#got a c and tanked my gpa

[rapunzelsunshine]

time to completely reteach myself latin by january 23rd for my latin course 😭😭😭

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXI. “belonging”

parts: previous / next

plot: somehow, you always find your way back home. Batman gets an intriguing lead on John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, dead body, cancer, confrontation, depression

words: 3.2k

Tears studded your cheeks as you vented to Mar about the morning's happenings. She'd never liked Dr. Vry, and at some point the conversation had exploded into a rant about the subpar character of the woman. "Remember when she accidentally input my A as a C and told me 'fate' must have guided her grade input? Then didn't fucking change it because of fucking, written in the stars bullshit? Fucking tanked my GPA."

"I just don't get it. The email said nothing about him, she said nothing about reporting on him besides being excited he would be there." You collapsed flat on your back in a starfish pose. "It was like she expected me to be starstruck by him or something. Like that was the only course of action." Like everyone else seems to be. The world caters to flashy, superficial things.

"Fuck her! You don't need her!"

You stared at her blankly for a moment. "Except for my housing, my food, my plane tickets back home?"

"How much an hour is it? Like $15?"

"$43."

"Oh fuck, in this economy you should've said you'd suck his dick, too."

Maybe you were spending a little too much time with her. "I feel like alluding to me doing anything with that man should be a crime." You flopped back on your bed and checked the time--it was barely past noon. You hadn't even managed to be at the job until the afternoon... shame threatened to cocoon you faced with such obvious failure. At this point you remembered the check Dr. Vry had sent would arrive today, and a few minutes later you sat inputting the code you'd been mailed to your digital check.

You spent the next twenty minutes listening to Mar continue to rant while you ordered some groceries. By that point she'd gotten a text from one of her friends for their Friday night bar hangout and had dismissed herself, leaving you tethered to your house as you waited to stock your fridge. You watched out the window as she got into an Uber, and after she was gone for sure, and just as the check deposited, you called your mom. Moreso even than the likely imminent firing, the stress of her health threatened to spiral you off the deep end. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"Hey, hun." She cleared her throat, then yawned. You heard a small buzzing sound in the background, then heard a small meow. Another night he spent purring and cuddling her. Thanks, Walter. God, you were so glad she had him. "Everything alright? The photos you sent of your apartment were really good, I showed them to Debbie and she couldn't believe it! 'In GOTHAM?' is what she told me!"

To tell or not to tell about the troubles this week held? She yawned again. Not the time. "You sound tired." Your grip tightened around the phone.

She sighed. "My doctors moved my appointment to six thirty in the morning, can you believe that?" She tsk-d.

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Oh just fine. I had to sign a bunch of paperwork and talk to practically everyone in the place." She sounded bored and vaguely annoyed, which she hadn't been before. Irritability a potential side effect?

"Did the shot hurt?" Small talk, but what else was there to discuss? Your likely firing?

"Nope." She began cooing to Walter, who became exponentially louder with his purr.

"How's your arm? Any side effects yet?" God, why did things feel so dry today? Did Gotham really create so much distance already between you and your family? Were you just anxious and overthinking? Was she annoyed?

"My my, they must have you busy with interviewing skills."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she questioned you instead. "When are you coming back hon?"

This question confused you. "Uh, whenever you need me to, but I thought starting next month? For the injections?" You twirled with a frayed end on your blanket. Can I still return this? It's been like a week and it's already tearing apart... she snapped you out of your wandering with her next sentence.

"Sure, your dad and I are going on a cruise this week."

A cruise? Right after her first dose of an experimental cancer drug? With unknown side effects? "Mom, your treatment,"

"Oh we'll only be gone a week. Won't interfere with my next appointment." Walter meowed again. Who would be taking care of him?

"I mean, okay. I just think with not knowing the side effects of your first dose,"

"The way I see it dear is this might be the best I ever get to feel."

That sentence hit like a ton of bricks atop bruised ribs. "Couldn't you wait a week, just see the side effects?"

"The cruise leaves the port tomorrow."

"Mom,"

"We still can't believe that donor. Whoever they are, they really opened our finances up. Your father's been saving for years to try and make that initial bulk payment,"

You recalled the argument they'd had when your mother's cancer was initially found. Your mom wanted to start a payment plan immediately, but your dad thought if he put it into deferment for a few years and made payments to a high yield savings account every month their money would 'go exponentially further'. You hadn't cared much at the time, mostly because money stressed you the hell out, and at the time you were trying to avoid thinking about your mother's prognosis. Before you could decide what to say next, your dad had walked into the room and starting shouting loud enough for you to hear on the phone.

"Hey sweets, how are you and that Wayne guy doing?"

"I don't know how else to tell you guys I don't like him. We don't talk." This conversation was going nowhere, and you could smell an impending argument if you stayed on even another minute. You needed to check on one last thing before hanging up. "Who's looking after Walter?"

"Oh don't worry about that,"

"I am worried. Do you need me to come back to watch him?"

"Debbie will be stopping in throughout the week to check on him."

Walter was never very fond of Debbie; whenever she came over, in fact, he ran and hid. If you knew Debbie any less you might think Walter was placing judgment on her character, but no: she was just very loud, her laugh sounding a bit like a stampede. Walter was never very skittish, but after enough startles, he'd come to hide whenever he heard her come around. His discomfort was all you needed. "Tell her not to come, I'm coming home for the week."

"Hon," your mom began to chastise you, but you refused to let her finish. "No, no, I'm coming home tomorrow and I will stay with him. Case closed." After saying goodbye and lying about having already bought a nonrefundable ticket, you hung up and bought the earliest flight for tomorrow: 11am. You did your best to avoid thoughts of how the thousand Dr. Vry had sent was already disappearing, and filled the rest of your evening (sans figuring out what to do with fresh bags of perishable groceries) packing to head back the next day.

The bat signal hadn't lit since Thursday night. Bruce had been left reeling, kicking himself for not following up with Gordon on the owl debacle. He went out every night, and every few hours would move to the usual meeting place with Gordon to find an empty sky. It was Wednesday night before the signal lit again, and by that point Bruce had nearly gaslit himself into thinking the owls hadn't been there in the first place.

Gordon looked morose, but resolved. "We have the autopsy back for our John Doe." He held up a graphic photo of the man, gray and laid out on stainless steel. His chest and abdominal cavities were peeled open and pinned to keep tension, revealing a normal—yet punctured—chest and abdomen. Gordon confirmed its complete lack of novelty. "Nothing. Couldn't even trace back a name. No one posting about a missing husband, child, brother, nephew, friend." He paused to clear his throat. "However, we did find something unusual in one of his fillings."

"Unusual? How?"

"The coroner said he almost didn't catch it, but he runs the deceased through an MRI machine after especially gruesome cases. Normally fillings don't show up on magnets, but these ones did." He held out his other hand, revealing a few small pieces of chipped silvery metal. The metal was extremely slick and had a mirror finish to its shine. "It's a metallic alloy of sorts. I'll send it to the lab for processing."

He nearly asked to take it back to his own lab, but that would pressure the boundaries. Gordon was in a tight spot being seen with Batman. He couldn't push it. "How long until it's processed?"

Gordon shrugged, his nose scrunched like he was still smelling formaldehyde's stench. Bruce thought he might've caught a whiff off his jacket. "Not more than a coupla days. I'll signal for you." If the city was in a better place, if Gordon was in a better mood, he might have winked.

The pause gave Bruce just enough time to speak. He said it casually, without much fuss, as if it were a rolling breeze. "Did you see what was on the knives' handles?"

Gordon sighed. A good one? A bad one? Bruce's eyes trained on him like a hawk. The cowl felt tight. "Chicken scratch, most of 'em."

"Most?" Say more.

"No traceable logo."

Frustration bled into his tone. "Looked like an owl."

Gordon's eyes focused on no particular point on the back wall, his eyes narrowing. What? He saw it too, right? pounded against his ribs to be heard. After what felt like hours Gordon shook his head. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Was this an elaborate scheme? Did Gordon not see it? Was his, was his mind failing him? It glinted off the light perfectly, the etching was transparent in its shape, the beak, the feathers, the claws...

"You alright?" The Bat was lost in thought, breathing thick and heavy. Bruce nodded. To push, or not to push? Silence hung like smog between them. It was crucial to push it, imperative to reality check his mental faculties. "It didn't resemble an owl to you?"

Gordon shrugged. It gave no information to Bruce, who was close to running out of the room and laying face-down in his pillow the rest of the night while he actively avoided looking further into the death of his great-grandfather. Was his time coming sooner than his had? Was it due to his lack of sociability? Had he been concussed one too many times? His neuronal pathways seized up, the myelin sheaths disintegrated?

"Do you know anything about owls?"

Did Gordon know? Was this a trick question? Wait, he wasn't Bruce. He considered saying he'd seen them in peculiar position throughout town, but moreso than Gordon's rocky relationship with the police force, the man had no idea who Batman was; Bruce had to keep exclusively to formidable behavior due to the weakness of the knot tying them together. A kooky moment, or a Freudian slip could force Gordon to take out some scissors and sever their relationship. Bruce shook his head, and left.

Uber. TSA. Flight. Baggage. Uber. Key. Door. Lock. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. The past few days had passed in such inconsequential monotony you resisted the conclusion you weren't alive at all. The only moments of reprieve you gathered were when Walter walked up and jumped into bed beside you, tucking his fluffy back against your stomach. He was the only reason you were able to sleep with the anxiety of your job being in limbo, and your mom having fled the town after her first shot. Your mom had left a note saying that the connection would be spotty on the cruise, but they would be back no later than 5pm the following Friday. Now it was Wednesday, and the food your parents had left was starting to dwindle. Your muscles ached to be moved further than the walk from your bed to the bathroom, your bed to the kitchen, or your bed to the living room couch. You put another ice cube into Walter's bowl, grabbed your helmet that was thankfully still in the hallway closet, and took off for a ride to the grocery store on your mom's old bike.

The air was warm, and the sun threatened to burn every centimeter of exposed skin. You'd forgotten just long enough that the stinging sensation was of hot sun piercing onto skin to where you decided against going back for SPF. You didn't have to worry about such basic, human things in Gotham; the sun barely came out, and when it did it was covered by such dense clouds and thick smog you couldn't begin to feel heat against your skin whatsoever. The buildings were hard and cold, the dense metal keeping you chilled no matter the season. Now the sun accosted you, the wheels of the bike running over fresh leaves and the occasional string of hay. You swerved past clumps of clay dirt that lay in the middle of the road, shut your eyes for a few seconds as you coasted, not having to look out for a pedestrian or car every five feet. This was living, this was where you wanted to be. Tears prickled your eyes as you coasted into the dusty parking lot of WinCo, a local grocery store chain to the PNW. You forgot a bike lock, but the city was small and trusted enough that you never heard about bikes getting stolen, anyway. The initial panic was immediately eased, as well as the tight knot in your chest. Maybe you belonged... here?

You walked into the grocery and went straight for the fruit aisle. As you placed apples and oranges and pears in your basket, you absentmindedly flipped through the past. When you were growing up here, it was too boring. You'd wanted nothing more than to leave. You wanted to see skyscrapers, and big cities, and always have something happening around you. Now that you had experienced the worst of what a city could give, this town with its penetrating sun and lofty trees felt like paradise. A paradise that was quickly interrupted, when you accidentally knocked baskets with Lara. "Oh shit,"

"Y/N?" She pulled her basket in and glanced to her left, at someone who you presumed was her exchange boyfriend. She stared at your shoes, you noticed her cheeks going pink. Tension yanked on your shoulders and your stomach flipped. "Hi. I'm watching Walter while my parents are on a cruise."

"No longer in Gotham?" Her boyfriend turned around when she mentioned The Most Feared City, and walked over. "Gotham? That shitshow? I don't know how anyone can live there."

Fucking prick. A strange defensiveness overtook you. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be." Yes it was. "I'm just visiting home, I have a journalism job back there."

"How's Bruce Wayne?" Her tone was mocking, quite unlike Lara, and you figured it had to be Rose and Gabbi's bitter influence in the time you'd been gone that brought this upon her. Mystery Man's eyes lit up, one of the buttons on his shirt threatened to pop like the bulgy vein in his forehead. "You know Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne?"

