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renjunfromthestars · 4 years

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more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom.

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh.

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you.

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think.

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other. Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front.

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago.

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.”

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles.

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it.

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result.

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,” you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.”

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits, and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met.

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears.

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore.

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion. “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone.

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.”

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward, It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten.

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches.

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”.

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised.

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other.

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store.

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it, thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.”

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night.

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity.

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair.

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy.

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster.

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now.

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned.

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes.

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him.

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!”

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair.

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge.

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance.

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you.

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo.

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally,

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be.

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face.

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked.

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!”

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away.

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea.

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently.

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital.

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final.

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper.

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?”

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went.

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while.

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him?

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing.

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing.

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top.

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death.

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine.

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom.

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?”

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting.

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone.

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.”

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment.

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best.

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him.

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head.

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.”

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers.

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor.

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic.

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?”

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel.

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.”

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you.

…

When you’re outside, it’s cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo.

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head.

“I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying.

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.”

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently.

“Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says.

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos.

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.”

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

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rainycitysworld · 4 years

Note

IRL college au what are the black bulls' majors and/or jobs?

Sorry this turned into a modern au where the bulls are really a center for abandoned kids who aged out of foster care. Sorry not sorry

Yami:

didn't go to college instead he went to a trade school and became a mechanic. He's really good and after working on his rich psuedodad Julius's car, Julius recommended him to all his friends. Made a killing and because he prefers living below his means he (with an investment from Julius) opened up a center for foster kids once they aged out to get resources. Something he knows he was lucky to have only because of Julius so he wants to give back.

Asta

Got in college on a track and fid scholarship (and a little academic help from Yuno). At first wants to be a cop to help people but again Yuno educates him on why that's not a good idea. Like I want to give him and modern yuno a rivalry goal like wizard king but I can't think of a good modern translation, sorry! Does a psychology majored because it's sort of interesting but kind of doesn't know why he's in college except for sports but once he graduates he becomes a firefighter.

Noelle

I think something like a marine biologist, I know that's cliche with her powers but hear me out. She's smart and hard-working and honestly has someone who majored in biology for better or worse Noelle has a very stereotypical biology major personality lol (at least at my school). I feel like her family disowned her and we're super abusive so she works hard to pull scholarships and work part time to support herself. Julius and Yami know her family so while she isn't a foster kid she needs some help time to time so she's still hangs at the center.

Luck

Stupid smart and gets into Greek like, probably an environmental studies major. Super smart and kind of breezes through college with good grades. Definitely in Greek life and him and magna were in a foster home together when they were younger and have a criminal record together.

Magna

He's not in college, instead he's Yami's apprentice working on cars. Eventually wants to save up enough to go to college and get a buisness degree to help Yami out. Yami overpays him so that he can put money away.

Charmy

In culinary school but she visits the center to practice recipes and give everyone free meals.

Finral

An English major, loves poetry, doesn't really know what to do with it yet but he thinks it would be fun to work as a teacher eventually. Also isn't a foster child but in a similar situation as Noelle and Yami liked having him around because he was helpful.

Vanessa

Fashion design was her major and right now she's designing for more commercial outlets but she's trying to build her own brand.

Henry

So I think Yami literally found Henry squatting in the center's building when he bought it and Henry was on the verge of death. Basically they find out he has an autoimmune disease so Yami makes him a deal that if he can watch over the center 24/7 he can live there for free with a stipend. Currently he's also enrolled in online school, he wants to become an architect.

Zora

Didn't go to college, he was homeless most of his life but liked writing and got his hands on an hold camera. After a long series of events he becomes a fairly successful freelance journalist who did stories on dangerous or hard to investigate stories.

Secre

A computer science major, likes building robots.

Grey

An art major, she likes doing clay sculptures

Gauche

Pre med, wants to be a pediatrician but works part time as a model for Vanessa

Gordon

A chemist for sure helped Yami with the center when it first opened.

Guys I'm not gonna lie this spawned off a whole au that once my laptop is fixed I'm going to write and I had to hold back a lot while writing this but if you're interested... Let me know

#black clover #black clover hc #black clover headcanons #yami sukehiro #zora ideale #charmy pappitson #grey #vanessa enoteca #gauche adlai #gordon agrippa #luck voltia #magna swing #noelle silva #asta #finral roulacase #secre swallowtail #henry legolant #ask

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skullsandwineglasses · 4 years

Text

The Graduate Experience in CDrama Go Go Squid

Besides being a really wholesome (albeit a little cliched) drama, it’s also a really relatable drama. I’ve never really related to shows, dramas, or movies that talked about high school life or college life because my experience was vastly different and a lot more underwhelming.

But Go Go Squid’s depiction of Tong Nian as a graduate-level computer science student who’s about to start her PhD is a simple but relatable one. Despite being a master’s student in China, her responsibilities as a student are a lot like mine here in North America. She travels to conferences, she presents at her school’s colloquium, she supervises tutorials, and invigilates exams.

Her schedule is flexible and largely self-directed, as seen when she’s able to make time to spend at Han Shangyan’s training center several times a week, and was even able to spontaneously fly out to Sanya for a weekend to see HSY. I had a friend in my department who flew out to Cuba for 5 days with her family in the middle of the semester because she was able to re-arrange her schedule as a grad student.

I also liked how it showed that you don’t need to work in a traditional biology or chemistry wet lab in order to be considered a STEM graduate research student. There are different forms of research, such as theoretical research, which can largely be done remotely. I relate to this as a psychology graduate student - a psychology graduate student who studies the psychology of narrative and conversation no less. It’s often difficult to explain to people what I research and why it’s valuable, so I really liked how the drama showed that these niche fields are still respectable and impressive. I also got a laugh when HSY’s step-mom asked him what Tong Nian was going to do after she graduates and he had no idea until he called her to ask, and she said that she was originally going to find work, but decided to continue with a PhD. I’ve had the same conversation so many times with relatives who keep asking what I’m going to do for a living, and why I’m still in school.

The drama shows that being a graduate student is a well-respected career path. Tong Nian is a gifted student who started university at 15 and is now about to graduate from her Master’s at 19/20. But as a gifted student, she chose to go into research instead of professional school. I often forget what an accomplishment it is to be a research student. Maybe it’s my impostor syndrome talking but it sometimes feel graduate school isn’t an achievement because the application process isn’t as a rigorous as say that of applying to a professional school such as medicine, dental or law. I came from a bachelor’s program that was unofficially a pre-med program. Over 70% of graduates from the program each year are admitted to medical school, and so going to graduate school for a Master’s is often viewed as being a backup plan. And so it often feels like doing research is undervalued and underappreciated. Of course, undergraduate students want to get as much research experience as they can in order to impress the admissions committee at medical schools, but research often isn’t seen as an attractive career option for these students. Either way, we need to remember higher education is a huge privilege that we tend to take for granted. There are many people who don’t have the means of attending university, and yet here I am complaining about feeling inadequate.

I think one of the most unrelatable part of the drama’s depiction of graduate life is how the lecture halls have windows where HSY can just stand outside with a bouquet of wild flowers and wave to Tong Nian as she invigilates an exam. Our lecture halls don’t have windows for this very reason - because it’s so distracting. Made for a cute scene though.

The other unrealistic aspect of the drama was how much time Tong Nian has. Yes, I said that grad students can be flexible with their schedule, but that doesn’t mean you’re not busy. You have lab meetings, one-on-one research meetings with your advisor at least twice a week to update on the progress of data collection and analysis, you have meetings with the undergraduate students you supervise, you attend talks, you write literature reviews to serve as the introduction for papers that you hope to submit to journals for publication, you write applications for grants and to attend conferences, you have meetings with the profs you TA for (which I suppose was briefly shown in Go Go Squid when all the TAs gathered together to hand in the exams they invigilated), and the list goes on. But this part of the drama is forgivable since you wouldn’t have a drama if the writers spent most of the time trying to create an accurate portrayal of grad life.

#go go squid #亲爱的热爱的 #yang zi #gradblr #grad life #杨紫 #psychology #psychology student #phd student #phd life #university life #research student

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atleasttheresthis · 4 years

Text

Project Partners (Song x Katara)

Happy day two of ATLA wlw week! This one is for the academia AU.

content warning: alcohol

@atla-wlw-week

"So, in conclusion, you and your partner will research one new surgical or oncological technique from the last five years on any of the cancer types I've included here. You'll have three weeks to complete the project." Professor Pakku pauses, lifts his eyes from his notes and turns them on the horde of bleary eyed, eight am lecture suckers in front of him. "Any questions?"

Song, who is just as tired and out of it as the rest of her classmates at 8:30 on a Monday, studies the powerpoint slide in front of her, struggling to write down all the project requirements before Professor Pakku moves on from the assignment and starts the day's lecture.

"Before you ask, Taedo," the Professor is saying from the front of the room, "no, I will not accept any late papers. If you would have read the syllabus I distributed at the beginning of the semester instead of no-doubt chucking into the garbage as I'm sure you did, you would know my policy on late assignments."

Song grins to herself as Taedo slumps down in his seat. Pakku is something of a hardass, but since Song mostly keeps to herself and stays out of his way, she's never had a problem with him. Besides, his course on cancer treatment was super popular among the pre-med and nursing students. It would take a lot more than verbal abuse to get Song to give up her seat in the course. She needed the elective to finish her third year of the nursing program at Ba Singh Se University, and since she wanted to work at a cancer ward after graduating, this course was practically a requirement.

From the front row, Katara pipes up. "You could just put the syllabus online."

Pakku sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose while Song rolls her eyes. For the entire semester, Katara seems to have made it her mission to make the Professor's life difficult, and it drives Song crazy.

"I suppose I could, but my ancient and old-fashioned ways make it quite difficult for me to use the computer, or so you told me in class last week." Even from her spot in the middle of the room, Song can hear Katara harumph.

"Any other questions?" Professor Pakku asks, then sighs when Katara shoves her hand into the air. "Yes, Katara?"

"I've noticed you didn't include the breast as part of the infected areas we could study," she begins, but the professor interrupts her.

"Yes, thank you for proving, yet again, that you know how to read," Pakku says easily. Song winces. Lately she’s found herself unable to focus in this class, devoting her energy instead to either silently cheering on Professor Pakku in his misguided quest to get Katara to be quiet for more than five minutes so he can teach, or silently (always silently) commending Katara as she points out Pakku’s rampant sexism. Their relationship confuses the shit out of her, and while right now she finds herself inclined to defend the student (because wow, that was a really asshole thing to say, Professor), she thinks both of them go way too far.

