segment Sixty Things You Never Knew You Didn’t Know About New York.” Steve flashed a bright smile at the camera. “And since Jim Rhodes is off sick today, you’ll get to see me and Tony cover the sports segment while trying desperately to pretend like we care about any sport that isn’t baseball. Back after these commercials.”

“I hate both of you,” Sam said over the intercom as soon as they cut to commercial. 

Tony blew a kiss toward the sound room. “You’d be bored without us!”

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Steve asked even though he knew better.

Tony shrugged. “I was running late this morning.”

“We drove in together.”

“Yeah, but then I fell asleep in the bathroom and Jan said I could have pants or make-up.” Tony shrugged and flashed Steve a grin. “No one can see my ass but you and I know you don’t have any complaints.”

“If you flash New York, I’m going to be annoyed with you,” Steve said.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony leered at him over the top of his coffee mug. “New York gets an eyeful of The Starkster and your inner caveman goes all wild. You’d have to show everyone who I belonged to so you’d barely wait till the cameras were off before you dragged me off to an empty conference room-”

“Do I have to send you two to another sexual harassment seminar?” Sam demanded.

“I’m only harassing Steve, and he likes it.”

“Not at work, Tony, for the love of god, the interns can hear this. We’re back in ten.” 

“I will say that you not having any pants on does make things much more convenient for me,” Steve said brightly. He flashed Tony a wide smile, ignored Sam’s exasperated sigh and turned that smile back on the camera. “Welcome back! Tony still isn’t wearing any pants, and everyone here is really excited about that. Before we bring on our guests, we have a caller on the line for our City Culture segment, where we take calls from everyday New Yorkers like you, who call in to let us know about current events, neighborhood news and local fads. Caller, are you with us?”

“Hi, Steve, hi Tony.”

Tony sat up in his chair, mouth curved in a wide grin. “Jan! How’s my favorite fashionista?”

“Tired, Tony, this is obscene. I thought you did a morning show.”

“I mean, technically it is morning.”

“Hoda and Savannah don’t make me get up this early,” Jan said reproachfully. “Seriously, if we’re going to continue being friends, I need you to get a new job.”

Tony laughed a little. “There’s a limited number of opportunities for working with my boyfriend and not having to wear pants, unfortunately. Besides, my loyal fans at the correctional institution will be heartbroken if I leave.”

Jan made a rude noise. “Anyway, I don’t really have anything to say. Steve just asked me to call in and distract you for a minute so he could get the ring out without you noticing.”

“What-” Tony turned and froze as he saw Steve holding out a small velvet jewelry box. “What the shit-”

“Tony Stark-” Steve said and the crew lost their fucking minds. He could barely hear Sam yelling at him over all the shouting. 

The loudest yelling was definitely coming from Tony though. “Oh no!” he said “No! You did not just propose to me in front of half of New York while I’m not wearing any pants!”

Steve laughed. “I’ve been planning this for months, I can’t help it if you picked today to have a wardrobe malfunction.”

“In front of your mother!”

“Yup.” Steve waved at the camera. “By the way, mom, if Tony turns me down you’re not allowed to ever bake him another pie as long as he lives.”

Tony sputtered with laughter and finally set his coffee mug down on the desk with a heavy thud. He reached out between them and gripped Steve’s knee. “Oh my god, don’t take away the pies.”

Steve grinned and plucked the ring out of the box, then grabbed Tony’s hand off his knee to carefully slide the ring on. “No take-backs.”

“Holy shit I love you so much,” Tony said. He yanked hard on Steve’s hand, dragging him out of his seat and half into Tony’s lap. Tony grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, quick and light on the lips. “Yes, Steve, I’m going to marry the hell out of you.”

Steve took another kiss, a little slower, a little deeper, then pulled back. He gave Tony a grin - and god help him if he looked half as ridiculously happy as he felt just then - and straightened his shirt before turning back to the camera. “You heard it here first, popular morning talk show host Tony Stark is officially off the market. We’re moving over to Sports now, where the Giants probably managed not to fuck everything up, but I don’t know for sure because I hate football and no one’s queued up the cards for the next segment yet. So we’re going to cut to commercial for just a minute and when we get back my fiance is going to put on some pants and show us how to make a casserole over an open fire. Also we’ll see if I still have a job because I absolutely did not clear any of this with my producer. Thanks for joining us, we’ll be right back.”