"She knows him, alright." She side-eyed the guy and giggled. He laughed, which was startling, and shame bolted through your body like a sticky, sharp rod. He leaned into her ear and said, still loud enough for you to hear and likely purposely so, "Her?"

Before shame could fully envelope you, you righted the wrong; in part because the idea of someone believing Bruce had been inside you made you want to sink into the floor, in another wanting to assuage yourself of guilt. "We haven't fucked. Sorry. I was just trying to get back at losers I thought were my friends."

Lara gasped. "I can't believe you!" It rung hollow in your ear just as Dr. Vry had. If someone put their hand over your head they'd feel steam. "You didn't used to be like this, it's fucking disappointing." You spun around and ignored what she was saying behind you, shoving your feet against the ground, making your calves burn with each grief-consumed footstep. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter what she's saying. Soon enough you made it across the store to the pantry aisle, pretending to inspect some cavatappi noodles in your quivering hands. The cardboard soaked up your bulleted tears, and you tossed it in your basket after catching a glimpse of your reflection in the boxes' plastic window. You fell to your knees and covered it up pretending to inspect the marinara, not trusting your thighs or knees to keep you steady. Everything hit you all at once, panic rising in your chest and narrowing your esophagus. You grabbed a random sauce and ran to the self checkout, ringing up your two items, grabbing a bag, and taking off for home.

The ride home wasn't as quaint as the one there. The sun wasn't at your backside, now it seared into your bleary eyes as it set, making you unable to see a rock in the road, sending you flying overtop the handlebars. When you touched your knees and elbows, they stung and stained your fingertips red. The last ten minutes of the walk was utter misery, as blood dribbled slowly down your knees and down to your wrists. Walter meowed when you came back, but you couldn't pet him. You turned the water as cold as you could manage to wash away the cakey blood and dirt. Your hands hesitated before lathering the shampoo, and when they scrubbed the back of your head you began to cry again. Your face was hot and your body ice cold. You sat on the floor, pulled your knees up, and wrapped your hands around your chest as sobs shrieked out of you. The water ran pink, then pastel, then clear. Being alive hurt. The thought pounded at the back of your corneas, chafed blisters between your thighs, and spiked the ridges in your throat, that you might never, ever, feel "home". Walter meowed at the door, you turned off the shower, and toweled off to open another can of Friskies.

[creacherkeeper]

Hi!!! I saw that you youre a social worker, and thats so cool because Im also neurodivergent and wanting to become a social worker. Im curious if youd talk about your journey into becoming a social worker and how youve blended that with games and maybe what gameshave inspired you UwU

hi nonny!! i absolutely would love to talk about it!!

so i've been a social worker for over two years now. i specifically work as a disability coach, content writer, and now supervisor for a company that specializes in services for autistic adults and teens, but i've worked with a lot more clients than just autistic and have professional experience with adhd, trauma/(c)ptsd, anxiety and depression, addiction, dissociative identity disorder, learning disabilities, physical disabilities, chronic pain and fatigue, and more. i started with a specialty in autism, adhd, and trauma, but it quickly wound up that whenever we got a particularly complicated or challenging case my boss just gave them to me :P which is awesome because a lot of the time they wind up being the most rewarding clients to work with

i became a social worker from an unusual route because i actually started in advocacy work. i was a disability advocate for 7 years before i got my job as a social worker, and as an advocate sat on multiple state wide disability boards, was on the board of a center of independent living, ran a statewide autism expo, sat on lots of panels, participated in a think tank, ran community events, hosted a social group, co-wrote a local guide on voting with disabilities, and even made my own educational video game about autism. so it was all of that that caught my boss's eye when i reached out to him about joining the team, and i got the job after a 5 step interview process

after writing a 27,000 word training manual for my company i've now started working with new coaches and doing their training and have been doing their supervision hours as well. i also wrote a comprehensive introductory guide to autism for psychiatric and medical providers

the question about games and gamification goes back pretty far! i struggled very heavily with ptsd, executive dysfunction, and eating disorders through college and just found that therapy wasn't a good fit for me at the time (i didnt have enough knowledge and understanding to ask for what was helpful, and wasn't at a place in my emotional journey to start unpacking years of trauma and abuse) but games were the thing that seemed to help the most. using gamified mental health aids made the process of recovery fun and put it more under my own control. it wasn't clinical and potentially dangerous (i was at severe risk of institutionalization at the time and wanted to avoid it at all costs). using gamified apps and websites, i was able to recover from my eating disorder without professional treatment, take control over my schedule, and balance a job, college, and writing three books enough to graduate with a 3.7 gpa while being entirely financially independent. at the same time, i started playing tabletop roleplaying games like d&d, monster of the week, call of cthulhu, fiasco, starfinder, and more. this so radically improved my communication and conflict resolution skills, and expanded my emotional understanding and vocabulary to the point where i felt like a whole new person

as for inspirations, gamification is still a growing field but there's good stuff out there, and i use them a lot with my clients. they tend to be hit or miss, but they do a lot of good for the people they work for, and i've taken the lessons on how these games work and adapted them into my own individual systems i build on a client by client basis. i've built mini systems to help clients navigate making friends, improve their marriage, write original fiction, and more

habitica is the one i use most often. it's a gamified to do list split into habits, dailies, and to dos where you gain xp, get loot drops, defeat bosses, and collect pets as you accomplish your tasks

superbetter helped me a lot as a younger person, its a mental health site where you take on a secret identity and activate power ups, complete quests, fight bad guys, and recruit allies to recover and accomplish big goals

finch is a digital pet app where you power up and take care of your pet by completing self care activities like drinking water, going on walks, and reaching out to friends

plant nanny is a water tracking app where the liquids you drink in a day water your digital plant. it sends you reminders to drink if your plant is thirsty, and you have to drink enough to keep it from wilting

there's also a lot of video games out there that help you explore difficult emotions and concepts. one example that i absolutely adore is a game i'm replaying right now called spiritfarer. its a cozy resource management game where you play as a psychopomp who ferries the recently deceased to the afterlife. its a very sweet and beautiful game that packs some punches, and has a lot of meaningful things to say on trauma, disability, abuse, premature death, and a lot of other difficult topics. its such an incredibly meaningful game to me. the family gaming database has curated lists of video games that tackle emotional topics like grief, trust, or love in meaningful and sensitive ways. so that's a great place to start if you're looking for games to explore those things!

i hope that answers your question :D i know i wrote a whole novel. but im very excited about the work that i do and my plan for the future is to continue creating games like haunting to help people with mental health challenges and disabilities. this is only my first project but there are more on the horizon im really excited about. in the meantime you can check out my games at @psychhound where i post a lot of smaller systems and try to post freebies fairly regularly!

absolute best of luck with your own journey nonny, and if you ever had any more thoughts or questions please let me know!!

[boopboopboopbadoop]

Me: I got a B in that class as an undergrad. The professor told me not to take it again because a B in that class is considered good. And he clearly thought I did well enough because he told me this while we were discussing a rec letter he was writing me.

Boss: You have to take it again. Nobody in the lab got a B. The other drug discovery PIs only accept As in that class. Nobody in the other labs got a B.

(I retake the class, get a B again, because it’s a hard class and I have less time to study as a grad student, only one person in my lab got an A but we’re not telling the boss that)(a few weeks after the final, talk to a girl in one of the other drug discovery labs)

“So how did you do in the class by the way?”

“Meh, I got a B. It’s passing and I have a bear of a synthesis so I’m a little bummed but ok with it.”

“GIRL I GOT A C BUT THE PROFESSOR WAS NICE AND RECORDED IT AS INCOMPLETE SO MY GPA DOESN��T TANK” (we only have to take 3 classes and require a 3.0 cumulative gpa so one failed class can drop your GPA enough that you’re out of compliance and get booted)

“Bruh I don’t know what my boss is smoking thinking everyone gets As in that class.”

[theknightlywolfe]

FYI to all the kids going off to college for the first time from someone who worked on campus as well as got two degrees.

1) Be nice to the advising center front desk staff, the admin desk staff, and the cafeteria staff at your favourite stations. Getting to know your profs is all well and good (and a good idea) but these are the people who can truly make your life miserable if they want to. I used to pick flowers and bring them to the grill station breakfast chef in the cafeteria and sometimes it is the only reason I ate before dinner because of my schedule v the open times. This small thing cost me nothing and gained me a lot.

2) Avoid 7 or 8AM courses unless you have no other choice (yes some colleges start class this early). Yes, waking up early is misery but it is often misery for your professors also, they are not inclined to be kind in the class either and your own morning misery may cause you to run your mouth and make an enemy.

3) Find out what the last day to switch from grade to credit/no credit is. If you find you are struggling with a class early or your professor is a stickler in ways that punish their students, it is often better to just take the credit than have it impact your GPA. If your uni offers this option it is often limited to a handful of classes so be careful about using it but *use it* if you need to. When I took Japanese, the only reason I passed 102 is because the prof knew I would sign up for 103 and she had a class minimum to meet to make sure it wouldn't be cancelled, but taking it c/nc meant I didn't have a D dragging down my GPA. I also wished I used it on a Biology general requirement class because even though I had the highest grade in the class, because the prof was a dick I still only had a C+. Again, highest grade in the class. It hurt my GPA horrifically and gave my advisor an excuse to try to tank my enrollment, which caused me a very brutal senior year.

4) If your advisor is a dick (and there are so, so many of them) request a change ASAP. They can do more damage to your time at college than you expect.

5) Get everything an administrative employee tells you in writing. I had my undergrad steal so much money from me because they told me and my parents that we could let it go or they could kick me out. When I went to school it was so much cheaper and thankfully my college fund covered the thousands they stole, but they still stole a couple quarters worth of tuition and admitted it in writing where they also admitted to refusing to fix it. It wasn't worth suing them then, tuition is pricey enough it is worth suing now. *This university has continued the practice now over twenty years later to the point they have a reputation for it.*

[feeshies]

spring 2019 - fall 2019

my redemption arc

[learn-and-accept]

just bombed my spanish test so that’s how my life is going

[blkgirlcafe]

Professor Nasty

Professor! Florian Munteanu x Black! Reader

Warning: Public sex, unprotected sex, cheating, undefined age gap, dirty talking, slight degrading. 

I keep my description of the reader pretty vague, make her how you want, but she black fosho. I am trying to get better at writing from a Y/N perspective, so any constructive criticism is welcomed. 

Thank you @dersha98 for the inspiration and the ending. Thank you love!

University of Munich

Y/N tried to keep her eyes on the slides but it was nearly impossible. She never believed the hot professor stereotype until now. 

Somehow she had gotten her dates mixed up and ended up registering for classes late. Which means all the good electives were taken. Y/N had gotten stuck with the two worst electives one could think of and she was sure to be in for a boring ass time. Public speaking and Romanian literature. 

Public speaking was the worst to Y/N, because well it was public speaking. Every other week she was giving a speech, standing in front of a class of 30. It was nerve racking and she always needed a break after that class. 

Romanian literature on the other hand surprised her. The professor was gorgeous, a man if she ever saw one. 

Talk and built like a brick wall that she would happily run into. She sat up front, eyes tracing his each movement. 

“So reports are due, please pass them up.”

Y/N pulled out the report that she put together less than 4 hours ago after reading the spark notes online. She hadn’t read most of the book, getting bored within the first 4 chapters. 

Everyone knew that professors didn’t read these things, just grazed over and did a length check. 

She quickly passed it forward and began to pack her stuff, last class of the day. Y/N couldn’t wait to get home and watch Netflix. 

1 week later 

A big bright red F was stamped on her paper. Not even a C or D. This would tank her grade in the class which would tank her GPA. 

Y/N waited until the class was empty before approving Mr. Munteanu

Up close he was even more impressive of a man. He was solid built and smelled like mint and firewood. She liked it. 

He didn’t even get her a chance to talk, “Your grade is your grade, stop staring off into space and maybe it could have been better.”

Y/N was shocked not expecting that out of the normally quiet professor. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Munteanu, the book was just really hard for me to get into. Can I try another book? Please?” 

Y/N tried her puppy eyes on him, hoping it would work like it would on her boyfriend. 