Either way, it’s threatening to wreak havoc on her GPA.

Unaffected by Pakku’s rudeness, Katara presses the point. “That’s sexist,” she says bluntly, and Song finds herself nodding. “We should be able to study whatever cancers we want to. Just because you want to ignore all the stuff that only affects women doesn’t mean we want to.” She stops for a moment, considers. “Also, will we be able to pick our own partners?"

Pakku seems to have lost his temper. "You know what, just for that, everyone else gets to pick their partners, except for you. You will be paired with," he stops, consults the class list on his podium. "Song Ma."

Um, what? Song lets out a breath, unable to believe her shit luck. Everyone in the course turns around to stare at each other, wondering who the unlucky girl is until they catch Song's face. She knows she's got a completely disbelieving, what the fuck look on, so much so that Pakku actually smiles when his eyes catch hers. He gives her a small shrug, evil grin totally upstaging his non-apology. "Good luck," he adds helpfully.

Katara sniffs, turns back around in her chair. Song resigns herself to the inevitable. It's obvious there's no getting out of this one.

***

Song finds Katara waiting in the hallway after class. Slugging her backpack over one shoulder, Song steps forward and introduces herself. "Hi. I'm Song." She briefly considers holding out a hand, then stops herself, raising it to stifle a yawn instead.

"I know," Katara says snobbishly. Jesus, this is going to be like pulling teeth, isn't it? Biting back a rude reply in kind, Song asks "do you have any ideas for what you want to research?"

"I want to research the use of dye to identify positive lymph nodes in breast cancer patients," Katara says immediately, and Song sighs. "Look, I know you're apparently cool with being on Pakku's bad side, but I don't need a shitty grade on this report because you can't pick your battles and have to stick it to the man whenever you have the chance." Katara looks a bit surprised by her outburst. Whatever. Song's grade is on the line, she's not going to risk it for some girl with a death wish, even if she is really pretty, skin somehow looking shiny and gorgeous even under the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

"I'll talk to Pakku," Katara offers begrudgingly. "See if he'll officially allow us to go beyond the project parameters."

"Fine, go ahead," Song relinquishes. Katara hadn't asked if she had any ideas, but whatever. "Your funeral."

Katara cracks a smile. "Is that okay, or did you want to research something else?"

Song is so surprised by Katara's thoughtfulness, by her apparent ability to reach into Song's head and pluck out her inner monologue, that she merely shakes her head. That's alright, though. Lymph nodes are fascinating enough.

"Cool," Katara says. "I'll swing by his office hours today and let you know how it goes." Song nods, watches Katara walk away, and realizes she never even gave the other girl her phone number.

Oh well. They have three weeks to work it out, and she'll see Katara in class on Wednesday.

Song shrugs to herself, walks out of the biology department toward the squashy chairs on the ground floor of the science building to get some reading done before her next class.

Later that day, when she's studying with her housemate Bohei after lunch, an email pops up on her phone.

Hey Song,

I talked to Pakku, he'll let us do the breast cancer project without deducting anything from our grade.

Let's find a time to talk soon so we can figure out how we should divide the work. I can handle the research part of it if you want to handle the conclusion and summary.

-Katara

Song is furious. Why is Katara relegating her to the easy stuff? Doesn't she think Song can do good work?

"What's wrong?" Bohei, one of her housemates, asks from across the table. Song reads her the email. "Isn't that the stuck up girl that's always getting into fights with the professor? Sucks that you're paired with her."

"The professor put us together," Song explains. "Ugh. Why won't she let me do the work on this project? I'm smart, I can handle a research paper!"

"I actually think you're in a golden situation," Bohei says, reaching over to snag a few of Song's chips from an open bag on the table. "Just let her do all the work, if she cares about it so much you'll probably get a good grade, free A for the project."

Song shakes her head. "No, I want to help, I can do it. Why doesn't she think I can help?"

"Why do you care?" Bohei counters, raising an eyebrow. A great question, but Song is not in the mood for self-reflection.

"I, I don't," Song splutters. "I don't care, I just, I just don't think it's fair that she's doing all the work alone! And besides, how do I know she'll do a good job?"

"Okay," Bohei says, giving Song a look that says she knows what a flimsy excuse that is. Why does Song care what Katara thinks of her? She's just some know-it-all who can't leave well enough alone. Song emails her back, tells her she's free for dinner, and gets a reply a few minutes later that Katara will meet her at the dining hall. Song tries to push the other girl out of her mind, turning back to her chemistry notes.

It's no use. By the time dinner rolls around, Song is simmering with indignation over Katara's assumption that she couldn't help with the project. She packs up her stuff, trying to tune out Bohei's pointed questions (the other girl had gotten over her instinct to leave Song alone about it and has instead spent the rest of the afternoon asking if Song likes Katara, like, like-likes Katara???) and begrudgingly makes her way over to the dining hall. After swiping her school ID to get in, she sees Katara at a table with a plate of food. Sighing, resigning herself to a confrontation, Song heads over there, dropping her bag onto an empty seat.

"Hey," she says, monotone, and Katara looks up. "Hi," she says back, a bit startled, but Song's not exactly giving her the best attitude.

"How was your day," Song asks rhetorically, and Katara raises an eyebrow but whatever, Song is just being polite.

"It was okay," Katara answers, tossing some of her long brown hair over her shoulder. Song likes it this way, better than when she puts it in the long braid that snakes down her back. "How was yours?"

An awkward moment, where Song has lost herself staring at Katara's hair. She realizes the other girl has asked her a question, and gives herself a shake. "It was fine too," she answers quickly.

"Do you want to get a plate before we start working?" Katara asks.

Song agrees, gets up to scour the dining options for something to eat. She ends up with a bowl of pasta, some carrots, and a glass of water. Reaching Katara again and sitting back down, Song pulls her laptop and notebook out of her bag before spearing a piece of pasta and angrily throwing it into her mouth.

Katara, oblivious this time to her anger, has gotten out a laptop of her own. "So, I already made a google doc, I'm sharing it with you now," she says, and Song moves to check her email, loading the document on her screen. "Like I said, I can handle the research part and you can do the conclusion, is that okay?" Katara asks, not even looking up from her computer.

Song takes a deep breath. "No, it's not really okay," she answers in a rush. That makes Katara look up. "I can help with the research part too, I think I can handle it," she says drily. "I just don't think it's fair for you to do so much of the work," she tacks hurriedly, wanting Katara to think she's doing this for more noble reasons than wanting the other girl to think she's smart.

"Oh, it's okay, I don't mind doing the work," Katara brushes Song off, turning back to the laptop.

Song groans internally. "Katara. I can help. I want to do some of the work on this project, it's my grade too," she reminds her.

Katara looks at her skeptically. "Alright," she concedes finally. "Here, want to look over some of the sources I've already gathered?"

Song takes another bite, nodding. They spend the rest of the evening compiling journal articles and studies on the use of dye to identify positive and negative lymph nodes in the armpit. It's not half as bad as Song thought it might be, both girls are focused on the work, and after an hour and a half they have enough to start working on the paper. Song drafts a preliminary outline, which Katara approves of after making only one or two small changes, and then they call it a night, agreeing to meet up again later that week. Song packs up her bag feeling good, they got work done. And she's definitely proved to Katara that she's smart enough to hold her own. Not that she cares about any of that.

***

As the week goes on, Song finds herself enjoying her study sessions with Katara more than she'd like to admit. For all her sharp edges in class, she's surprisingly laid back when she talks with Song. She's got a sharp sense of humor, and the way she vivisects Pakku and some of the other asshole idiots in their class causes Song to nearly pitch a fit. About the work itself, she's pretty anal, but Song's own standards are exacting themselves, so it's not like she can complain.

They meet again on Wednesday, but it's on Friday that Katara tells her that she's pre-med and plans to become a breast cancer surgeon. Her mother died of breast cancer, and she wants to work so other people don't suffer like she did. It only seems natural to tell her about her father's fatal car accident, in turn.

"Is that why you want to become a nurse?" Katara asks quietly. She doesn't say she's sorry, and neither does Song. What good would that do?

Song blows out a breath. "Maybe?" she offers. "I don't know. I just know that I'm good at this, I'm good at helping people when they're hurt, and if I can do it, shouldn't I?"

Katara nods. "I understand," she says, and Song gets the feeling that she really does.

***

By Friday night it becomes obvious to both Song and, unfortunately, Song's housemates, that their girl is quickly becoming enraptured with Katara. "What do I do?" Song moans into a chocolate chip cookie that D'wei made to cheer her up.

"I thought she was annoying," he asks, topping up his glass of cheap, Barefoot wine, before handing the bottle to Song.

"No, she's still annoying," Bohei chimes in. The three are sitting in their kitchen, Bohei painting her nails at the table and Song in the chair next to her while D'wei perches himself on the countertop.

"But she's annoying in a hot way," Song whines. She gives herself a generous glass of wine, her third of the evening, then slumps over the table, cheek pressed against the wood.

"Haven't you only met with her like, twice?" D'wei asks. Song opens her mouth to respond, but Bohei beats her to it.

"D'wei, come on. Song's a, you know," and she holds her wrist at shoulder height and bends it so her arm flops over.

Song chuckles, face mashed into the table.

"A what?" D'wei asks, and Bohei rolls her eyes.

"A lesbian," Song mumbles. "Exactly," Bohei says, nudging Song's head with her elbow. "Falling in love inside thirty seconds, that's classic lesbian behavior, you should know that."

"That's our M.O.," Song agrees. "Song's done that four times in the past year and half," Bohei continues.

"And once with a boy, but we don't talk about that," Song says. "But Katara's different, I can tell."

"She's stupid beautiful, I'll give you that," Bohei adds, capping her nail polish and blowing on her nails to dry.

"I know," Song grumbles, shoving the rest of the cookie in her mouth. "How do I tell her I like her?"

Bohei shrugs. "You could play 'girl in red' while you guys study, that will probably clue her in," D'wei suggests.

Song wrinkles her nose. "Too obvious," she answers. "Japanese Breakfast, then?" he asks.

Song thinks on it. "That one might work, actually."

"Hope so, or else you'll just have to pine from afar," Bohei stands up, blowing on her nails to dry them. "Or grow a pair and tell her you like her. Are we watching a movie or not?"