“Read the whole book, cover to cover and instead of a 2 page report, I want 4. The highest you can get is a B.” 

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.” 

The way he licked his lips made her look away, something inside her heating up at the thought of his tongue.

“When is it due?” She finally asked. 

“I’ll give you a week, and Y/N don’t tell anyone. I don’t normally let students make up work.”

“I won’t, thanks again Mr. Munteanu.”

Y/N declined an invite to drinks, and lowkey ghosted her boyfriend to finish the paper. Once she got past the first 4 chapters the book was actually good. Lots of drama and sex which she wasn’t expecting. 

She easily typed out a report after and printed it out. Excited to hand it back to him after class. 

Y/N waited silently as Mr. Munteanu read her paper. His tall frame was casually leaned against the desk at the front of the auditorium. She fidgeted in her seat. Having him read it in front of her was nerve racking. 

The paper dipped below his lips and Y/N found herself staring at his lips and how pink they were, wondering if they tasted as good as they looked. 

“Miss Y/N, Y/N!” 

Y/N snapped out her daydream, “Yes Sir.”

“I asked what is your favorite part of the book?”

Y/N chewed her lips, wondering if she should tell the truth. The book had a few steamy sex scenes and they were explained in graphic detail. 

Y/N kind of shrugged, not wanting to answer him. 

“Use your voice young lady.” His voice was stern, making her clench her thighs. 

“The sex scenes Sir, they were just so real.”

One eyebrow shot up on his face. 

Y/N felt her heart speed up, this was not a conversation she was prepared to have with him. 

“Come here Miss Y/N.” 

On shaky legs she made her way to where he was standing, he picked the book up off the desk and handed it to her. 

“Show me your favorite part.” 

Y/N flipped through the book she was handed. For some reason her hands were shaking, she found the part. 

“This is it.” Y/N squeaked out. 

“Read it Miss Y/N.”

Y/N gulped, praying her voice did not fail her, “ His soft touch sent flutters through her body, this is what it felt like to be touched by a man. An experienced man…”

Mr. Munteanu wrapped a large hand around her hip, Y/N gasped.

“Can I touch you?” 

“Yes...please.”

Y/N cursed herself, already begging. Mr. Munteanu stood and Y/N felt surrounded by him, he towered over her, his scent engulfed her. Y/N tilted her face up, to look at him. 

“Tell me you want this.” he barely whispered. 

“I want this sir.” 

Mr. Munteanu crashed his lips on hers, kissing her aggressively. Y/N kissed him back, biting back a moan as he grabbed her ass.  She needed more, wanted more. 

“Please Sir…” she broke the kiss. 

“Please what sweetheart.” 

Y/N wasnt sure what to ask, fuck my brains out sir, use me like a toy sir, do anything you want. The pad of this thumb traveled from her hip to her neck where he gently squeezed getting a moan out of Y/N.

“Don't make me ask twice.” 

“Please fuck me Sir.” 

Mr. Munteanu growled as his other hand yanked at her jeans, not even bothering to unbutton them, pulling them down. 

Cold air hit Y/N wet pussy lips she was absolutely drenched from the little he had done. What happened next happened so quickly, Y/N head was still swirling. She was face down on the hard wooden desk, Mr. Munteanu running a thick digit up and down her slit.  The clink of a belt was all that could be heard over both of their hard breathing. 

“Fuck I wish I had more time.” his thick accent broke her out her spell. 

“Please...I need you.” Once again begging like a whore to be fucked by an older man. 

“Don't worry sweetheart, I am going to fuck you like a man should.” 

His wet tip came in contact with her thigh as he guided the thick cock head towards her entrance. His pre cum mixed with her wetness as he pushed inside her, testing the limits of her walls. 

A gasp left Y/N as his thickness filled her up, a painful stretch that quickly turned into pleasure. Mr. Munteanu pushed until their bodies were connected, Y/N walls fluttered around him, reacting to having such girth in them. 

“Good girl, taking all of me.” he grunted. 

Y/N moaned as he begin to fuck her, slow deep strokes that left her breathless. Y/N let out a loud fuck as he hit a particular spot. 

“Have to be quiet for me baby, can't let them know what I am doing to you.” 

“I cant...It feels so good...please more.” Y/N tried to bite her lip, to keep from getting too loud. 

“You want them to know that you like older men, that you let me fuck and so quick.”

“Fuck Yes, please dont stop!”

“I'm not stopping until I flood that cunt.” 

Mr. Munteanu lifted one of her legs, setting it on the desk, hitting even deeper on each stroke, a tingling that started in her core finally let go, Y/N toes curled as she had her first orgasm, breath hitched in her throat. 

“Look at you, already cumming all over my dick. Imagine if I had you in a bed, the things I could do to you babygirl.”

Y/N head swam with the thoughts, the way he could use her body, she wanted that more than she wanted anything else right now. 

“Does your boyfriend make you feel like this?”

He knows I have a boyfriend, Y/N though. Mr. Munteanu picked up the pace, slamming his hips into her. 

“Tell me Y/N.” he said through clenched teeth. 

“No Sir, you feel better.” Y/N cried out. 

Y/N was being fucked so hard she swore the desk was moving, not that she cared, her second orgasm was sneaking up on her. 

Moans, skin slapping and the occasional grunt filled the empty auditorium. Mr. Munteanu pulled out, flipping her over before laying her back on the desk. All Y/N could see was him and his extremely chiseled chest. Her ass was pulled to the edge of the desk, her ankles by his ears, thick dick at her wet entrance. Y/N fist clenched around nothing, riding out her second orgasm. 

“Fuck, I am about to…” Mr. Munteanu never finished. 

He flooded her unprotected pussy, something she didn't even let her boyfriend do. He kissed her legs and thighs as he pulled her legs down. 

“I need more.” was the last thing he said as she rushed to put her pants back on and scurry out the door. 

Y/N rushed across campus, she felt like everyone knew what just had happened, she felt like everyone knew that her professor cum was staining her panties. She made it to her boyfriend's apartment, praying he was not there, still at the gym, or at the pub with friends.

The whole way up all she could think was, I just had sex with Mr. Munteanu! In the same class that he taught me in. Y/N was going to have to stare at that desk for the rest of the semester. She got to his apartment and mentally cursed herself, she could hear him on the game already. 

“Babe! Where have you been?” He asked her. 

“I had to turn in that paper and he had me stay while he read it.” Y/N tried to quickly get down the hallway but  Fynn wouldn't stop talking. Any other time he would be so engrossed in the game she could walk around stark naked and he wouldn't notice. 

“I waited on you for dinner though, I am hungry babe.” he whined. 

“Let me take a quick shower and I'll order your favorite.” 

She should feel guilty that her boyfriend was waiting for her to return while she was having the best sexual experience of her life on a desk, with her professor, who was also her boyfriend professor. But all she could think about was two orgasms in less than ten minutes. 

“Why are you walking funny baby?”

Y/N froze in her place, she just got fucked with the biggest dick she ever saw. 

“Sprained my ankle earlier in heels, I need to put it up.” 

Y/N quickly faked limped to the bathroom, turning the water up super high. She set her phone on the counter noticing a text from an unknown number. 

Be free Friday evening -Flo

[autumn-foxfire]

Is it true that the passing grade in the UK is 70%? I'm looking at a chart and it labels it as an A-grade, "outstanding and distinctive" a B-grade is 60-69% and "good to very good" a passing rate on merit along with C-grade that's 50-59% defined as "satisfying" even a D-grade at 40-49% is sufficient and passing. If you get a "B" in America your GPA tanks :/ Is your letter to percentage system just thinking of the numbers differently and it's actually a similar equivalent in difficulty/work or?

We actually don't use letters anymore but numbers but that was after my time in education so I don't know if the system is still the same in regards to passing percentage and grades.

However I believe in highschool those were the percentages we did need to get A's and B's, and those above those percentages would be classed as A*

Honestly, whenever I look at the needs in American schools for good grades, I've always been thankful it wasn't the same for us. We don't have a GPA here, you just use your grades you scored for the subjects (so in highschool I got A's and B's overall and would list them off) when applying for college and university, though it is the same that certain colleges and universities will require higher grades for entry.

So when I applied for uni (which is basically American college where you get degrees), I had to get perfect scores in order to get into my first choice (which I'm still in disbelief that I managed to do so T-T). However, I'm not entirely sure how they were marked because I'm not sure if the college marking system (which is basically what would be the end of highschool in America with 16-18 year olds), is the same as what you get in highschool markings in the UK where 70% gives you the highest marks.

I'm honestly not sure if an A for us at 70% is equal to whatever % is required in America to get an A or if American's are stricted with their markings. I've always felt like American schools are harder from what I've heard but never knew how to check. Sorry I can't answer you there, nonnie.

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

your tags on my post slapped me across the face. yes fucking yes. the fall from academic grace hits a whole lot harder when you've been excessively built up and built up for years and then come crashing down. i constantly feel like im letting everyone and younger self down. the whole thing about IDENTITY is so true too! x adhd-vibes

Well, your post came into my house and punched me in the gut, so...

But no, I really genuinely appreciate posts talking about the gifted child + neurodivergence duality because it’s... a lot. And I feel like I’m only just starting to understand-- well, my entire life, basically. 

My entire life past the age of ~13 has been a constant up and down of thriving and burnout, a lot of self loathing and doubt over my perceived failure, and a lot of depression and anxiety. And I just found out last year that a fair portion of it can likely be chalked up to the fact that I’ve had ADHD my entire life, my parents found out when I was four years old, and no one told me. 

I started kindergarten at four. I was already reading chapter books. I’d finish reading the assignments before the teacher even finished handing them out, and be up and causing distractions because I was bored. They talked about bumping me to second grade, but I was already the youngest in my class and they didn’t want to create more of an age gap. 

I did first grade half in English, half in Japanese to keep me “challenged”. The Japanese teacher hated that I was so young, and after a while refused to teach me. 

My second grade teacher made a rule that I could sit any way I liked, or move around however I wanted, so long as I could touch my desk. 

My third grade teacher set up a play area for students who finished their work early, and I spent most of my time there. 

My fourth grade teacher recommended fantasy novels and read to us during downtime. 

My fifth grade teacher helped me and my friends start a writing club, and she’d read our short stories and give us notes so we could work on our drafts when we were done with our schoolwork. 

And then sixth grade and algebra happened and I could not for the life of me do the assignments well. I worked with friends in a study group. I had three different math teachers try to help me, in case one clicked differently. They’d watch me do the work, step by step, and one of two things would happen: 

1. Either I’d do the work perfectly, but the answer was entirely wrong and they couldn’t figure out why 

or

2. I’d do the work all wrong, but get the right answer every time. 

But since you had to show your work for full credit, I went from a straight A student to mostly A’s and a C in math, no matter what I did. 

My self esteem tanked. Most of my memories from middle school are of sitting alone at the dining room table sobbing because I felt stupid, and like a failure, and I just wanted to die, and sitting at a table focusing on only one thing with no background noise or stimulation was torture in and of itself. I finally got my mom to let me listen to the radio while I worked, and it helped a little, but night after night I’d sit there, sob through my math homework, and wish to disappear. 

All of the self-loathing and stress manifested into extreme anxiety. I started washing my hands constantly, because that I could control. My hands cracked and bled. I kept washing. 

I started self harming, and my mom found out and took me to see a therapist (who is still my therapist to this day), and I was diagnosed with OCD and Major Depressive Disorder, as well as Seasonal Affective Disorder.

By the time high school started, the handwashing had mostly stopped but still flared up again occasionally, and I was on track to graduate with highest honors following the “College Prep Honors” curriculum track. I made the National Honor Society, and did student government as well as zero hour choir and drama. I took Honors English and excelled. 

But to complete the degree, I’d have to take Algebra I freshman year, Algebra II Honors sophomore year, Algebra III/Trig junior year, and Calculus senior year. 

I got a C in Algebra I. I lost my National Honor Society status because of the GPA drop. I quit student government because I was ashamed. 

I was told to drop Algebra II Honors two weeks in, because I was going to fail the class. This meant I would not get the diploma I wanted, but the secondary “College Prep” diploma. 

I fell into a deep depression, decided I was stupid, and stopped trying. My report cards after that for the rest of high school were an assortment of A’s, B’s, C’s, even a D or two. I hated myself for not living up to my potential, for being a disappointment to my parents, for being so stupid. 

I went back to therapy. I graduated high school. I went to college. I burnt out. 

I took a gap year because I was suicidal and didn’t know what to do. I went back to therapy. 

I transferred to a university. I burnt out. I dropped out, because I was suicidal and didn’t know what to do. I went back to therapy. 

And when I was 27 years old, I found a box of old school stuff from elementary school, and as my mom and I laughed about it she told me that an administrator who specialized in identifying attention deficit disorders had observed me in kindergarten at the request of my teacher because I was causing distractions, told them that he was entirely certain I had what was at the time called ADD... and not to have me officially diagnosed in order to keep it out of my school record and avoid any “challenges to my desired educational path”.  

Teachers were told, and chosen specifically to work with me and not against me, which I appreciate greatly. 

I was never told. 

On the one hand, I can see how my parents just didn’t want me to go through life believing I had something “wrong” with me, didn’t want me to be held back from pursuing any classes I wanted to take because of my “diagnosis”, and didn’t want me to be “unnecessarily medicated”. I appreciate the time and care that went into trying to guide me along and give me safe environments to be my authentic self without being told it was a hindrance or a “problem”. 

But the more I learn the more I can’t help but wish someone had told me. 

Because I spent the last 16 years of my life thinking that somewhere along the way I had “lost” something, or “failed”, and really it was a pretty predictable and manageable sequence of events. 

I’ve since learned that a lot of the things I’ve always done that I’ve felt uncomfortable or “odd” about... are stims. Minor ones, but stims, nonetheless. 

I’ve since learned that I was bullied pretty severely for being “weird” in elementary school, but I have no memory of it. 

I’ve since learned that dyscalculia is thing, and very well could have contributed to my ongoing struggle with math. 

And for the rest of my life I will wonder if knowing would have changed anything. If my depression is a side effect of this thing I didn’t know about myself, or a separate piece of me. Who I might have been if my entire identity wasn’t tied to my perceived sudden loss of intelligence and potential. 

Anyway. I’ve rambled quite enough. If anyone wants to talk about any of this, or vent, or ask questions, feel free. This is the post we are referring to, by the by. 

[talltales]

                                                           anonymous request!!

it starts with a notification.

norasdad has shared a playlist with you. click here to listen!

no message attached.

her thumb hovers over the glaringly green button situated at the center of the email, circling as she frowns at the screen and sips on coffee long gone cold. usually such things came with context—i thought you’d like this. that artist you like has a new album out!

something.

“why are you glaring at your phone?” comes a disembodied, muffled voice from her bed, from beneath layers of blankets. heating in the old dorms had always been spotty at best; you had to stand exactly three feet to the left of the bathroom door to feel anything resembling warmth, “your grades already in?”

she huffs, “no, i just turned everything in last night. and is that the kind of faith you have in me?”

a face finally peeks out of the mound atop her bed, all messed hair and bleary eyes. “if you didn’t have me to come and wake you up every morning, you would’ve flunked out for attendance issues in the first week.”

“ass.”

bambam laughs, and the melodious sound is just enough to ease the tension building behind her temples, “so,” he says, and she blinks a time or two before she glances down at the flagged message still sitting open on her screen.

“someone just sent me a playlist, that’s all. i’m overthinking it.”

not that deep.

from the corner of her eye, she catches him pausing; witnesses the look of unguarded comprehension that disappears as quickly as it comes. at first, she thinks it might be something as innocuous as empathy—

then he hides the lower half of his face behind the covers and she catches a glimpse of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

her eye twitches, “you—come here.“

“me?” he echoes, scrambling backward as she moves toward the bed. his ankle catches in the cocoon of blankets, however, and he topples right off the edge with a heavy thump.

“ow. damn.”

dissatisfied with his escape, she reaches blindly into the mess and hauls him up by the collar, “what are you hiding? what do you know?”

he appears to contemplate what he'll say, taking long enough that she’s halfway through a list of simple but effective ways to get her answers when he finally speaks.

“i know that… playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions, like—” bambam gives her a positively shit-eating grin and wiggles out of her grasp, “you should probably open it. maybe someone’s got it bad for you.”

and before she can think—let alone say—much else, he makes for the door and scoops his backpack up on the way out, “see ya!”

the door shuts quietly behind him, and she’s left alone with her own thoughts.

a modern day mixtape, huh.

—

at first, she ignores the message because the thought of opening it makes her stomach do some weird flipping thing that’s more off-putting than exciting.

who would be interested in her like that, anyways?

but eventually, the playlist—and all that it might entail—slips to the back of her mind as she falls headfirst into work at the end of the semester and anxiously waiting for news on the state of her GPA. she’s finishing her second cup of coffee and staring a hole through her phone when she hears a voice speaking beyond the fog, “…alright?”

“what?”

“are you alright?”

the man standing at her side is still and familiar, blocking the onslaught of a sun that is much higher in the sky than she remembered it being a moment ago, “jaebeom?”

“that’s my name,” he smiles, with a short gesture to the chair opposite her. it takes an embarrassingly long moment to register what he means to ask, but she nods and manages to wrangle the piles of papers cluttering the table into a haphazard stack.

“i’m sorry, of course. make yourself comfortable.”

just a second later, he eyes the mass of documents she’s cramming into her bag and winces. “did i interrupt you? i can—” already, he’s making to leave and instinct has her reaching to grasp his hand.

she only catches the tips of his fingers, but it’s enough to stop him short.

“the only thing you interrupted was my latest existential crisis. no worries.”

jaebeom makes a sound that could be a sigh or a chuckle—maybe a little of both—before he slumps back into the seat and shakes his head, “that sounds even more concerning.”

she shrugs and gives up on making the folders fit back into her bag. instead, she moves to drain the last dregs of her coffee from her cup, “it’ll pass. then i’ll be back to my everyday anxiety.”

if he’s put off by the topic, jaebeom doesn’t show it. instead, he leans forward and plants his chin in his palm—regarding her with something that can only be considered as open curiosity, “so what do you do? to deal with that?”

this time, any cognitive delay—she thinks—is because it’s an odd question.

“what do you mean?”

unfazed, he taps his fingers against his cheek and she makes absent-minded note of the distinct structure of his face. im jaebeom is unreasonably attractive.

and why is she thinking like that? stop. stop.

“i’m asking how you cope. do you listen to music?”

the reason for his curiosity clicks and she hums, amused, “are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

her question's effect is immediate. his hands raise in a gesture of surrender, playful and earnest all at once, “i swear i’m not. i just noticed that you usually have headphones on. really, it was surprising that you didn’t today.”

oh.

had he tried to talk to her before? the thought is enough to summon a wave of guilt that she isn’t prepared for, and she finds herself bowing her head; fingers curling around her empty cup, “i’m sorry.“

“what for?”

her lips part to offer an answer, though some logical part of her mind warns her against it—overthinking, again—but finds everything skidding to a stop with a soft touch to her chin, nudging it up until her focus is trained on the man opposite her.

he speaks gently, but firmly, “whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

though he seems to catch himself and pulls his hand back; settles it palm down on the old cafe table, “sorry.”

the warmth of his touch lingers.

“i think,” she takes a moment to gather her thoughts; to test the words out on her tongue before she says them, “that we both should stop apologizing, for like, five minutes.”

jaebeom laughs, and the sound is sharp; unguarded and music to her ears.

—

“since when do you wear perfume?”

she stares as bambam sniffs the air through the mirror, chin lifting just enough that she momentarily considers throttling him where he stands, “since when does it matter?”

“you’re answering a question with a question.”

she pinches the bridge of her nose, prays for patience. surely something or someone up there is listening—“tell me why you’re here again.”

“because you came to understand... years ago that you can’t live without me. i’m basically the angel on your shoulder.” as he makes this declaration, bambam loops his arm around her and squeezes hard. “or the devil. whatever. so, who is it?”

“who is who?” for the moment, she leaves him be—raising her hand to pluck a few more stray hairs from her brows, “you’re going to have to be more specific. i know more than one person.”

and there it is. the smug smile that says bambam knows more than he’s telling. he toys with the ends of her hair, looping a few strands around his fingertip, “you can play this game with me, but i hope you know i’ll win.”

as much as she wants to brush his words off another instance of him being full of it, the quiet certainty that he possesses is enough to stop her.

“if you say so.”

“mmm,” gamely, he pats her shoulder before he turns to exit, “tell jaebeom i said hi.”

“get out!”

—

it isn’t like that.

the extent of her time spent with him is strolling through the aisles of a forgotten record shop downtown. for all of his dedication to the art of psychology, jaebeom is equally steadfast in his love for obscure music. thumbing through old vinyls is his pastime, and consequently what she finds herself doing on the odd thursday afternoon.

in place of his usual, proper slacks and button-up, jaebeom wanders the store in jeans and tank-top—carefully keeping in line with the oscillating fan on the wall as if it’s a shield from the descending summer heat. to his credit, the old building doesn’t appear to have working a/c and it may as well be.

she takes a moment to make sure her sundress is covering the essentials when the fan blows her way and continues flipping through the stacks, “what are we looking for again?”

when she turns back, he’s watching her with a bemused smile.

“nothing specific, but you’ll know.”

following my heart, am i?

jaebeom chuckles, and she realizes the thought has slipped out. loudly. embarrassed, she makes a show of inspecting the nearest vinyl until the heat in her cheeks fades.

“that’s the idea,” he says, but the confirmation nearly escapes her notice when she actually looks at the record in her hands.

“hey, i think i found something,” the lettering is small, but the focus of the cover art is the picture itself; a man in the forefront with a cigarette propped between his lips, and another with a match, reaching up from an endless crowd to light it, “ann arbor blues festival—”

she squints; pauses when she feels a hand settle on the curve of her spine.

“1969.” jaebeom murmurs, tracing the edge of the sleeve with a charming sort of reverence. his thumb catches on the hem of her cardigan before raising to wrap around her shoulder in a half-hug, “yeah, you found something.”

when he smiles, she recognizes the wild fluttering of her heart for what it is.

“great.”

—

“so what do you do with all these records?” she asks between taking sips of flavored, crushed ice—sickly sweet piña colada—and watching him sort through their finds for the day. without any discernible system, he sorts them into three neat stacks and makes notes in a worn paper pad.

“i make playlists,” jaebeom says without a glance, flipping to the next page before he stills mid-sentence and gives her a look, “after a month, now you ask?”

deadpanning, she drains an eighth of the enormous cup before she responds.

“i’m not a curious person.”

his expression turns thoughtful, but before she asks, jaebeom nods and returns to his task. the stillness that follows is more disconcerting than she’s accustomed to—with him, at least—and she finds herself speaking merely to break it, “you should send me one.”

it isn’t the right thing to say, if the clenching of his jaw is any indication. his fingers splay over the page, and his lips move silently as he reads back the information that is a foreign language to anyone but him, “sure.”

he doesn’t look at her again, and she leaves with the distinct and terrible feeling that she’s screwed something up.

—

“so how’s it going with our favorite psych major?”

“do you ever just say hi?” she peers at her wholly unwelcome guest over the lid of her laptop, more than a little testy, “how are you? et cetera.”

the picture of cool, calm, and unaffected, bambam takes a seat at the edge of the bed; brow raised and a hand combing through his bleached, silvery hair, “you look lovely today. the weather’s nice. are we ready to get to why you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

as satisfying as it might be to deny him this, she releases a heavy sigh and closes the old device. the empty word document goes black and with it, any remaining desire she had to get something—anything—done, “i think i fucked up.”

his head tilts, lips curving softly.

“you’re going to have to be specific. you fuck up a lot.”

she exhales; the laugh that escapes is short-lived, but it doesn’t feel hollow, “thanks for that.”

there’s a hand in her hair, and where she expects bambam to make a mess of it, he carefully guides each stray strand behind her ears before moving to her shoulders, “anytime.”

her stomach is tying itself in knots by time she finds the words. they trip over her tongue as she tries to assemble them into something that will make sense to him—to her.