"We're watching," D'wei says decidedly, while Song moans, hopping off the counter and pulling Song into the living room by the wrist. "Don't worry, we'll watch something that's not about romance so you won't feel bad."

Song scoffs but settles herself on the couch between them nonetheless. D'wei's assurance turns out to be a complete lie, and they watch Pride and Prejudice, but whatever, Song's totally not thinking about Katara while the movie plays.

"Hey, Song, do you want Katara to stroll determinedly toward you through the morning mist wearing that exact unbuttoned shirt?"

Shifty silence from Song. "She does! D'wei, she does!"

"It would be super romantic," Song mumbles.

"Holy shit! Dude, you'd better tell her how you feel, or your ovaries will shrivel up!"

Eye roll. "I'm pretty sure you can only say that about people with dicks, Bohei, it's not like Katara's going to get me pregnant."

"But you want her to!"

***

On Friday, the week after their project was assigned, Song blinks the rain out of her eyes, holds her phone to her chest to keep it relatively dry under her bowed head and stares blearily at Google maps. Picking her head up she squints at the street signs, turns left, and then finally spots a sign saying "The Jasmine Dragon" above what looks like a small but cozy shop across the street. Grateful to have finally found the place, after trekking halfway across the city. Song had finished her exam earlier than expected, and with her and Katara's project deadline coming ever closer, she'd texted the other girl to see if she had any free time to work on it right now. Katara had agreed, saying she was studying with some friends at a place called the Jasmine Dragon. So here Song is.

Hurrying into the shop, Song relaxes after getting out of the rain, pulls the hood of her jacket down and snakes her braid out from where it's pressed uncomfortably between her backpack and her shoulder blades. The Jasmine Dragon tea shop is well-lit against the downpour, filled with comfortable armchairs dotting the room in twos and threes, with one long table at the back of the shop. Seated at the table are a few people working quietly by themselves, along with Katara and what must be her friends, working not at all quietly. Katara is sitting next to a boy who looks enough like her to be her brother, along with two people Song doesn't recognize, a boy with a completely bald head and shorter girl next to him. And--

"You!" Song shouts, then looks around herself, embarrassed, as she realizes how loud that was. Blushing a bit, she takes two sharp strides toward the table and says "you!" again, in a much smaller voice.

The boy on Katara's other side, with a nasty burn scar across his face and a Jasmine Dragon employee apron on, mutters "oh, shit," under his breath.

Katara is looking at Song, confused. "Hey Song, this is Zuko. How do you--"

"You're the asshole who stole my bike!" Song says angrily. Bike thief, whose name is apparently Zuko, goes bright red.

The shorter girl across from him lets out a laugh. "Oh man, Zuzu, you have the worst luck!"

"Shut up, Toph," Zuko mutters, eyes anywhere but on Song.

Katara lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Just once," she says, "just once, I would love it if someone recognized you from something nice you did for them, instead of whatever dick move you pulled."

"Never gonna happen, sweet sister!" The boy next to her crows happily. "Our Zuko was an asshole in a previous life!"

"Last year was a previous life?" The bald boy says, half-serious, and then high fives Katara's brother uncertainly.

"Fuck all of you," Zuko says. "He's doing his best," the shorter girl says dramatically, then slugs Zuko in the arm.

"Wait," the bald kid says, turning to address Song. "Are you sure it was him?"

"Yes," Song says through clenched teeth, "I saw him leave a party at my house on my bike last year!"

It was one of the only parties Song and her housemates had thrown that semester. From what she can remember, Song spent a good portion of the evening trying to get close to the moody boy who was drinking alone in her kitchen. She had definitely tried to flirt with him, she remembers, cheeks going red, before Bohei had pulled her away to do shots. At the end of the night Song had passed out on their living room sofa. She woke up some time before morning at the sound of the door closing to see the moody boy, who was definitely Zuko, pick the lock on her bike and ride away on it, but she was too drunk to realize what had happened. In the morning, it was too late. Nobody else seemed to remember the boy, and she had no luck finding it.

Back in the tea shop, the bald boy is trying to defend Zuko. "That doesn't sound like something Zuko would do," the kid says, a bit soothingly.

"No, it does," Katara counters. The shorter girl nods while Zuko hangs his head.

"Yeah, that was me." He admits. "Look, I'm really sorry. I...was in a bad place that year, and I was super drunk, and--"

"Yeah, whatever, " Song says, uncomfortable with his honesty. "Are you going to give it back or not?"

"Of course he's going to give it back," the bald kid says enthusiastically. Song wonders who died and made him group spokesperson.

"Wait, do you even still have it?" the other girl asks. Song notices that she hasn't been making eye contact or even turning her head to look at anyone talking. She catches eye of the cane lying next to the girl's chair and realizes she must be blind.

"Yeah," Zuko says uncomfortably. "I woke up the next morning and, I, uh, didn't know what to do with it? So I just...kept it in the garage." He runs a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "It's still there."

Song, who has dropped her bag to the floor and started peeling off her jacket, throws up her hands. "You haven't even been using it?"

Zuko coughs. "No?"

"Ugh!" Song shouts, furious that he didn't even seem to need the bike.

"Look, I'll, I'll bring over to your place tomorrow," Zuko says placatingly, standing up. Song shoves past him and falls into his empty chair. "Yeah, maybe you should have tried doing that eight months ago, when you drunk-stole it from me," she deadpans, before turning to Katara. "Are we working on our project or not?"

Katara looks like she wants to keep laughing at Zuko's expense, but stops herself when she sees Song's face. "Uh, yeah, sure. Guys, this is Song, from my biology class. Song, this is Aang, Toph, and my brother Sokka." She points to the bald kid, the girl, and the dark-skinned boy next to her in turn. "You already know Zuko."

Song grits her teeth. "Song, I--" he starts helplessly.

"Zuko!" Someone calls from the back of the shop. "A little help back here?" From behind her, Song hears Zuko sigh. "I'll see you guys later," he says, before walking away. "Let us know if anyone else accuses you of something awful!" Sokka calls out after him gleefully.

"Or if something else from your dark past comes up to bite you in the ass! I want to start a facebook album!" Toph adds, and Song snickers, despite herself.

"Sorry about Zuko," Katara says carefully. "He was in a really bad place last year."

"So I've heard," Song says drily, fishing out her notebook and a pen.

"I'll make sure he gives you the bike back," Sokka offers. Song nods minutely.

"Why don't you guys get out of here," Katara says after a moment. "It's not like you're getting any work done."

Sokka opens his mouth, clearly affronted, but Song beats him to it. "No, you guys don't have to go, it's okay," she starts, but Aang catches onto Katara's meaning and has started packing up his stuff.

"No, Katara's right, we'd just waste your time," he says easily. "Come on, Sokka, Toph, we can study at my place."

Sokka sighs dramatically, but helps Toph get all her stuff together nonetheless. "Ugh, fine." Then he shoots his sister a sharp grin. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Katara splutters indignantly while Toph cackles. Song can’t even begin to guess what that means. “Nice to meet you, Song!” Aang calls over his shoulder before tailing Toph and Sokka out of the shop.

Song raises an eyebrow in Katara’s direction. “Ignore my idiot brother,” she says hastily, dark skin growing rosy with a blush. Maybe Song does know what that means.

“Do you want something to drink?” Katara continues quickly. “The weather is so shit outside, a hot drink will probably make you feel better.”

“I’m studying to be a nurse, Katara,” Song says, rolling her eyes but letting a grin escape so the other girl knows she’s playing. katara’s face lights up as she sticks her nose in the air. “Well, I’m studying to be a doctor, so I don’t know what they cover in nursing school.” She gets out of her chair and flounces towards the counter.

“You don’t even know what I want,” Song says half-heartedly, eyes on Katara’s ass. “You’ll like what I get you,” she says airily, half-turning to catch Song in the act of looking. Song blushes again, but boldly meets Katara’s eyes. The other girl smirks, before turning to the woman at the counter and rattling off something Song can’t hear.

When Katara returns a few minutes later, steaming mug of tea in her hand, Song has unpacked her laptop and is half-looking over the work they’d done so far. She passes the mug to Song. “Thanks,” she says gratefully, warming her hands against the bright red ceramic of the mug. “How did you guys find this place?” She asks, fighting off a yawn. Holding onto the warm tea has suddenly reminded her how tired she is.

Katara takes the seat across from her, picking up her own cup. “Zuko’s uncle owns it,” she explains. “Zuko’s really sorry about your bike, I know he is,” she says earnestly, casting a glance across the shop at him moving around in the back. “He went through a lot in the past year, he used to be such an asshole, even to us,” she adds. “But he’s alright now.”

Song doesn’t know what to say, can’t quite believe her, so she takes a sip of her tea instead. “Oh, it is good,” she said, surprised. Katara smiles in satisfaction. “Uncle Iroh thought you were a fruit tea girl, but I told him different. Guess I was right.”

It’s cheesy, it’s so, so high school, but Song’s stomach flutters at the idea of Katara knowing what sort of tea she’d like. It's got her tongue tied, but Katara saves her by asking about her day.

“It was good,” she answers. “I finished my international relations exam early, that’s why I texted you that I had time.”

“Well look at you, smartypants," Katara says, and Song scoffs. They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, sort of but not really working on their project, until Sokka comes back to pick up Katara and gives Song a ride back to her apartment.

"See you tomorrow!" Katara calls through the car's open window. Song shoots her a confused look. "When Zuko and I come to return your bike!" She reminds her. Song agrees, but doesn't think anything will come of it, which is why she's so surprised to open her apartment door at eight o'clock the next morning to see Zuko and Katara in her doorway, bike in hand.

"Good morning!" Katara says triumphantly, and Song stares. Katara, she, she looks so incredible Song can hardly believe it. Her hair is perfect and shiny, and she looks like she's wearing extra eye makeup. Zuko, meanwhile, looks like how Song feels, bedraggled in comparison. "Told you we'd bring you the bike!" Katara says excitedly, while Zuko yawns next to her. "Here, here you go," he says, steering the bike into Song's apartment. "Uh, thanks," Song answers slowly, leaving the bike by the door.

"Put your shoes on, we're taking you for breakfast," Katara instructs, and before she realizes what's happening Song finds herself in the back of Zuko's car, sitting next to Katara and behind a girl Song vaguely knows from one of her politics courses last semester, who Zuko introduces as his girlfriend. Song thinks Mai is way too cool a girl for someone like Zuko, but keeps her mouth shut.

"Go to the diner on fifth," Katara instructs, and in front of Song Mai scoffs. "No way, their coffee is garbage."

"All diner coffee is garbage," Zuko offers from behind the wheel, and behind him Katara says "I want pancakes. We went to your shitty coffee shop last time."

"It's not shitty, you just don't appreciate aesthetics," Mai sniffs.

"It's overly minimalist and their cake is bad," Katara says bluntly, before turning to Song. "What do you want to do?"

Song blinks, slightly overwhelmed at being thrust into this dynamic of people who were clearly comfortable in each others' lives. But also, it's early, so: "I want to eat eggs."

"Diner it is, you're outvoted, Mai!" Katara crows happily.

"You didn't ask me what I wanted," Zuko protests, already steering the car in the direction of the diner. "We know you're happy with either one," Mai explains.

"Always happy when I'm with you," he says to Mai, and Song can see his face in profile, he's offering Mai a small smile. Mai meets him halfway and gives him a quick kiss.

"Eyes on the road," Katara interrupts, pulling a face to make Song laugh in the backseat. It occurs to her that this might be something of a double date.

And it's definitely a date, she realizes, or she hopes, because Katara has squeezed herself next to Song onto the vinyl covered cushion of the diner booth, and keeps knocking her knees into Song and, once, even holding her thigh flush against Song's. She eats off Song's plate with no remorse, encourages Song to do the same to her, and quietly flirts with Song for most of the meal. It's enough to give Song a pleasant whooping feeling in her gut that lasts the whole day.

The restaurant environment is certainly helping, Song loves diners. The way they all sort of look the same, the ridiculously long menus, the poor lighting, all of it. It's her and her mother's favorite place to go, and when she lived at home they used to go there almost every day, even if it was just for a cup of bad coffee. Song feels at home here, which is why she loves the diner so much.

Besides Katara's flirting, Song actually has a good time enjoying Mai and Zuko's company. Maybe he really was a different person when he stole her bike and ignored her at her own party, because now he's making an effort to include her in the conversation, filling in the gaps into which she might have fallen, being the odd one out in a group of friends who knew each other so well.

"We went to school together first," Zuko is explaining, gesturing to himself and Mai. "A different school, actually, one our parents wanted to go to. It was really close to our hometown. Caldera College."

"Our parents are in business together," Mai says. "Well, my father works for his father."

"And my father wanted me and my younger sister, Azula, to work for him too. But that, uh, didn't work out…" his hand moves to the scar on his face, and Song stifles a wince. "So I left the old school and came here. Well…"

"His Dad cut him off," Katara butts in. "But it was actually a good thing, here I met these guys." Zuko says with a small smile.

"Didn't start off as a good thing," Katara mutters, and here Zuko blushes, tilts his face to the table. "Yeah, those were my uh, my bike stealing years," he grimaces another apology at Song.

Katara yelps, it seems like Mai has kicked her under the table. "But we're good now," she adds brightly.

"Like I have to keep reminding you," Zuko says, raising his eyebrows, and now it's Katara's turn to look chagrined. Song wonders at their need to air their dirty laundry in public.

"And then I decided fuck my parents' business and followed Zuko here," Mai declares, setting her hand on top of Zuko's.

Song nods. It's a lot to process. "What about your sister?" she asks, wondering if this is the right question.

Maybe not. The emotion runs from Mai's face like colors in the wash, her mouth settles into a dull line. Zuko sighs, and, next to Song, Katara huffs out a breath. "We're working on her," Katara explains.

"My Dad was working her to the bone, putting way too much pressure on her after I left," Zuko says. "Especially after I left," he adds to himself, and on the table Mai squeezes his hand. "She snapped, dropped out," Mai picks up from him. "We're trying to make sure she gets the help she needs."

"That's really hard, I'm sorry you have to go through that," Song offers, and Zuko nods. "She'll be okay," he says, face determined.

An awkward pause, but the first of the meal and the plates are nearly clean, so that's a success. "You don't have any siblings, right Song?" Katara asks.

"Mm-mm," Song shakes her head. "Just me and my mom," and Katara nods, which she was expecting, but then Zuko does too, and maybe they have more in common than she'd thought.

"Mai has a younger brother," Katara volunteers, and Mai rolls her eyes but tells them an adorable story about Tom Tom regardless.

"That was...nice," Song says truthfully, when they've dropped her back at her place and she's got Katara on her doorstep.

"They're alright, huh? I thought you'd like them," Katara says happily.

Song, feeling warm and full of eggs and lukewarm coffee, has the confidence to say "maybe they're not the only ones I like," eyes catching Katara's before dropping to her doorstep.

"Yeah," Katara says softly, hand reaching towards hers. "I--"

She's cut off by the sound of the horn. Katara turns and Song sees that Mai's got a hand on the horn while Zuko sits by looking pained. Katara gives them the finger before turning back to Song. "I like you t--"

The horn again. "Katara, let's go!" Mai shouts, and Katara rolls her eyes and Song smiles. "I'll see you at our next study session?" she offers.

"Yeah," Katara says, looking relieved, "I'll see you then." She waved goodbye, bounds off the porch toward the car, opens the back door while yelling "jesus christ, Mai, I'm here, calm down."

Song unlocks the door of her house, still smiling, and heads inside.

***

Katara and Song meet, one last time, to go over the paper. It takes them ages, both of them are deliberately dragging it out. They go through it one line at a time, taking turns reading the paragraph aloud and double, triple checking the references. When it's finally over, i's crossed and t's dotted, Katara's hand hovers over the trackpad of her laptop, mouse on the 'submit' button. "Are we ready?" she asks one more time.

"You're sure it's cool with Pakku if we do breast cancer?" Song clarifies, and Katara scoffs. "Oh, actually Song, I forgot to tell you, he's not cool with it and we're going to fail. Whoops!"

"Okay, okay," Song laughs. "We're ready, do it."

Katara takes a deep breath, clicks the trackpad. Project over.

"It's in the lap of the gods now," Song comments, and Katara nods, shutting her computer.

"Now what should we do?" she asks, and for the first time she's almost shy. It's utterly adorable, the light blush under her eyes, and Song steals herself and says "well, I'd like to kiss you now."

Katara stiffens beside her. "You should definitely do that," she says hastily, and Song laughs, reaches up slide her hand into Katara's hair and leans in, catching her lips.

It's perfect. Katara tastes like everything Song had imagined plus more. When she pulls back Katara chases her lips. "I think you should give that another go," she murmurs, and Song laughs again, happy to oblige.

It's even better the second time. They kiss for a while, lazy, and afterward, when they're resting their foreheads against each other, Katara speaks up.

"I think I'm going to take you on a proper date," she muses.

"I'd like that," Song answers happily. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

#kira writes #avatar the last airbender #song #katara #song x katara #zuko #mai #zuko x mai #atla wlw week #atla #college au

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adhd-sorcha · 4 years

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Hey, i also was recently (1 year) diagnosed with ADHD. And I'm considering going back to college, considering what to study next or finish my masters degree. Started thinking maybe I'll go to med school as this pandemic has really made me reconsider things. I guess my question for you is this..what are you studying and how has the studying been for both the phd and the research master's degree you have? I have a BS in psychology (only stated this for reference) thanks in advance. Good luck!

Hello! I’m actually studying a related field to yours! My bachelors is in neuroscience (though it also involved other biological fields and some chemistry and some psychology). For my the masters, I did research into Parkinson’s disease and the PhD was in the same. (Both were pre-clinical research, so no human patients involved)

I’m going to preface this by saying that I was only diagnosed after I started my PhD (I think around December? So only a few months ago!). It would be good to keep that in mind while reading this because my experience is very much coloured by the fact that I was not receiving any accommodations and genuinely didn’t understand why I was struggling. So, this may not sound too positive, but I like to think that it’s a situation that’s fixable or avoidable, especially if, like yourself, you go into your work knowing that you have ADHD. (Also, keep in mind that I did a lab science, so some of what I say might be a bit specific to that!)

I found my research masters to be a complete slog and, if I’m honest, did not particularly enjoy it. I did a one year MSc. It was all research and no classes. At first this sounded like a great idea. I had been starting to struggle with classes and exams in my undergrad from maybe third year. I put it down to being sick of classes. I now know that’s not the case. It was because my work was moving more to self-directed learning and modules whose grades were based entirely on one big exam and so needed a lot of study instead of smaller, more manageable homework type tasks.

A research degree is very self directed. With my masters involving no classes, my getting the degree was based completely on my thesis.

It involved: 1) spending hours at a time at my computer looking through data bases and reading paper after paper. 2) organising and planning my experiments. 3) carrying out those experiments. 4) being trained in on new lab techniques/how to use new equipment. 5) analysing and interpreting my data in the context of all the reading that I had done. 6) putting it all together in a nice neat document.

In other words: time management and self-regulation are key. Not easy when you have ADHD, even worse when you don’t know you have ADHD. I really enjoy lab work and analysis, so getting myself to go do those really wasn’t that bad. I really really struggled with the reading and getting the writing done.

I struggled and I didn’t understand why I struggled. I didn’t understand how other people did multiple experiments in one day and read papers in between lab work and wrote a few thousand words over the weekend while I was lucky if it only took me one whole day to read the main points of a paper.. I didn’t understand how everyone else could rattle off information on their research topic off the top of their head, while I struggled to remember the details of a protocol I did earlier that day. I felt like I was getting through my lab work very slowly and not as efficiently. As you can imagine, I felt like I was incompetent and useless and that everyone was better than me and that I didn’t belong working with them.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t resolved before I started my PhD. And a PhD doesn’t just involve research. It involves taking classes and often it involves assisting in the teaching and supervision of the undergraduates, as well as organising training on different equipment and then the assessments for all that training... It got very busy very fast and you have to do all that work yourself. I had one class that I kept forgetting to even go to because none of my lab mates were in it to remind me to go (and it was my only class whose mark was attendance based! Why brain??? Whhhhyyyy????). And, once again, I felt like I was far more inefficient and less-abled than my lab mates. Now, everyone was very kind and supportive, but they had their own work to do too.

It was a few months into the PhD that I found out that I had ADHD and that was only because I sought treatment for pretty bad depression and anxiety. I’ve taken medical leave to try to recover from these and I may even drop out altogether. But you know what? I still think a research degree in completely doable with ADHD! And I still plan on getting a PhD at some point.

Like I said at the start, it’s important to remember that I did this without knowing that I had ADHD. I had no medication. I had no accommodations. And I didn’t know to take it easy on myself. Most importantly, I didn’t know to ask for help.