“i like jaebeom. i really like him, and for a while i thought that maybe...“ preemptively, she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and finds them—thankfully—dry, “he felt the same way, but now i’m not so sure. i think—“

the hand sliding up and down her arm goes strangely still.

“wait,” bambam blinks at her, and for the first time, he actually looks baffled.

she stares back, “what?”

“you… didn’t open the playlist, did you?”

when she shakes her head, he mirrors the gesture with a small, pitying smile that she feels settle in her gut like lead.

“oh my god.”

—

playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions.

jaebeom is surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. he is conspicuously absent from his usual haunts; searches of the library, the cafe, and the record shop turn up little more than the vague maybe i saw him?

it’s thursday, though, and maybe he’ll make an appearance for his afternoon vinyl-hunt.

hopefully, he isn’t compiling a new playlist for someone else.

if she wasn’t panicking at the thought of never seeing im jaebeom again, she’d be pissed that he had quickly turned her life into some bad 90s romcom.

and she’s a half-step from throwing her hands up and crawling back into the shelter of her many, many blankets when she spots him making his way through the slowly thinning lunch crowd.

again, he’s dressed for the summer heat; a sight now as familiar as the friendly, disarming student she’d known for years, in the strange sort of way that you could know someone through mere exposure.

it was a bit like watching the same train pass your house every day and knowing the graffiti on each car by heart.

her feet carry her to the front door and she meets him there—a little out of breath, but grasping the handle before he reaches it. the thundering in her ears is distracting, but no more so than the brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand before he quickly retracts it—

“i need to talk to you,” she says to his reflection in the glass. it frowns, lips pressing into a thin line, and she swallows her dread and turns to face him fully, “we can have this conversation here, if you want. but i don’t think you do.”

the latter part comes out as a whisper, as if the battery fueling her courage is all used up.

“lead the way,” jaebeom takes a step back, offering an uncertain smile—either nervous or pained, it’s hard to tell—that she holds in mind as she crosses the street and heads toward the park.

on a weekday, there is no one on the swings. the most frequent visitors are retirees speed-walking down the trails and the occasional dog walker.

at the first shaded bench they reach, she drops onto the seat and glances up at her unmoving companion. the intensity of his attention gives her pause; makes her want to curl into herself until she manages to get what she needs to say out.

like ripping off a bandaid, maybe?

“i found the playlist you sent me.”

jaebeom tenses, in the nearly imperceptible way that says he’s bracing himself. maybe to hear some unpleasant truth, maybe to walk away. but it doesn’t really matter which one it is, when both options are so unpleasant.

she reaches up and takes hold of his hands, squeezing until she feels like he gets it. jaebeom doesn’t reciprocate, but he does move closer and that’s enough.

for now.

“hear me out, please.”

swallowing, she tilts her head back and focuses on him; cutting a figure against the sun and shade—colored in shades of green reflected from the trees overhead. he is still unreasonably beautiful.

“i didn’t ignore it because i disliked you, or anything. honestly, i didn’t know what to make of it because who does that—“ jaebeom sucks in a breath, and belatedly she shuts her mouth with a sharp click that she feels in her jaw, “that’s not what i meant to say. i—stay still.”

when she summons enough courage to look at his face, his expression is purely one of embarrassment, though for himself or for how badly she’s botching this remains to be seen.

“i like you. in fact, i’m probably in love with you and before you respond, i don’t think you can say anything about how i’m doing this when you confessed through a spotify playlist.”

when jaebeom pulls his hands out of her grip, she prepares herself for any one of the scenarios she’d imagined while trying to hunt him down; he says nothing. leaves. he cusses her out and then leaves.

the scenario that she doesn’t dare to imagine is the one that presents itself; in the slide of his fingertips over her cheek, a careful touch that makes her alarmingly delicate pulse flutter around like a bird in a cage.

in the silence that follows, she basks in the contact; tilts her head to lean into his palm until his lips meet the corner of her mouth. once, then twice.

“you liked the playlist.” jaebeom whispers, and she feels him smile; hears the heady sound he makes that barely passes for a laugh, “i made it, but you liked it.”

his giddiness is echoed in her, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to kiss him fully and breathe his air because now—right now

hers isn’t good enough.

“shut up, norasdad.”

            —I KNOW THE IDEA ISN'T NEW              TO FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ON FIRST VIEW              BUT I DON'T CARE              I THINK I'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU                           I'LL PUT ON MY SUNDAY BEST              YOU PICK OUT YOUR FAVOURITE DRESS              I'LL TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE NEW              I'LL BE OLD-FASHIONED FOR YOU

[shorterstrides-fasterpace]

Tagged by @maddygoesthemiles for top 9 good things that happened to me this year.

1) I worked on being social in the dorms caring about my outfit, making friends, and KICKING DEPRESSION'S ASS!!! And I made some Solid friends!!!

1.1) Ran an lovely 5K with mom March 7th, the last normal weekend of the year. (I thought it was 2019!!! Cannot believe that was this spring...)

2) I got to live with my Brother for a month when the dorms closed. It was so so so good to see him. I worked on my classes, cleaning around the house, took walks around the lake, and spent A LOT of time baking, my favorite was learning to make croissants from scratch! 

3) Saw a wild hognose!!! I was hiking with my parents and we saw a snake I had only ever drempt of seeing.

4) Moved with Matthew to OUR FIRST HOME 😄

5) All fish tanks were moved back under my care. They had been at my parents untill Matt and I found a place to live.

6) Oh, Did I mention I graduated!?!?!!!!! With a 3.21 GPA with some of my best grades in my final semester????? Hell yeah! Thank that fall2019 C's.

7) Created and stocked more fish tanks 😁😁.

8) Weekly visits to the aquarium stores ;)

9) I GOT A NEW JOB THAT IS INSIDE!!!!!!!!!!!! I am no longer constantly fatigued, over worked, and nervous that I will be accidentally impaled on rebar when I trip and fall. HORRAY! It is a real engineering job too :) its not "perfect", no job is, but dang, I seriously don't think jobs get much better. (work life balance is a PRIORITY 😍😍😍BY THE BOSSES!!!! No one works repeated long hours. Like 45 hrs standard, 60hrs once a year max, not 68hr for several months, fuck yeah!)

@still-holding-minas-tirith @weight-warrior @therunnymoonsover what are your top 9 for the year?

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day three

Prompt #3: “You did this?”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Scott McCall, Lydia Martin

Words: 1559

Author’s Note: A reaction fic to the combination of Scott’s placement in AP Bio in 5x02 and his attempt to drop it in 5x06, because I have a lot of feels about that. Scott POV.

>> hope is in the sometimes

It’s not that strange for Lydia to make an appearance at the clinic, but usually when she does, she has either Prada or the latest supernatural disaster in toe. Since Scott doesn’t see Prada and he really doesn’t need any more disasters right now, he thinks he’s allowed the rush of unease that fills him at sight of her sitting in the waiting room.

“Lydia?”

She doesn’t immediately look up from her phone, instead holding up a finger to let him know it’ll be a second. Scott takes her lack of urgency as a positive sign—at least until she puts her phone away, stands, and pulls out a drop form to AP Bio instead.

The one with his name on it. 

He stares at the paper and tenses his jaw, muscles in his neck jumping with the strain.

“Mrs. Finch didn’t get a chance to talk to you after class today,” Lydia says, casually swinging the gate open and walking into the employees-only area. “Said you dropped this off but didn’t sign.”

Lydia’s voice sounds like she’s testing him, but for what, he doesn’t know. A wave of shame crests over him and thrashes wildly in his chest.

He clears his throat and wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah. I um, I got a little distracted when I was handing it in. I can, um—” (don’t say um) “—I can sign it now if you want. Just give me a sec.”

Lydia doesn’t say anything in response, but he’s keenly aware of her eyes on him as he shuffles papers around on the desk, hunting for a pen—clients are always taking them by accident, and Scott doesn’t have the heart to point it out. He usually just buys the cheapest pack he can find every few months to cover it.

He could probably just tell the Doc about it, but it seems too minor to worry someone else.

Lydia clears her throat. "Scott—”

“Oh, here we go!”

Scott snatches a pen out from under a box of dog treats, interrupting whatever Lydia was about to say.

“Sorry about that,” he says, uncapping the pen and holding his hand out for the paper. “Didn’t mean to keep you hanging. I can just—”

“Scott,” she repeats, more insistent this time. “I didn’t come all the way over here just so you could sign some stupid drop form.”

Scott stares at her. She tosses her hair back.

“…Oh,” he says, because he’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to take that. He waits a beat, but Lydia still doesn’t offer him the paper, or an explanation. “So what did you—”

“Why are you dropping?”

His chest seizes, and the fact he recognizes it as panic instead of an asthma attack is not nearly as reassuring as he’d hoped.

He hadn’t really expected anyone to ask. Even then, he definitely hadn’t assumed it’d be Lydia.

He turns away, starting to sort the already sorted PPE on the counter. “It’s like I told Mrs. Finch. Scheduling conflict.”

Scott doesn’t see Lydia frown, as he’s busy looking anywhere but at her, but he feels it anyway. “I thought Finch said you can’t get into UC Davis without it.”

He slides a fast food container into the trash. “I’ll just take it next semester.”

“It isn’t offered next semester.” Lydia makes her point flatly, like she already suspected he knew it. Which, he did. “And even if there were, magically, a special section, it’d be too late to go onto your transcript to apply for the fall.”

Scott closes his eyes, for once wishing away red hair instead of red irises.

(He thinks of red pens and this isn’t yous and all of the C’s and D’s littering his sophomore transcript; all the people that died, red blood spilling everywhere, because he couldn’t figure out how to squeeze enough hours in a day.)

“The material’s just a lot more than I thought it would be,” he tries. “Maybe I’m just not cut out—”

“Bullshit,” Lydia snaps, the sudden ire startling Scott. “You have more highlights in the first chapter of that textbook alone than Malia has in her entire planner. And you got one of the highest grades in the class on Finch’s surprise exam.”

“Yeah, and then I missed the next night’s reading entirely.”

Scott hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, and this time, it’s Lydia that looks startled.

“That wasn’t your fault, Scott,” she says. “I didn’t read it either. There were extenuating circumstances—”

“There’s always extenuating circumstances!”

In the backroom, several dogs start barking irritably, distressed by both the tone and volume of Scott’s voice. For her part, Lydia just arches her eyebrows at his outburst.

Scott backtracks.

“Look, I just… I can’t afford to fail any more classes,” he says. “I’m not... like you. Dropping AP Bio might mean I can’t get into UC Davis. But if I don’t drop it and it tanks my GPA—and let’s face it, it will—I can’t get into any college. It’s just… It’s not worth the risk.”

The disappointment on Lydia’s face throbs painfully in his chest. It reminds him of exactly why he hasn’t told his mom about his decision yet.

He tries for a wobbly smile. “I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t worry have to about me. It’s—it’s okay.”

Lydia shakes her head. “It’s really not.”

“Okay,” Scott concedes, because he’s never been good at lying, “then maybe it just is.”

Lydia bites her lip. Scott’s both hopeful and saddened by the idea that she might be letting it go.

He holds up the pen. “Can I…?”

The second Scott reaches for the paper Lydia twists away from him, not far enough that it could physically stop him if he tried.

“Wait,” she says, scrambling to grab her phone while still keeping the paper away. “You can have it in a moment, okay, I just—I just want you to see something first.”

Scott gives her an exasperated sigh. “Lydia…”

She fixes him with a glare and then shoves her phone in front of his face, effectively bringing a halt to both his argument and his movement. “Look, Scott.”

It’s rarely worth trying to argue with Lydia when her mind’s made up, and Scott’s saving that good fortune for when he manages to end the conversation overall.

He humors her.

It’s a simple photo: a young white girl with blonde hair smiles up at the camera, giggling as a black and white wirehaired mix wriggles playfully in her arms. He looks at Lydia curiously, unsure as to why she’d been so insistent he look at it, before it clicks: they’d been at the clinic a few weeks ago, during which he’d administered the dog’s monthly intramuscular injection. He feels a flush of pride at the memory of the girl referring to him as Dr. McCall—only for it to sour when he remembers it’ll never come true.