My biggest advice? Ask for help! Or at least tell someone when you’re struggling. In my experience it’s a big help

I told my MSc supervisor that I was struggling with my mental health and that it was interfering with finishing my thesis. She was so understanding and it was so helpful in getting it sent off for examination.

I told my PhD supervisor that I had just been diagnosed with ADHD and within about 5 minutes he had all my lab work rearranged and planed out for me and basically told me that he would make the start of my PhD as straightforward for me as possible while I got a handle on everything going on.

Just before I went on leave, my counselor in the university was helping me get set up with the disability support services to see what kind of accommodations I could get (they could include longer exam times, more flexible deadlines for assignments etc...).

I told my lab mates what was going on and they provided more general support just by having people to talk to.

Okay, so my experience probably doesn’t sound like the most encouraging of prospects, but take it as a more cautionary tale. This was how not to do research with ADHD! If you go into your degree already knowing you have ADHD, you’re already miles more prepared than me! Especially because I’m now learning and beginning to accept that sometimes, for us to do well, we need to do things a little differently to neurotypical students. I used to beat myself up over things that I now realise were actually coping strategies (like, I’d have to write more reminders for myself than other people would or something like that) and that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing those things if they help. The neurotypical way isn’t the only way. Sometimes I unknowingly did things in an ADHD friendly way and assumed I was doing it ‘wrong’ when what it actually was was just different.

I would definitely encourage you to go back to study if that’s what you want to do! But it will definitely be important to remember that you have a hurdle that not all the other students are going to have to jump over, so be kind to yourself, don’t be afraid to ask for help and don’t be afraid to do things differently if you need to.

#answered asks #theragingbluwaffle #adhd #neurodivergent academia #sorry this is so long!#it's quite a wide topic for me #like there's the overall experience #and then there's more specific stuff like going to classes or whatever #i went with the overall #but if you want to ask anything more specific go ahead!#i got really stuck on how to end this and ended up rambling

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thesarcasticside · 5 years

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SANDER SIDES ENGINEERING MAJOR COLLEGE AU

This is self indulgent, not gonna lie

Everyone goes to a generic large-ish liberal arts college with a ‘very good’ engineering program.

Patton switched to biology after his first year because it didn’t feel right for him. He was a civil before he switched.

He was at first pressured by his parents to ‘try’ engineering, so he humored them for a while, thinking it would be easy to switch out. As he went through his first year, he began to dread both staying in engineering and leaving engineering. (Because major changes are stressful for all sorts of reasons, like expectations and finances!) Yet his heart was telling him he wanted to work with people or animals, not buildings and structures. (Engineering is not for everyone and STEM has a very large switch out rate. Everyone is super smart in this au and Patton switching out doesn’t mean he is not smart.)

Roman is double majoring in mechanical engineering and theater and he is DYING. (If you ask me why mechanical, idk he has the vibe)

Logan is an electrical with a minor in math because I say so goshdangit.

Logan loves spreadsheets... but nobody else does.

Virgil is a computer engineer who is getting a minor in computer science.

Roman is a year ahead of Logan, Patton, and Virgil, but he and Logan are in the same math classes. (Either Logan is REALLY ahead in math, or Roman is not, which would be really unfortunate for a double major.)

Roman grades Patton and Virgil’s papers, and Patton doodles on his HW. Roman leaves notes for both of them, and they have small conversations back and forth.

Patton doodled pumpkins on his paper, and Roman wrote OH MY GOURD and that made Patton’s day after he had a rough test and was starting to doubt his major choice.

After this, they have a lot of inside jokes that are really just puns and Roman is super ecstatic whenever Patton doodles something disney.

Virgil wrote “I tried” or “There goes my will to live” on his assignment, and Roman immediately wanted to find him and give him a hug but instead made sure to always write encouraging messages for him.

Roman and Logan sit next to each other in math and ROmAN Won’T SHUT UP!

Logan and Virgil know each other because all EEs and CEs know each other I don’t make the rules and also because there are so few of them.

Patton tried so hard to bake in the dorm kitchen, but he had hardly any actual baking supplies, so it was a bit of a disaster.

Patton had a really rough freshman year but nobody knew about it until Logan found him crying alone in one of Logan’s more secluded study spots at the end of the year, and Logan helped him through both his panic attack and the major switching process.

Remus is going to nursing school but is also considering just doing pre-med. He shares a lot of the same classes with Patton after Patton switches majors.

Dee is criminology and pre-law.

Virgil and Logan are roommates. Patton and Dee are roommates. Remus and Roman are roommates

Roman “I couldn’t fix a papercut in a bandaid factory” Prince and Remus “I watch and talk about bloody ER shows while I eat dinner” Prince

Logan thinks Patton is delightful and fun to hang around, but also wonders why Patton would want Logan as a friend because Logan thinks that he is boring and uncool and a lot of things that he believes make him uninteresting to hang out with.

Meanwhile, Patton thinks Logan is so smart and so talented and really enjoys hearing him talk about the things he’s passionate about like astronomy, electricity, renewable energy, philosophy, or whatever Logan is studying at the moment.

Logan and Remy are from the south because Y’ALLSEHOOD and Remy with a drawl is to die for. I am also in love with “When He Sees Me” for Logicallity (THERE ARE ANIMATICS ON YOUTUBE AND I CAN’T EVEN) so this also applies to the au.

Roman is very smart in this au and often feels torn between his two creativities. Also having to choose between STEM and the arts is such a mood.

Because whenever Roman thinks about it, he thinks it would be much more practical and easier to go with engineering because of job security and money but it breaks his heart at the same because he desperately wants to be an actor.

They are all part of the robotics club: the robot they are building is named Thomas.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

Here you go @peachy-pidge :)

#Sander Sides au #Sander Sides human au #Sander sides college au #Sander sides engineering au #This is all yall getting cause I am already writing a sander sides fanfic

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thorne93 · 5 years

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Stan Lee University (Part 18)

Prompt: What would the Avengers be like in college, more importantly, what would they be like if Y/N existed around them?

Word Count: 3205

Warnings: drama, language, SMUT (This whole chapter is pretty much smut, so if that isn’t your thing, you won’t miss anything plot-wise by not reading this part.)

Notes: This is based on a HC from @carryonmyswansong. They helped brainstorm and write part of this series. In this AU, no one will have powers, everyone is a normal human. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong. @carryonmyswansong wrote all the steamy details in this piece. It’s pretty much their brainchild here. It’s fantastic, and i love it, and we kind of concocted it together, but this part is ultimately the culmination of their thoughts and mine.

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Classes started two weeks ago.

Stephen and you were doing great. Definitely enjoying being around each other all the time. Of course, you didn’t overcrowd. He still got together by himself with The Science Bros and Peter, and you still got together with Clint and Nat on your own too.

You and Wanda were both still working for the psych offices, and you were learning so much, you didn’t even mind how busy you were. Things seemed a little smoother between you two, even if you were her boss. You were still president of the Pre-Med club and didn’t let that go to the wayside, and Stephen made sure to remind you of events and that you had meetings to set up.

Bucky and you were now on cordial speaking terms and he didn’t seem to mind too much that you were with Stephen. If he did, he wasn’t vocal about it. Loki stayed out of your social circles and you never saw him on campus. No one in your group had even really heard from him. The most you heard was one thing Steve said about him that he heard from Thor.

Now that you two had Physics 2, you asked Tony if you could use his lab for all the extra curriculars rather than having to find a spot on campus. He was reluctant, but eventually, he made you one copy of the key. So now only you, Bruce, and he had the key to his private lab.

Tonight, you thought you’d show Stephen the place, so he could see what he thought of it. If he didn’t even want to work there, you’d find an alternative. But being in the basement of the old science building where hardly anyone went, it was great for quiet time to study, take measurements.

Or, like how Tony used it, to actually build robotics, gadgets, trinkets.

“So what are we doing here instead of hanging out inside at home?” he asked as he walked beside you.

“Tony said we could use his lab, I figured it was time you saw it anyway.”

“You’ve been inside?”

“Sure, lots of times. I used to sort of be his assistant, helping him take data, calibrate some robots…”

“Nerd.”

“Sexy nerd,” you corrected with a laugh.

He nodded and agreed.

You two went into the building, down into the basement, until you reached the last room on the right. There were no windows on the steel creme door. You pulled the key out of your pocket and then unlocked it, exposing a decent sized, L shaped room all lined with workbenches and tools everywhere. On your left, a stack of shelves sort of hid a pocket of the room behind a workbench, the wall behind that, all lined with giant tools and parts.

“Wow. This is a pretty good setup,” he said, walking in and looking at everything.

“Yeah, he’s got anything we might need for a physics project and since it’s private, I thought it’d be nice for us to work here.”

“Definitely. What’s this thing?” he asked, walking toward a giant circuit board, sitting on the large workbench across from the door..

“Oh, that’s Tony’s baby. He’s trying to come up with a very advanced AI. You talk to it, and it does things.”

“Like Siri or OK Google?”

“Think more, ‘Hey Thing, start my car.’ ‘Hey thing, call the police.” That sort of thing.”

“How far has he gotten?”

“Pretty far. He can get it to boot and shut down his computer on voice command alone.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” he noted, shaking his head in admiration as you two stood next to each other at the workbench,

Leading Stephen to the work bench in front of the tiny nook, you set your things down and started to arrange them. You stepped away to one of the other work benches to collect various other items you thought you might need, to complete the task you had been assigned.

“Who’d have thought Tony actually likes lab coats. You’d think he was allergic.” Stephen says, as you walk back over to the workbench you’d be working at.

Looking over at Stephen, standing next to the coat rack, on the other side of the workbench, you smirked. “He doesn’t. And he is. We keep one here for him, but mostly those are just for me, Bruce, and Peter when they let him down here. Tony wouldn’t be caught dead in a lab coat.”

“You’d wear one?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. I don’t need to, usually, but when the Science Bros get together, the lab can get messy. I’d rather not get something on my clothes that could pose a safety hazard.”

Stephen’s eyes darkened a little, as a thought crossed his mind. He hummed under his breath as he toys with the one with your name on it. “I think I’d really like to see that,” he muses.

“Stephen, we don’t really have time for that. Tony will probably be stopping by later and I’d like us to make at least some headway into our assignment.” You tried to look sternly at him, but the slight tilt of his head and the pleading expression in his eyes was enough to break your resolve.

Groaning in slight annoyance, you walked around a bookcase. He’s inside of the nook on the other side of the workbench there. You huff and stand in front of him. “OK fine. I’ll put it on. But then we HAVE to get started.”

He helped you slip the jacket on. His hands lingered on your shoulders as he looked at you from behind. He really shouldn’t be this affected by the way such a shapeless piece of clothing looks on you, but for some reason he was.

“Turn around, let me get a look at you.” His voice a little thicker than it was before.

With slight confusion in your eyes, you turned around to face him and step back. He took you in, from head to toe. “Wow. You make that look hot.”

You squinted at him, unsure if he’s messing with you or not. “Oh sure. Mock science.” You playfully smirked at him but your face fell a little, when his eyebrow raised and he smirked a little with the corner of his mouth. You knew he was fixing to kiss you, you just weren’t sure why.

Before you could question it further, he moved forward, his lips crashing into yours, just falling short of hitting your teeth. The force behind it bumped you against the workbench. He slowly tilted your head back to gain better access, his lips moving against yours. He flicked his tongue out, touching your bottom lip, dancing it along the seam of your lips, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You did. When your tongues met, you both moaned.

You’ve made out before, lips crashing, breathing heavy, panting and lust filled, but neither of you had been ready for what you are currently feeling. Somehow, this felt different. Perfect in its imperfect setting. The risk of getting caught seemed to make it hotter.

As if reading your mind, he moved his hands to cup your bottom, and lifted you. You landed on the workbench and wrapped your legs around his hips. You are facing the inside of the nook. He can see out into the main part of the lab. Visibility of you is blocked from the main table by the layout of the bookcases surrounding you.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths as your center rubbed against the bulge forming in his pants.

He pulled his mouth away from yours. “We don’t have to do this,” he struggled to get out while you peppered kisses all over his mouth and neck.

“I know, but I really really want to,” you said, each word punctuated by a kiss. As if to drive the point home, you reached for the button on his pants, undoing it and slowly sliding his zipper down. He groaned as some of the pressure on his hard cock was relieved. You went to pull his pants down and he stopped you.

With fire in his eyes, he swiftly unbuttoned your pants and in one motion, he pulled your pants and panties down together. When he got to your shoes, he pulls them off and then piles everything on the floor.

He groaned at the sight of your naked lower half. Stepping back between your legs, he kissed you again, swirling his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his hips and you push his pants and boxer briefs down. He moaned again as his freed cock bobbed in the air, brushing against you. There’s barely any room to move, between your bodies and you like it that way.

Pausing to look down at you, he grabbed your legs underneath your knees and jerked you forward so that the edge of the table is just at the edge of our ass so your entrance is hanging off the table. He grabbed the base of his length and rubbed the tip against your folds, starting at the top and moving it up and down, parting your lips, gathering the slick there. The new sensation has you calling out and he captures your mouth with his again.

You broke the kiss. “Stop fucking teasing me, and just fuck me already, Strange!” you begged.

He bumped your clit with the head of his dick and laughed as your hips jolt with the sensation. Sliding down, one more time, he presses the tip in your hole and pushes forward. The sound the two of you make is down right sinful.

He slid out and back in again, pushing in further each time. Each time the head breaches your entrance, you yell out in pleasure. He did this over and over until his hips finally met yours in an audible slapping sound, rattling you to the deepest parts of you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He drew all the way out, grabbed your legs for leverage, and in one motion, pulls you towards you and pushes himself forward.

He rocked into you, gliding over your internal nerves over and over again, your voice all but going hoarse as you loses yourself in the sensation. Between the onslaught to your nerves and the beautiful noises spilling from his lips, you start to lose control of your senses. The coil in your belly tightened and your whole body tenses.

Just as you were about to tip over the edge, you froze as you heard the doorknob to the lab jingle as a key is inserted and turned.

“Shit!” you hissed. You pushed Stephen away and hop off the table. You pulled your shirt down over your hips, closing the lab coat and leaning against the workbench, facing out towards the main part of the room. The workbench was just high enough to hide the fact that you were, in fact, not wearing pants. You straightened up the books and things that got scattered in your haste. Stephen fixed his pants just as Tony rounds the corner and saw you standing there, seemingly looking over something in a book, while Stephen looked over your shoulder.

“Oh hey Tony,” you greeted.

“Y/N, Stranger Danger,” he said back. He eyed you for a second before grabbing what he needs from the shelf next to your table and walks over to the workbench with his project on it.

“Surprised to see both of you here,” he said over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah we had some work to do for class and figured this was the best place to do it, since its quiet.”

Tony made a sound of understanding, and started to tinker with the thing in front of him. He was facing away from you and you sighed in relief that he didn’t want to face you to keep the conversation going.

Before you could stop him, Stephen dropped to his knees, landing on the pile of your clothes, and without missing a beat, he is bumping your legs apart so he can crawl between them, wedging himself between you and the workbench, so his face was right in front of your very bare pussy. You could feel his breath fan across your skin. He slowly rubbed his mouth on you, making his way to the crest of your clit, teasing you, making you ache. He continued to do this as Tony spoke again.

“How far along have you gotten?” Tony wondered.

“What?” you stammered out.

“In the project. You just getting started or…?”

“Oh, yeah, just starting it today actually.”

“Yeah I need to get Banner down here so we can start ours. Probably tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s a good idea,” you breathed.

As you are talking, you felt Stephen lift one of your feet and rest it on one of his legs so your spread open a little further. Your breath hitched in your throat, anticipating his next move. Next thing you knew, his mouth was on your clit. It took all of your willpower to keep quiet. You grabbed the back of his head and hang on for dear life as your hips jerk against his face, as he lapped at your folds with his tongue, teased your clit, and sucked. Already wound up from before, the onslaught was so sudden and overwhelming that you reached your peak rather quickly, biting your tongue to keep yourself from yelling out. You felt him smile against you, as he lapped at your juices, savoring the flavor. You felt him hum against you, sending you into an aftershock. The prospect of getting caught is very real and quite thrilling.

“Hey, I was thinking of having a study session at my house, maybe Thursday?” he offered.

“Yeah, sure, sounds great,” you responded shakily.

Before you could do anything, you felt fingertips brush against your folds. You coughed to mask the sound of an escaping moan as those same fingertips graze the bundle of nerves on the inside. You looked down and Stephen looked up at you, and darts his tongue out to brush against your clit again. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pull ever so slightly. Now it was his turn to stifle a moan. He pumped his fingers harder. As he pumped his fingers, you pulled his hair. You both were biting the inside of your mouth, trying desperately to keep quiet.

Before you reach your peak again, he slides his fingers out of your heat. You all but whine in protest.

Stephen slid back between your feet, so he’s behind you again. He stood, and you heard the sound of his zipper sliding down. You heard the sound of fabric being pulled down and then you felt the back of your lab coat being lifted. You felt the blunt tip of his cock brush your folds. And you thank whatever gods are listening that the workbench is both solid at the base so no one can see what’s happening behind it, and also that it’s bolted to the floor, as Stephen slid all the way in. At this angle, you felt incredibly full. He barely moved his hips and you could feel him slide out and back in again. Hard enough to make you grip the edge of the table, but soft enough that you can’t hear his body slap against yours.

“Yo, Strange, how was that book I gave you?” Tony suddenly questioned.

“Oh, it was great. Thanks for lending it to me. It helped me focus my attention. It’s got a lot of insight,” he remarked.

“Yeah, I thought so too. I thought it was kind of BS at first but then I got into it.”

“I’m glad I gave it a chance.”

“Hey, you guys mind if I turn on some music? I kinda wanna lose myself in this”, Tony asks.

You and Stephen both agreed that it's okay, all the while, he’s moving inside you and you felt the coil in your belly tighten again.

As soon as the music started up and Tony turned it up enough that you couldn’t hear him talk to himself (because let's face it, he isn’t quiet about it, almost as if he expects the walls to answer him), Stephen slid out almost all the way and slammed back into you with so much force that if the workbench hadn’t been anchored to the floor, it would have been across the room. He picked up the pace, fucking you senseless. You could see Tony from where you are standing and you kept an eye on him as your upper half lays on the table, still bent at the waist with your feet spread on the floor. You put your mouth over your arm and bite down so you don’t yell out. Stephen rode you into oblivion until you couldn’t take it anymore and you reach, with your free hand, to his wrist as his fingers tighten on your hips, and squeeze it tight. Trying to anchor yourself to him as he drags you over the edge. You both cum at the same time, so suddenly you almost do scream. Thankfully when Stephen stood up, he moved your clothes from between your feet because now there is a small puddle on the floor where you gushed when you orgasmed. More added to it, as he slowly slid out of you and the remnants of both your orgasms leak onto the floor. He leaned against your back, trying to catch his breath.

Slowly, he stood back up. You sensed him moving about, behind you, but you can’t move yet. If you do, your knees will give out. He found some clean hand towels near the lab coats and used one to gently clean you up. He set that aside and then he’s down on the floor, cleaning that mess up too. You felt him lift one of your feet up, and then the other and he slid your panties up your legs and situated them. He then did the same with your pants. When you regained enough of your sense, you reached into your pants, readjusted your panties how you like them and buttoned and zipped your pants. Just as you started to wobble again, Stephen brings you a chair and you fall into it. He set another chair next to you and he all but collapsed into it.

You both looked at each other and laughed. Enjoying the afterglow of what just happened. Finally after you both got your legs back, you stood and actually got to work.

Within thirty minutes, you’d gathered all the measurements you need and now you were crunching numbers, fitting them into formulas you knew well to gather the information for your lab report.

After a little while, Tony turned the music off and packed up his things. He cleaned up his mess, and as he went to leave you heard him say, “The next time you want to defile my lab, can you PLEASE hang a sock on the door?” and then the door slammed.

You and Stephen both broke out into loud laughter.

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#stan lee university #stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fic #tony stark

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

Text

1x05: Bloody Mary

Then:

A Season One Aesthetic

Now:

Toledo, Ohio

Sleepover Friends are playing a game of Truth or Dare. One girl tasks another to say “Bloody Mary” in the bathroom mirror three times. (The girl is Sam’s double in Mint Condition!) The girl, Lily, is impervious to the legends surrounding Bloody Mary so she heads to the bathroom to check off her Dare. Nothing happens and her friends and her laugh at their silly antics.

Their noise alerts her father, who tells them to keep it down. As he’s walking back to bed, he passes 5,000 mirrors, and each one is reenacting The Ring. He heads to the bathroom to pop some happy pills --and there’s another mirror.