He swallows down that emotion, too.

“Where did you get this?”

“Social media,” Lydia says, tapping the screen so the like and share options appear.

“…You follow Stephanie?” He reaches for the phone, brow furrowed in confusion. “Is she even old enough to be on—”

“It’s her mom’s account, Scott, geez.” Lydia snatches the phone away and clicks out of the photo view, displaying the comments below. “And no I don’t follow her, but I do track the Beacon Hills Clinic tag. Maybe you should, too.”

Scott feels even more lost by the apparent non sequitur, until Lydia slips the phone into his hand and gestures for him to scroll.

Most of the comments are fairly general reviews—what the cleanliness is like, speed of service, price comparisons, and so on—but there’s also a very particular human factor. Alongside the praise for Dr. Deaton, which doesn’t surprise Scott in the slightest, there are overwhelmingly positive comments about how the vet’s assistant had helped them, their pet, or their child through the visit.

Scott scrolls through the comments in silence, surprised by how many people and pets he remembers. And even more surprised by how many remember him.

Eventually, he closes out of the thread, and the picture of the dog and the girl comes back into focus.

They look… happy. Really, really happy.

“You did this, Scott,” Lydia says, gently taking her phone back. “You. Not Finch, or me, or anyone else. I know what I said when you showed up in class, but I was wrong—you couldn’t have been in a better place. Biology, being a veterinarian —it’s all about helping people. That’s what you do.”

Scott can’t help but push back. “I don’t always get to help people the way I want to.”

“No, not always,” Lydia admits, and the flash of guilt that crosses her face is such a perfect copy of his own that he knows she means it. “But I don’t think that means we should give up on the sometimes.”

Scott considers her words for a long moment, then nods, slowly.

“I don’t get off for another half hour,” he says, finally putting the pen down, “but if you wanted… maybe we could read that chapter together.”

She hands him the drop form, finally. “I think I’d like that.”

Scott takes it from her.

He drops it in the trash.

[taekemeaway]

info: kim seokjin/reader, teen, college au genre: fluff, romance, soft angst | word ct: 5k warnings: mentions of past self harm and suicidal thoughts summary: she was a force of nature, one determined to teach seokjin a thing or two about living. whether he liked it or not.

note: the song that i reference at the end of the fic is spanish sahara by foals

There was nothing unusual about Kim Seokjin, he was perfectly normal. He woke up every morning at the same time. He always read the paper while he ate a well-balanced breakfast. He was never late to class. Everything was routine, everything had its place. That’s how he liked it, that’s how he wanted it to stay. He had plans to marry someone his parents approved of, buy a house with a yard, have two kids, maybe a dog, and be perfectly happy. And that’s what made him perhaps the most ordinary person anyone had ever met and would ever meet.

So why, of all people, did she change everything?

He met her at the very beginning of the semester when she took the seat next to him, and he slowly learned that she was his exact opposite in every way thinkable. While he prided himself in his perfect attendance, she would often barrel into class 15 to 20 minutes late, usually hungover. During a lecture nothing could tear his steely eyed focus away from the professor, and she would most likely be asleep next to him. He studied endlessly to ace every exam, she counted herself lucky if she got a C-. They didn’t speak much, or ever, but Seokjin slowly developed feelings for her regardless.

There was everything unusual about her, and that’s probably why he found himself so attracted to the enigma sitting next to him. They never spoke, so Seokjin was always curious what caused the bags under her eyes. Wondered to himself why she needed to sleep through class. What did she do with her life? Where did she go? Why is it that whenever she walked by, he was suddenly reminded of car rides and warm summers? Why did her smile radiate with a warmth he didn’t just see, he could feel tingling on his skin? These were thoughts that often tumbled through his overactive mind, more often than he cared to admit.

Despite his obvious and crippling attraction, he never pursued her. For the duration of the spring semester, Seokjin admired her from afar, but that was the extent of their relationship. If one could call it that. He had to think about his grades, his internship, the blood drive he was volunteering for, he didn’t have time for a relationship. Platonic or otherwise. She was just a thought, nothing more, a wistful dream for someone less ambitious than he was.

How unfortunate it was for him that he was completely ordinary, and she was extraordinary. You don’t will a tornado away, the tornado will do whatever it pleases. And so would she, as Seokjin would soon find out.

“Hey.”

No response.

“Hey.”

Still no response.

“Hey, Earth to Kim Seokjin.”

Finally, Seokjin tore himself away from his notes long enough to acknowledge whoever was talking to him. He was almost stunned to learn that it wasn’t one of his classmates asking for help with their homework, or a student he tutored on the weekend, but it was her. Her, of all people. She was standing right in front of him, her arms crossed over her middle and playful smirk teasing her lips. He opened his mouth to respond and found that he couldn’t. He was absolutely tongue-tied and all she said was hello.

“It is Jin, right?” She asked, quirking a brow at him. “We sit next to each other in Advanced Chem?”

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Y-yes. That’s me, can I—can I help you with something?”

She pursed her lips briefly before cracking a smile. “No, not quite. But I can help you.”

“Wait—what?” Seokjin hesitated in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

The grin that twitched at her lips was both frightening and exciting. “I’m talking about teaching you some real life lessons. Learning about what’s important in life.”

“I already know what’s important.” He rebutted, trying to ignore how beautiful she was by rambling. “Good grades, great job, happy life.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “It’s sad because you honestly think that’s true. You need more help than I realized.”

Seokjin still had a hard time comprehending anything coming out of her mouth. “Can you rewind for half a second? Maybe slow down a little, add some detail, at least to start.”

She put her hands on her hips and laughed. “We’re going on an adventure, Kim Seokjin. Whether you like it or not.”

“Wait—we’re what?” Seokjin exasperated in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? We don’t even know each other, not to mention that I have class later!”

“I’m going to teach you that there’s more to life than grades and hoity toity professors.” She grinned. “C’mon, Jin, it’ll be fun. What’s a little bit of fun gonna hurt?”

He honestly couldn’t believe what she was saying. “What would it hurt? My perfect attendance record, for one. There’s an extra bonus in my Abnormal Psych class, less than three absences and you get an extra five points on the final exam!”

“And how many classes have you missed so far?” She challenged.

Feeling a light blush dust across his cheeks, he cast his glance elsewhere. “N-none. But that doesn’t mean I can just skip whenever I feel like! I might miss something important!”

Without warning, she grabbed his textbook and started backing away from the table, a mischievous smirk on her face. “That’s it, you need this more than I thought. So if you ever want to see your precious book ever again, you’ll follow me.”

“Wha—” Seokjin stammered, gathering up all his things as quickly as he could. “What do you think you’re doing!”

She was already halfway to the doors. “I already told you, I’m going to show you that there’s more to life than studying and exams, a whole lot more. And, you might not believe it, but you’re going to have a ton of fun doing it!”

Chewing on his lower lip, Seokjin weighed his options. He could simply ignore her, go back to studying for his English exam, pretend like she didn’t exist and get another textbook later. That way he’d make it to class without much of a fuss. The rational part of him liked that idea, he didn’t need to skip class to indulge some classmate he barely knew.

The other option, the one that he didn’t want to think about, was that he could follow her. He could hear her out, let her teach him these so called “lessons” and have his first absence in Abnormal Psych. Why did he even consider that option? Why was the mere thought of finally getting a glimpse into her mysterious world so enticing? The rational part of him screamed in defiance, he couldn’t skip class, that was absurd. But he’d already made up his mind whether he liked it or not.

“Hey, wait up!” He called after her, slinging his bag over his shoulder and jogging towards the exit.

She was still there, a smug grin toying at her lips. “See? Now was that so hard?”

“Just a little.” He muttered. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

“That’s part of the adventure.” She snickered playfully. “But—I would go change, if I were you. We might be getting a little messy.”

Seokjin looked down at his blazer and his slacks. “So—what should I wear?”

“Jeans?” She offered. “T-shirt? You do know what those are, right?”

A deep blush creeped across his cheeks. “Of course I do… doesn’t mean that I own any, though.”

Looking at him in disbelief, a honest laugh bubbled past her lips. “Alright, let’s head to my car then. Two birds, one stone. My ex left a duffel full of clothes in my trunk. They’ll probably fit you.”

“Are they clean?” He asked, only slightly disgusted.

Still laughing, she beckoned him to follow. “That’s part of the adventure, the allure of the unknown.”

“I don’t think I like the sound of this adventure of yours.” He muttered underneath his breath.

“It’s our big adventure, Jin.” She grinned back at him. “And you’re going to love it.”

As she stepped out into the hallway, Seokjin did his best to ignore how much he loved those words coming out of her mouth. He quietly followed after her, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing like crazy. She was honestly a whirlwind, one he’d been watching from afar for who knows how long. The second she decided it was time to intervene in his life, he knew that nothing would be the same.

“So, Kim Seokjin.” She started with a smile. “Is this really the first time you’ve ever skipped class?”

He nodded proudly. “Of course! I’m at the top of my class and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You do realize that skipping one class isn’t going to tank your GPA, right? It won’t even put a dent in it.” She teased. “What do you do when you’re sick?”

“I come to class anyway.” He explained hesitantly, he had never realized how ridiculous he sounded. “I mean—what if I miss something? I don’t want to get behind.”

“I’m going to bet,” She began as they exited the building, “that you’ve read every single textbook you own at least five times. You’ve probably got each syllabus tattooed right on your ass. There’s no way that you’d ever miss out on anything.”

Seokjin’s mouth fluttered open and shut in embarrassment. “I—I resent that!”

“So it’s true! I knew it!” She laughed. “Damn, Jin, you need to get out more often!”

“I’m planning to graduate with honors.” He tried to defend himself. “I need to do well so I can get into a good graduate school.”

Pulling out her cars keys, she stifled a chuckle. “You’ve already hit the doing well aspect right on the head. You’re just basically beating your poor 4.0 GPA like a dead horse at this point.”

“4.2…” He grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “See? What’d I tell you? You’ve more than earned a day off, you got to live a little!”

“I mean—” He hesitated. “I guess—I guess one day won’t kill me.”

“That’s the spirit, Jin.” She patted him on the back, coming to a stop at the bed of a rusted old pickup truck. “And, who knows, maybe you’ll even like living a little dangerously.”

“D-dangerous?” Seokjin stammered. “What exactly are you dragging me into!”

She cast a devious wink in his direction before pulling the duffel from the back of the pickup. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr Perfect Attendance 4.2 GPA Kim Seokjin. Now hurry up and put something on to make you look a little bit less like a librarian.”

Seokjin never imagined that he would be intimidated by a bag of clothes, but as it was dropped at his feet he swallowed nervously. Carefully, he kneeled down and unzipped it, raising his nose at the aroma wafting from its contents. As she chuckled at his expense, he very gently pilfered through the bag. Eventually he settled for whatever looked cleanest, a pair of jeans and a standard black t-shirt. Disappearing behind her truck, he pulled on the new clothes and honestly felt— surprisingly comfy.

“Here’s some shoes too.” She instructed, handing him a battered old pair of converse once he was done. “Don’t want to get your rich kid kicks dirty.”

Eyeing his loafers, he pointed to the sneakers with a disgusted grimace. “That’s not sanitary.”

“Sanitary is overrated.” She rolled her eyes. “Just put them on, you’ll be fine I promise. My ex didn’t have anything contagious anyway.”

Just when this couldn’t get any worse.

With trepidation he toed off his shoes and pulled on the second-hand converse, doing his best not to think about whoever had worn them before. After tying them tight he stood up and dusted off his new clothes, fully expecting her to laugh at his odd appearance. Never, in all his life, did he imagine himself wearing something so—casual.

“You’re a whole new man today, Jin.” She whistled. “Gotta say, relaxed looks good on you.”

Blushing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, whatever you say. Are we going to get going, or what?”

“What’s your rush?” She asked honestly, throwing Jin’s clothes and their bags into the cab. “You do realize half of the fun of an adventure is the journey, not the destination?”

“You got that from a fortune cookie.” Seokjin smirked.

Her jaw dropped at his sassy remark. “Damn, Jin. New threads, new man! I’m kind of digging this!”