Downstairs, Lily’s older sister busts in, with some mild ribbing for her kid sister and a whole lotta IDGAF attitude about missing curfew. She heads upstairs and finds her dead father in a pool of his own blood.

Sam’s dreaming of his dead girlfriend. Dean wakes him and says, “Sooner or later we’re going to have to talk about this.” Sam deflects in true Winchester fashion. They’re in Toledo at the morgue, investigating the death of Lily’s father.

The morgue attendant is less than impressed with the unannounced med students. I’m less than impressed with their cosplay. It is almost refreshing to watch these early episodes just to reflect on later seasons and know how much Dean embraces the things he loves about the job. He’s just cool bravado here, but no one’s buying the schtick. Sam cuts to the chase and throws money at the man. Dean balks at Sam’s careless use of Dean’s hard earned money. This appropriately timed post from @pinkandsatiny-blog showed up on my dash this AM.

Once inside and looking at the victim, they see his eyes have liquefied.

Sam posits that maybe this is just “some freak medical thing.” Dean scoffs and assures him that this is supernatural.

They talk to the daughter. At the wake. In their hunter garb. At least Dean has presence of mind to note that they’re underdressed.

On principle I refuse to stoop this low but, SAME, LADY, SAME:

The boys talk to Donna, the older daughter, about her father’s stroke. Lily pops in to say it wasn’t a stroke. She caused his death because she said Bloody Mary in the mirror.

The brothers head inside to take a peek at the bathroom. Sam info dumps lore about Bloody Mary. The legend indicates that the person who says the words will die, but that’s not what happened here. One of Donna’s friends, Charlie, appears and demands that the Winchesters tell her the truth. They do --to a point, and ask her to contact them if her or her friends see anything weird.

They head to the library! Time to dig a little into public records and such to find a Mary who died in front of a mirror. Dean’s already pre-annoyed with research, and once Sam sees the computers are out of order, he too is annoyed.

Donna’s two friends, Charlie and Jill, are talking on the phone about Sam and Dean, and then Jill jokes about Bloody Mary. (So does this pass the Bechdel test or not? Hmm.) Charlie tells Jill to knock it off. Jill utters the words in the mirror anyway --and screams and laughs and so funny amirite? Jill and Charlie get off the phone. Jill strips down to her underwear in her mirror filled room, as one does. And Bloody Mary is waiting (she’s even waiting in the reflection on the television --which sends me down a rabbit hole of thought: What makes a mirror?) Jill heads back to the bathroom, and while at the mirror her reflection doesn’t mimic her. Instead, it stares her down and the eyes start to bleed. But so do Jill’s eyes.

Then the reflection tells Jill, “You did it. You killed that boy.” Jill falls over dead.

Sam continues to dream of Jess burning on their ceiling. My heart aches for him. #GiveSamaDogandaTherapist2K05 He wakes and Dean asks what he dreamed about, but Sam deflects again. Dean’s been doing research but getting nowhere fast. Dean’s starting to doubt that it’s really the Bloody Mary legend at play. Sam gets a call from Charlie, who fills them in on Jill’s death. They enlist Charlie to help them with their plan. The boys do a sweep of Jill’s bedroom. Sam finds something on infrared and takes the bathroom mirror down. On the back, under blacklight, there’s a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman”. Research shows that Gary Bryman was an 8 year old boy killed in a hit and run that was never solved (like, Charlie knew instantly that it was Jill’s car, uh, what the hell DMV?) They head to Donna’s house to find the name “Linda Shoemaker” --Donna’s mother who overdosed on sleeping pills. Donna storms off after their inquiry. Charlie puts it together that their dad killed their mom.

Dean starts a nationwide search for their source.

He finds an unsolved murder of a Mary Worthington in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Cut to Fort Wayne, Indiana. A retired detective tells Sam and Dean about the Mary Worthington murder. Mary wanted to leave town and make a name for herself, but she was killed before she could make good on any of her plans. She was found with her eyes cut out. YEESH. The detective pulls out her old files. One of the shots of her body shows letters written out across a mirror; he thinks she was trying to spell the name of her murderer.

The detective’s bet? A local surgeon, Trevor Sampson. (He’s dead now.) So, a vengeful ghost! Sam asks where she’s buried but they learn that she was cremated. However, there was an ornate mirror in the photo of her body, which connects her to the mirror hauntings. The mirror is back in the family’s possession. The Winchesters are on the job! Huzzah!

Back with our tempestuous Toledo teens, they continue to argue over the existence of Bloody Mary. In a school bathroom.

Side note: I asked Boris to recap this episode because the Bloody Mary myth tapped into a deep phobia of mine. When I was in Kindergarten, we used to be ushered to the bathroom by our teacher and left there for ten minutes or so to use it as a class. Sometimes there were big kids using the bathroom at the same time, and a favorite way to scare the little kids was to turn off the lights and intone, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, I killed your seven sons!” In our version of the myth, you turned around three times, repeating that phrase. Friends, I still get a little scared in front of a dark mirror, and refuse to do more than glance at one in passing. (Though after years of desensitizing myself, I can finally walk around dark mirrors without imagining that I’m seeing Bloody Mary’s dark visage.)

Anyway, back to the episode. Donna says “Bloody Mary” three times and then stalks out of the bathroom dismissively. Who’s gonna die? Who has a DARK SECRET? In chemistry class, we learn about ions and also that Charlie’s the one with the dark secret! She pulls out a compact mirror to look for monsters and spots Bloody Mary lurking behind her. She screams and flees the classroom.

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to use his charm to get ahold of the mirror, only to learn that it’s been sold to an estate business. A week ago. What a coincidink. The mirror’s now in Toledo, which explains our traveling Bloody Mary. Sam explains a piece of lore that we never see again - that people used to cover mirrors so the spirits of the recently departed don’t get trapped. Dean’s ready to SMASH that mirror and kill the ghost. Go for it, Dean Bean.

Charlie calls Sam and the next scene has the Winchesters covering every reflective surface in her room. Sam coaxes her to open her eyes. Hey, Sam. What about those limpid doe eyes you sport in every episode? THOSE things are killers, man.

Eyes are the windows to vengeful ghosts

Dean grills Charlie about her deadly secret. She had a scary boyfriend who threatened to kill himself when she broke up with him. When he died, she blamed herself.

Later in the car, Sam spins out a theory that smashing the original mirror won’t do anything. They need to summon Mary to the mirror first and then they can smash it. Otherwise, her spirit will just flit from mirror to mirror like a sprite and never get caught. Sam thinks that Mary will go after him and Dean pulls over in disgust. Time for a parenting moment, friends.

Sam thinks that Jessica’s death was his fault. Dean gives Sam a rousing speech about not blaming himself which is R I C H coming from Dean. But…early days, right? Sam confesses that there are Further Sekrets of Sam Effing Winchester. Dean throws Sam some A grade bitch face.

For YOU THROW THAT SHADE Science

They break into the antique shop and stalk around, finding a giant storeroom full of mirrors. “Fuck my life,” Dean basically says. They explore the antique warehouse full of mannequins and insidious lamps. Sam calls for Bloody Mary and they get their smashin’ hands ready.

When Mary doesn’t show, Dean double-checks the entrance and spots bright headlights. He heads outside to head off security. Meanwhile, Bloody Mary shows up in the surrounding mirrors. AS we watch, Mirror!Sam starts to bleed. “It’s your fault,” Mirror!Sam says. “You killed her.”

Outside, Dean is…incredibly awkward talking with security. He claimed he was the owner’s son but the owner is implied not to be white. Dean explains that he’s adopted and…oh lord, Dean. They’re not buying his story AT ALL, so Dean knocks them both out quickly.

Mirror!Sam tells us Sam’s dark secret. Sam had been having nightmares about Jessica’s horrific death months before she died.

Dean races back inside, only to find Sam crumpled to the ground. Dean smashes the mirror like the goddamn HULK. Dean hauls Sammy “It’s Sam” Winchester out of the room. Unfortunately, by smashing the mirror they’ve only freed Mary.

She crawls out of the mirror Ring-style and starts to bleed out both brothers. Dean grabs a mirror and shines it on Mary.

Mirror!Mary actually seems more lucid that creepy-crawly Mary and tells her that she killed everyone. Mary dissolves in a puddle of blood.

Dean and Sam run Charlie back home. Be free, little butterfly! (I’m still super weirded out by your name.)

Sam tells her that she needs to forgive herself for her boyfriend’s death. Sometimes bad things just happen. Dean whacks Sam on the arm and tells him that it’s good advice. Pot. Kettle. Black.

As they’re played off the screen, Dean asks what Sam’s secret was, but Sam holds his cards close for a little while longer. As Sam stares moodily out the window, he sees Jessica standing on the street corner, white dress fluttering dramatically.

Yep. Everything’s fine.

(And because Boris loves those parallels, she’s just going to drop this gifset down and run away.)

Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes:

Sooner or later we’re gonna have to talk.

How many times in Dad’s long career has it ever been a freak medical thing and not some sign of some awful supernatural death?

Spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray.

It’s Sam.

Hey Sam. It’s gonna be like six hundred years back luck?

You’re my brother, and I’d die for you. But there are some things I need to keep to myself.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 1x05 #bloody mary #dean winchester #sam winchester #jessica moore #supernatural season 1

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amillionsmiles · 6 years

Text

checking (you) out (Pidge/Lance)

Summary: Katie works the tech desk at the university library. Lance never remembers to wipe his memory card before returning the camera equipment, which is how she becomes intimately familiar with his life via, of all things, his vlogs. A/N: finally get to post this in full! Written for @plance-zine ; it was wonderful to be part of such a project, and shoutout to the mods for keeping everything running smoothly! :)

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.

People, Katie has decided, are predictable. Watch them for long enough, and their everyday motions start to read like clockwork. At 9 AM on Thursdays, she shows up for her shift behind the library’s tech desk. At 9:20, the girl with space buns and an artfully distressed jean jacket strides in, heading straight for one of the study pods. At 9:25, somebody blows through the doors in a last-minute effort to print materials for their 9:30 class. And at 10:50, ten minutes before Katie’s shift ends, Lance McClain shows up, laboring under the weight of a camera bag, backpack, and tripod.

Katie reaches for the scanner as Lance puffs his way toward her, depositing the tripod on the table with a heavy clunk. It takes him another minute to locate his student ID card: he checks the pocket of his cargo jacket first (not there—it never is) before wriggling his fingers into his jean pocket instead. When he hands the plastic over, it’s warm from being pressed against his thigh.