“Shut up.” He muttered, opening the passenger side door and slipping inside. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Snickering, she got behind the wheel and put the keys in the ignition. “I’ve never met someone who was this desperate to get away from me. Besides my exes, of course.”

Trying to ignore the fact that the truck wasn’t starting, Seokjin eyed her suspiciously. “Do you take a lot of people on adventures?”

“Usually I only take friends, but being friends with me is an adventure of its own right.” She smiled easily. “You’re sort of the exception this time around, Jin. You’re a special case.”

“Well don’t I feel special.” He muttered, drowned out by the revving of the engine.

“So, Kim Seokjin.” She started with her arm resting out the window. “Where’s the one place in the whole world you’ve always wanted to go?”

Seokjin sort of eyed her in confusion. “I thought I didn’t have a say in this little endeavor of yours?”

Chuckling, she hooked up her phone to the aux cord and searched for a song. “If that was really the case, wouldn’t this just be a repeat of some college class? Wouldn’t that make me some dictator professor? Where you have no say in the what you learn, in what you do, just blindly following along. Doing as you’re told, when you’re told to do it, always at the mercy of someone else? I’m not that cruel. The adventure isn’t optional, but it’s up to you where we go.”

He was honestly caught off guard, not just by his sudden power over the situation, but also by how real her words were. Never, in all his days, did he think of school like that. He knew that he had a set of rules to follow, be on time, do your work, study long and hard, do well on the test. That was the formula he had followed for years. Never once did he question it. Never once did he bother to ask himself what he wanted to do. He had become accustomed to being a mindless sheep, and he didn’t like that realization one bit.

“The beach.” He stated plainly. “I want to go to the beach.”

Smirking, she threw the truck in gear. “Not a bad choice. The beach it is!”

The smile that creased his face as he watched the wind toss her hair in every direction was nothing short of blissful. For the first time in his life, there wasn’t a crushing weight on his shoulders. Due dates, study sessions, all of those things were put aside, forgotten, because they didn’t matter. Not for the moment at least. He was sure that the feeling would pass, that the pressure of excelling well past what was expected of him would come back with a vengeance. In light of that thought, he would enjoy it. He would enjoy this small freedom.

As they drove out of the city, Seokjin gazed out the window in amazement. he never left campus much, opting to stay in and cram rather than go out with friends. In all honesty, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone invited him out. He assumed, or at least he hoped, that everyone was just giving him the space he needed. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that his few friends had forgotten about him entirely.

“What’s your story anyway?” She asked suddenly. “Why are you such a busybody?”

He glanced at her, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” She began to elaborate, “why do you put this stupid amount of pressure on yourself to be absolutely perfect? It can’t be because you get off on only getting three hours of sleep a night.”

Seokjin chuckled quietly. “No, not quite. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. That requires a certain degree of dedication.”

“Dedication I can understand.” She levelled with him, looking over her shoulder and signalling to turn. “But what you’ve got going on, it’s borderline obsession. You’ve got to realize that your behavior isn’t what one would call “healthy”, y’know?”

“I mean—” He started to explain himself. “I don’t really see anything wrong with it? I get good grades, what’s the big deal?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “There’s your problem right there. You don’t know anything else besides your own little academic world. Even the most dedicated students I know, they still have something else going for them besides their grades. Maybe it’s just some cooking vlogs that they like to keep up with, but at least it’s something. What else do you do, Jin? Besides study and tutor and make flashcards all day?”

“I volunteer in my spare time.” He responded immediately. “It looks good for—for graduate school.”

“What else?” She instantly persisted. “What do you do that’s for you?”

“I—” He stammered, unable to think of anything. “I—I’m not sure…”

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. “Are you starting to see what I’m getting at? You don’t do a single thing for yourself. Everything you do is for your precious future. After a while that starts to eat away at you, you need some sort of outlet before you lose your mind.”

“I—” He continued, slightly appalled. “I’ve never thought of it like that. I—I always thought that—that my grades were enough.”

“There’s more to life than tests and grades.” She reminded him. “I swear I’m not just talking out my ass.”

Swallowing nervously, Seokjin looked out the window. “So you’re saying to give up on all of that?”

“No way.” She responded with a shake of her head. “One, because I know that would be fucking impossible for you to completely reroute your brain. Two, I’ve got no business in telling you how to live your life. I’m just trying to open up your eyes a little, to show you what else is out there. What you choose to do with this information is completely up to you.”

He nodded in agreement, finally finding sense to her madness. It felt good to finally have some insight into this endeavor he found himself thrown into. The one thing he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, was why she cared so much? She was a force of nature, someone who lived by her own rules and did as she pleased. What was it about him that made her reach out? As nice as she seemed, it couldn’t have just been out of the kindness of her heart. It was a question he was determined to answer.

“What about you?” He suddenly asked as the sun began to set. “What’s your deal?”

She snickered into her hand. “Geez, took you long enough, I’ve been waiting for the last hour for you to ask. You don’t hide your thoughts very well, Jinnie.”

Blushing, he pressed his lips together. “Well—can you blame me? I have no idea what to think about you. You’re just some girl in my class who’s always late, always exhausted, and you’re always smiling like you’ve got a secret—”

“You’ve really been paying attention to me, huh?” She asked, clearly amused. “I didn’t realize I was so interesting.”

“Of course you did.” He rolled his eyes in embarrassment. “You enjoy stringing people along like this.”

“That’s what we’re calling it?” She quirked her brow at him. “I thought we were calling it our little adventure.”

Doing his best to ignore his rapidly increased heartrate, he cleared his throat. “Well—besides that. Seems like this is a regular occurrence for you.”

“Actually—” She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Would you be surprised to hear that it’s not?”

Jin’s jaw almost dropped. “Yeah, I would.”

She smirked at him. “Like I said, Jin, you’re a special case. Usually I’m on my own, driving to who knows where, trying to see as much as I’m able before I’m stuck working a job I can’t stand. Sometimes I bring a friend along, but those adventures are closer to road trips than anything else. This time I just thought that maybe you needed one of these adventures almost as much as I do.”

Wait—what? He thought, caught off guard by her painfully honest statement. What did she mean by that? “As much as I do”?

“Holy shit!” She suddenly exclaimed, reaching for the volume dial. “I absolutely love this song!”

Momentarily stunned, he simply watched as she turned up the music and leaned back in her seat. A carefree smile creased her face, and he could’ve sworn that she closed her eyes. Not wanting to think about it, he opted to do as she did, to just sit back and listen. It seemed like the best option, it would at least help distract him from his overactive mind.

So I walked into the haze And a million dirty ways Now I see you lying there Like a lie low losing air

Black rocks and shoreline sand Still dead summer I cannot bear And I wipe the sand off my arms The Spanish Sahara, the place that you’d wanna Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It’s future rust and it’s future dust

Seokjin had never heard that song before in his life, and yet—somehow he knew that it captured who she was exactly. What little he knew about her was clearly etched deeply in those lyrics. She absorbed the music as she drove, lightly drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, humming quietly to herself. There was a sense of relaxation exuding off of her, but also of pure melancholy. Like hearing about her life hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

Now the waves, they drag you down Carry you to broken ground Now I find you in the sand Wipe you clean with dirty hands

So goddamn this boiling space The Spanish Sahara, the place that you’d wanna Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It’s future rust and then it’s future dust

I’m the fury in your head I’m the fury in your bed I’m the ghost in the back of your head Cause I am—

Sneaking sparing glances at her, he watched as a stray tear streaked her face. Still smiling, she kept driving into the sunset, she kept driving away from whatever was still causing her such pain. And as much as he wanted to ask, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. She needed something beyond words, something that Seokjin couldn’t give her. No matter how much he wanted to ease her suffering.

Choir of furies in your head

“Have you ever heard a song that just—”

Choir of furies in your bed

“Made you wonder—”

Choir of furies in your head

“What you were doing?”

Choir of furies in your bed

“And not only that, it—”

Choir of furies in your head

“Answered all of the questions—”

Choir of furies in your bed

“You couldn’t think to ask?”

I’m the ghost in the back of your head

While he tried not to, he couldn’t help but look at her in awe. She had just—opened up a part of herself to him and he couldn’t think of a solid reason why she would? Not only were they not really friends, they barely knew each other at all. And yet—he felt closer to her than anyone he could think of. Just some girl from his Advanced Chem class. Some strange girl who dragged him on an adventure that was already turning into the journey of a lifetime.

“Cat got your tongue?” She suddenly asked, tossing him a playful smirk. “You’ve been pretty quiet for a while now.”

“I just—” He stammered as he tried to drudge up an excuse. “I really liked the song.”

She flashed a brilliants grin. “It’s a good one, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” He hesitated, offering a shaky smile. “It was really—”

“And here we are!” She interrupted, pointing out the windshield. “You wanted the beach, Kim Seokjin, and so you shall have it.”

Following her gesture, he saw the crashing waves illuminated by the dim light of the rapidly disappearing sun in the distance. Slowly, she pulled off on a bumpy side road, completely missing the WELCOME sign half a mile ahead. He had a brief moment where he thought to question her, but thought better of it. She seemed to know where she was going, and at this point Seokjin didn’t care where they were. He just wanted to be with her.

“This is my little secret path.” She informed him. “I come down here all the time.”

Nodding, he took hold of the grip handle. “Am I shocked that you have some dangerous way to get to the beach when there was a perfectly safe turn off just a few more feet down the road?”

An honest laugh bubbled past her lips. “By your tone I’m gonna guess no!”

Seokjin laughed alongside her, feeling surprisingly at ease despite their situation. Eventually the road evened out as it turned to sand and she eased off the gas. When they finally came to a stop and she put the truck in park, Seokjin quickly hopped out of the cab and landed softly in the sand. Then, he tugged off his shoes and tossed them into the back, wanting to enjoy the feeling of the sand sifting through his toes.

“Home sweet home.” She offered with a sigh. “There’s no place like it.”

As she pulled a blanket from the back and tossed it over her shoulder, they both started towards the water. Even with nightfall quickly approaching, Seokjin could still make out a handful of gulls resting atop the waves. As he ventured closer, he caught a faint scent of burning wood and roasted marshmallows. It reminded him of the times he used to visit the beach with his family, before math camp and summer internships took over his life.

“Let’s get a fire started, yeah?” She suggested. “It’s going to get real cold real quick if we’re not careful.”

“Good idea.” He smiled affectionately.

Tossing the blanket onto the ground, she looked at him with disbelief. “You seem different, Mr Kim Seokjin. Could it be my sporadic adventure is more therapeutic than you previously thought?”

“I plead the fifth.” He winked, turning and scouring the beach for driftwood.

Behind him, she laughed. “Holy crap! Who are you and what did you do with the stuck up nerd I kidnapped?”

“Stuck up?” He questioned in a hurt tone. “I think that’s a little harsh!”

“You were wearing a blazer with elbow pads!” She countered. “You are the most uppity nerd I have ever met in my entire life!”

As they continued to joke around, they gathered armfuls of wood for a fire. While she kneeled down beside the pile and began to arrange the pit, Seokjin went to find some kindling. Picking up stray twigs and old paper cups, he watched her from a distance. He couldn’t find the words to describe this woman who decided to intrude on his life and change everything forever. She was almost otherworldly, people like her just didn’t exist.

Even so, he still had reservations. He still wondered why? Why, of all people, did she pick him? There were other people just as absorbed in their studies as he was, what made him so special? Was it just proximity? Because he was closest? Or because she felt he needed it most? Whatever her reasons were, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to fathom them on his own. He’d have to ask her.

Returning with the kindling, he kneeled down beside her. “I assume you have a lighter?”

“Of course I do.” She smirked. “What did you think I was? An upstanding citizen or something?”

Rolling his eyes, he helped arrange the logs. “Now that is a thought that never once crossed my mind.”

Reaching for some more wood, his fingers grazed against her open palm. And just as he felt his heart skip a beat, he noticed something odd. A couple of pale pink lines were peeking out from the cuff of her shirt. Before he could fully register what they could possibly be from, she pulled her hand from his and tugged her sleeve down over her hand with a laugh.

“What’re you trying to do, Jin?” She teased him. “Hold my hand?”

“Would that be so bad?” He answered immediately without pausing to think.