Katie spares it a passing glance as she pulls up the ‘Equipment Return’ form, filling in the requisite information.

“You’re good to go.” She gives him a thumbs-up, careful not to look him straight in the eye.

“Cool, thanks.” Flashing a bright grin, Lance backpedals toward the doors, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Once he’s disappeared completely from view, Katie unzips the camera bag. She flicks the dial to on and goes straight to display mode. Sure enough, the schmuck hasn’t bothered wiping the memory card.

Smirking, Katie kicks her feet up on the table and leans back in her chair.

Let the entertainment begin.

o.O.o

Lance McClain does not know her name, and Katie is completely content with this. She applied for her gig at the tech desk specifically because it required minimal human interaction. Nobody expects her to make conversation; they just want to check out equipment and leave. Occasionally she has to troubleshoot a printer jam or direct tourists to the bathrooms; most of the time, though, she just does her homework and gets paid.

Still, when someone visits at least twice a week, it’s hard not to notice. The first time Lance left recording footage behind on the camera had sparked her interest, and from there it wasn’t too hard to find his YouTube channel, Facebook, and LinkedIn. Which was how she knew that he was a second-year bio major with a side-job at the Starbucks in the Garrison, the student union, and in his free time he liked to record himself attempting to do stunts with his skateboard, if not narrating a funny story about his day or answering the call of things like the Cinnamon Challenge.

Katie and Keith had gotten halfway through that video before Keith closed her laptop.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Katie, you’re too good for him.”

“I’m hate-watching!” Katie justified, attempting to wrestle her Chromebook from Keith’s grip.

“You know way too much about him to just be ‘hate-watching,’” said Keith, making air quotes with his left hand. “You have his student ID number memorized.”

Katie glared. She regretted letting that piece of information slip. Memorizing Lance’s ID hadn’t even been intentional—it’d only happened because of how many times she’d typed his information into the system during checkout.

“You go to office hours just so you can breathe the same air as your TA for an extra 120 minutes,” she retorted. “You don’t get to lecture me on sad.”

Anyways. All of this is to say that despite what Keith thinks, she does not have a weird, borderline crush-fascination with Lance. And when she stumbles into Green Library’s 24-hr study room at 3 AM to work on a CS project, he’s the last person she’s expecting to see.

Lance is slouched in a swivel chair, earbuds plugged into the desktop in front of him. One dangles loosely around his neck, the other shoved in his ear. Upon hearing someone else enter, he lurches to attention. Katie pretends not to notice—she fully intends to sit on the other side of the room—but Lance doesn’t give her the chance.

“Hey! You’re tech-desk girl!”

It’s a dumb nickname. Definitely not something to get excited about, and Katie schools her features to reflect that. She’s above all… this. Unaffected. “I have a name.”

A quirk of the lips. Lance somehow manages to hook an ankle around the chair closest to him and spins it so the seat faces toward her, an offering. “Wanna tell it to me?”

It’s uncannily close to the Pick-up Line Challenge video he posted to his account a month ago. Katie tries not to think too hard about that.

“What’s in the thermos?” she asks instead, setting her backpack down and warily accepting the chair.

“Redbull and coffee.” Lance’s leg bounces under the table, fingers tapping a jittery rhythm on the keyboard. “Wanna try some?”

“No thanks. It sounds unholy.”

“Oh, it is. Definitely a personal low, but sometimes you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.” As he gulps his strange concoction, Lance’s face wrinkles, throat flexing as if he’s swallowed a frog. “God, this is like… sacrilege for me.” His voice lowers, confiding. “I’m a barista.”

“I know,” blurts Katie. Immediately after, she freezes, hoping that the comment will drop unnoticed.

No such luck. Lance raises an eyebrow, questioning. A strange light has entered his eyes; by admitting that she’s paid attention to him, Katie has suddenly become the sole focus of his attention.

How much to admit? Best to be blunt—rip it off like a bandaid. The best defense is offense, and all that.

“You never delete your videos off the camera before you return it,” she says.

Whatever explanation Lance had been anticipating, this one catches him off guard. His face contorts as he tries to process the information. “I—my videos?”

It’s almost too easy, slipping into the impersonation. “Hey guys, it’s ya boi Lance, and today I’ll be—”

“Okay, okay.” Lance waves his hands, cutting her off. “Please do not continue.”

“I thought you’d be flattered hearing your own lines back at you.”

“Not like that, it’s weird! You make me sound like a tool.” He sighs. “Well, now I’m disappointed.”

Katie frowns. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I thought it’d be cool if you knew stuff about me because I was like, your secret Starbucks crush or something.” At this, he shoots her a hopeful look.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“We sell other stuff. Also, you still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Katie,” she finally relents, breaking eye contact to pull her laptop out of her bag. When she looks over again, Lance is resting his chin on his hand, staring at her thoughtfully.

“What.”

“So does this mean you subscribe to my YouTube channel?”

“No.”

Lance pouts. “Why not?”

“I like the raw footage better. It’s funnier. Like the first take of the spicy noodle challenge, where you spewed milk out of your nose? Classic.” She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder. “What are you working on, anyways?”

“Nothing!” Lance pushes his body between her and the screen, the broad line of his back blocking her view.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing if you’re being like that.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard about this thing called privacy? 4th Amendment! Search and seizure! Gimme back the mou�� ow!”

Years of wrestling with Matt has made Katie adept at underhanded maneuvers; with Lance still rubbing his side from where she pinched him, she takes control of the mouse and opens up the window he’d minimized earlier. Onscreen, several scenes are being recolored and spliced together; she recognizes the footage from earlier today.

“Do you always make your videos on the school computers?”

“I have my own laptop. It’s just shitty and will only run like, 2 programs at a time, and all that’s being directed towards a stats project right now.” Lance eyes her sideways. “Hey, what major are you? Or, wait—are you a freshman? Have you even declared yet—”

“I’m a sophomore. Computer science and math.”

“Ah, the double major.” Lance nods, then puffs out his chest. “Guess what I am.”

Common sense tells Katie that she should play dumb. Let him have the satisfaction of correcting her. But her overwhelming need to prove she knows things wins out.

“Pre-med bio.”

Lance blinks. “Wow, first guess.” His surprise turns sly. “You do have a crush on me.”

Katie rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. All it takes is a quick LinkedIn search.”

“Yeah, but you only fully read through someone’s LinkedIn when you’re a) hiring or b) evaluating their bae potential. It’s okay—” he holds up a hand, cutting off her protest, “—I’m honored, truly.”

“You’re ridiculous.” This entire interaction has gone so far off the rails, she doesn’t know how to begin redirecting it. Lance, meanwhile, shifts focus easily, pulling a camera out of his backpack and popping the lens cap off with practiced ease. The next thing Katie knows, it’s pointed at her, Lance narrating: “You’ve heard of Sleepless in Seattle, but we’re here with Sleepless in the Study Room, guest-starring my new friend Katie!”

“What—who said we were friends?” says Katie, trying to duck out of the frame. Lance is an unerring videographer, though; he follows every motion. Backed into a corner, Katie swats at the lens before remembering that it’s from the tech desk and, therefore, her responsibility. She stays her hand.

“We’ve been talking for over half-an-hour,” Lance says, flashing his phone at her, where 3:30 AM makes itself known in thin white strokes. “I’d say that counts for something.”

His smile is bright and close. It’s probably the lack of sleep that’s making her loopy, but the feeling underneath her skin is not unlike a sugar rush.

“I guess,” she says.

o.O.o

She regrets everything the next morning. The minute she gets behind the tech desk, Katie thumps her head down and starts calculating. If she naps in ten minute increments, maybe she’ll recuperate some of her lost sleep and still manage to do her job.

The hours crawl by slowly. At 10:50, the characteristic whoosh of the automatic doors awakens her from her latest sleep cycle, and from somewhere above, an entirely too chipper voice says: “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“This is your fault,” Katie groans, raising her chin to glower at Lance. “Because of you, I got distracted, and then I had to stay up even later to finish coding.”

“I know, I was there. You are a very aggressive programmer, by the way.”

“Just pass over your card so I can check this equipment back in,” she grumbles, wiggling her fingers in demand. Instead, though, Lance curls her fingers around a warm paper cup.

Katie stares at it blankly. “I told you I didn’t drink coffee.”

“It’s my special blend,” Lance insists. “You’ll like it, promise.”

“Yeah, well, it’s going to have to wait ten minutes,” sighs Katie, pushing it to the side and heaving the camera and tripod over the desk. “I’m not allowed to have drinks back here. On-duty policy.”

“Then I’ll keep it safe in the meantime,” says Lance, snatching it back. “I’ll just be over here.”

Katie watches him stake out a table. Blinks a few times, to confirm that he’s still there. This isn’t part of their usual routine. It feels strange but not entirely unwelcome.

When she flicks to the camera’s memory card, it’s clean. That’s weird, too—that they actually had a fully fledged conversation, and he took something she said to heart. In fact, the other night, she’s pretty sure she made him laugh. And there’d been a moment, where Lance had tipped his head back, eyes crinkling, and Katie had thought: shit, maybe Keith had been onto something after all.

When her shift ends, she heads over to the table that Lance has staked out. In characteristic Lance fashion, he’s already found a way to unfold himself over all the available space: backpack slung over the back of an empty chair, feet kicked up on the seat opposite him. Katie nudges them aside as she sits down, reaching over to grab her coffee, and Lance’s face brightens.

“By the way, your earbuds aren’t plugged in completely,” she says, sipping her drink. Lance, despite only knowing her from their interactions the night before, has somehow guessed at her sweet tooth, and the foamy latte goes down easily. “Nice music.”

Lance rips the buds from his ears, gaping down at his phone in horror. Onscreen, a disturbingly animated baby waves its arms, singing, Yes papa, as a banjo strums in the background. Katie marks that down as another piece of information on Lance: listens to educational children’s music in his free time.

“In my defense, it’s for a project.”

“Sure it is,” she says, slapping Lance’s hand away when he tries to grab the coffee back in retaliation, and it’s so natural to mess with him like this, to laugh and call him noodle arms and have everybody else glare at them for being disruptive.

I think it counts for something, Lance had said the other night.

Something, indeed.

#voltron #pidge #lance #plance #vld pidge #vld lance #otp: teenage dream meme team #my writing #fanfiction #ff: voltron

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