For the first time, she was at the disadvantage. “S-Seokjin! What the holy hell happened to you!”

“I don’t really know.” He shrugged, a light pink blush dusting across his cheeks. “Maybe you have more power than you originally though.”

Laughing, she flicked her lighter and started the fire. “That must be it. It’s the only logical explanation.”

He glanced at her, a warmth emanating from him that he didn’t understand. She just—she made him feel so many different things all at once. And each time she smiled his way he could feel his brain slowly turning to mush. He had heard his friends talk about feeling something similar, but nothing Seokjin had previously seen came anywhere close to how he felt when he was with her.

“I—” He started, gathering the blanket and sitting on the edge of it. “I really—I want to thank you for dragging me out here tonight.”

Chuckling, she sat down beside him. “Remind me to give you back your textbook before I forget.”

Seokjin shrugged. “Honestly—you can keep it. I don’t really want it anymore.”

Her amusement slowly dissipated until a calm smile stood in its place. “You’ve really come a long way, Jin. And to think it only took you skipping class just once. You should’ve tried this a long time ago.”

“I wouldn’t have even dared if you hadn’t stolen my textbook.” He smirked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you?”

“Why did I steal your textbook?” She asked in confusion. “We’ve been over this, I had to get you into my truck somehow.”

He shook his head. “No, I know why you took my textbook, but why did you? Why did you seek me out? I’m no one special, just some guy you’ve been sitting next to all semester, nothing about that changed. So why pick me?”

“Well—” She chewed on her lip hesitantly. “Why not? You were obviously an easy mark.”

He lowered her a knowing look. “You’re going to have to try harder than that. I’ve kept quiet for most of the afternoon, but I’ve been paying attention. I know that you don’t do anything without a reason. I’m just having a hard time figuring out what that reason is.”

As she pulled her knees into her chest, she gazed into the flames. “Was I that obvious?”

“No, not really.” He returned. “I’m just observant is all. Every time you tried to convince me that my life could be so much more, it felt—it felt personal.”

A pained look briefly crossed her face. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Kim Seokjin, you really are a special case.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask what she meant, she slowly rolled up her sleeves. Those pale pink lines he had noticed before, she had at least a dozen of them crawling halfway up her arm. Each one she etched into her skin in desperation, defeat, and despair. The sight alone was enough to break his heart.

“You might find this hard to believe,” She started in a whisper, “but I used to be just like you. Obsessed with grades, exams, studying, the whole nine yards. I used to stay up until all hours making flashcards, I would blow off my friends to call my professors. During my first year at university, I took enough college credits for me to have gotten an associate’s degree. One time I got a B+ on a Sociology paper and I didn’t leave my room for a week. What I did wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t figure that out until it was too late.”

Seokjin watched her as she gently thumbed the scars over her wrist, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her. Learning the truth, the truth he had been so desperate to hear, it devastated him. He had never imagined that her story would be a direct reflection on his own. He didn’t realize that by looking at her, he could’ve easily been looking at his future. And that terrified him.

“Do you understand now why I’ve been so invested in this?” She chuckled weakly. “I just—I see you, and I see myself. I see myself back when I still thought that school was the most important thing in the whole world. When I truly believed that my future was going to be determined by a handful of numbers and letters, not by my own actions.

“Back then I—I didn’t have dreams. I had goals, I had milestones, maybe even aspirations, but not dreams. I realize now how much that was eating me up inside. There’s a huge difference between doing something because you want to, and doing something because you feel you have to. I couldn’t tell the two apart, not until it was almost too late.”

She paused a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close to him. For a moment, they didn’t move, they didn’t even speak, he just gazed into the flames as she sobbed freely into his chest. He thought about everything that she said, everything that she wanted to teach him, and everything that she shared with him. It was so impossible to think, but in just the few short hours that they knew each other, she had changed his life in ways he had never thought imaginable.

She set him free from chains he didn’t even know existed.

“I’m seriously hoping that I managed to teach you something today.” She laughed quietly, wiping away her tears.

Smiling, he naturally took her hands in his. “Don’t worry, you taught me plenty.”

[queenofbaws]

Who ya gonna call? - 14

Chapter: 14/? Chapter title: Sleeping in your bed Fic rating: T - Language, blood, general spookiness, discussions of death Summary: Sam and Josh have a conversation. Author’s note: Hey, just a reminder, this is also on AO3, where the texting is formatted to...actually look like texting. So. Check it out there if you prefer!!! Previous | Next ---

There was no way she managed to pull better than a C on her Econ final. No way in hell. Maybe if the curve was particularly kind, or the teacher’s assistant got especially sloppy in her grading, then a C+ could’ve been in the cards, but oh, that didn’t feel likely. Her GPA wouldn’t tank if that were the case, but ugh. Just…ugh.

Part of her had considered asking her professors if she could get an extension or, or, or something after she’d had that appointment with Dr. Hill and all the nasty memories of last year had been stirred up to float on the surface of her mind like dead fish, and yet she hadn’t. Partly that had been because she’d doubted an extra few days would’ve mattered, but mostly it had been borne out of a desire to not be ‘that student—’ the one that waited until the day before a test to whip out one of the classics: my grandmother died, my aunt’s in the hospital, I’m dealing with some sort of emotional whiplash after telling a spooky old Swedish man about my friends’ horrific accidental deaths…

You know.

The usual.

She reached up and raked her hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face before letting it fall back into place. At least she was done for the semester. If there was any silver lining, it was most definitely that; now she could just work on getting rid of her old notes, cleaning up her desktop a little bit, and uh, probably spend some time figuring out how to handle the whole Blackwood Pines—

“Shit.” Had she actually said that out loud? Well she must’ve, because Josh promptly turned to look at her, leaving whatever he’d been doodling on the whiteboard outside her door pathetically half-finished. Then, louder, “I meant hi.” She crossed the rest of the hall to get to her door before she paused again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait, no, I really meant how did you get in here?”

“Big dramatic thing.” Josh capped the dry erase marker as he talked, “Whole ordeal—doors were locked, obviously, and since I don’t have a keycard I had to MacGyver my way in. I remembered seeing on tv that all you need for a mini-flamethrower is some spray deodorant and a lighter, so—”

Her hands tangled up in the loose straps of her backpack. She raised her eyebrows in what she hoped (oh God, she hoped) was a convincing enough feint. Suddenly she was very dizzy, the world behind her eyes flip-flopping in all sorts of unpleasant ways: one second she was in Hill’s office clutching a snotty tissue to her face, then in front of her own computer trying fruitlessly to close her internet browser, then in CREEP HQ staring down at a handful of change, then in the gym staring at a screen that read ‘Hannah – 2 Missed Calls,’ then back in the hallway outside her dorm watching Josh pantomime his own attempt at being casual.

“Josh…” This was not how she’d imagined the rest of her day going.

But he was still talking, either not having heard her or just pretending he hadn’t. It was always hard to tell with him. “—so that’s how I got into the lobby. But if you want to know how I got up here more specifically, that’s a different kettle of fish.”

“Josh.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I get it. Let there be some mystery. That’s how all the best stories go.” He sort-of-kind-of laughed as he said it, and she bought it about as much as she bought any of his bullshit, which was to say not even a little.

The way his voice had trailed off told her he expected her to say something, do something, but the only thing she found herself capable of in that very moment was to stare at him. That was it. That was what she had in her. And she tried to control her face, really she did, and even then she knew her forehead was creasing and her eyebrows were furrowing and the corners of her mouth were turning down with the weight of a hundred thousand questions and—

Fuck it.

Fuck it.

They were going to have to do this sooner or later anyway. Might as well get it over with and rip the Band-Aid off.

“—wanted to stop by and just check that you were okay,” he was saying, “I’m, uh, still not totally clear on what happened the other night, but you seemed pretty freaked out, and honestly kinda…mad, maybe? And you’ve been pretttttty radio silent on the texting front, so I wanted to apologize too, I guess, because clearly whatever happened—”

Before he could continue rambling, Sam grabbed the front of Josh’s hoodie, yanking him unceremoniously into her dorm.

“Uh…?” It was a struggle for all of a second, given their sheer difference in size, but Josh seemed to realize what was happening quickly enough, letting himself be led. “I mean…not exactly the sort of ‘apology’ I had been thinking of, but hey, who am I to spurn a lady’s advances?” He chuckled right up until the moment Sam turned back around from shutting the door. Then he saw the look on her face. Then he stopped. “Fuck. That was a joke. I promise that was a jo—”

“We need to talk about something.” Just jump headfirst into the deep end. It was going to be hard, it was going to be uncomfortable, it was going to suck…and it was the only way she could fathom tackling the subject.

Josh went uncharacteristically somber, arms folded across his chest as he watched her begin to pace. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

And God, this wasn’t how she’d wanted to do this—she hadn’t wanted to do it at all. It was obvious he was expecting her to yell again, to be furious; he had no idea what she was about to do, how brutally she was about to ruin his day. Hell, week. Month? Year? Shit! She didn’t know!

Sam mentally grabbed hold of herself, whirling to face him after giving up her anxious walking. “Why did you tell me you were an only child?”

Right in front of her eyes, the concerned look on Josh’s face morphed into something she hadn’t seen before. Something that felt suspiciously like anger. It was in that moment that she realized she’d come to expect face-journeys from Chris and Ashley, but when it came to Josh, she wasn’t sure she’d seen much of anything in the way of emotion—nothing outside of wry amusement or concentration. And so in the blink of an eye, he might as well have been a stranger to her again, some rando she passed a thousand times on campus. There was nothing familiar in his face then, certainly no hint of his usual grin, and there was such a flatness to his gaze that she somehow found it difficult to picture what that grin had ever looked like. “I never said that.”

Not the answer she’d expected, which was, in itself, expected. Josh was always full of surprises.

“You told me you didn’t have siblings!”

“And I don’t.”

“Most people would assume that means you’re an only child!”

“Why does any of that matter, Sam? You in the business of background checks now, or—”

It took a few responses for her to realize the edge in his voice wasn’t anger after all.

It was fear.

She didn’t realize her hands were knotting themselves into her hair until she tugged a bit too hard. In a distracted sort of way she noticed the weight on her back, giving her shoulders a brief shimmy until her pack dropped to the ground near her desk. “I should’ve known…” she muttered, more to herself than to him, “I should’ve known when I saw your name, but I told myself it was stupid because a lot of people have that name too…and yeah, we have mutual friends on Facebook, but surprise! It’s 2019 and everyone’s friends with everyone on Facebook! But God, when Ash said your family’s vacation house was Blackwood…”

“Sam.” Josh watched her as she began pacing again. For all intents and purposes, he looked like one of those grim, creepy paintings—the sort with the eyes that followed you no matter where you stood, the kind she figured Alan probably decorated his and Edgar’s living room with. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She turned to him again, hands curled so tightly into fists that she could feel her pulse ticking away against her fingernails. “Why didn’t you ever even mention Hannah and Beth?!”

It had all the effect of a record screech.

He said nothing. He didn’t move. The room went eerily still around them, perfectly quiet save for the muted buzz of others talking out in the hall.

Josh’s nostrils flared as he let out a breath made it sound (to her, at least) like he was on the verge of full-blown fight-or-flight panic. “And just who in the fuck told you about them?”

Sam jerked her arms upward to press her fingers into her temples. Hard. “Josh…”

“Was it Ash?”

“Josh.”

“I know it wasn’t Chris, so—” His voice cut out mid-vowel sound, his face freezing in a mask of horrified understanding. Combined, the scene felt like a frame cut from one of their videos; it seemed like if she listened hard enough, she might’ve heard Chris clicking away to try and edit a skeletal face into the background for the audience to ooh and ahh over. “Fucking. Conrad. I should’ve fucking known—”

“Josh,” she said, dropping her hands from her face. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do with her arms. Everything felt wrong. At least when she’d been sitting in Hill’s office, she’d been able to hunch herself down low into her chair. Here, everything just felt…vulnerable. Open. Swallowing hard around the dryness in her throat, she pushed out the only explanation she had. “I’m Sam.”

“Yeah, thanks, hi, nice to meet you. I’m—”

“No.” It only took two steps to cross the distance between them. In that time she managed to pull her phone from her pocket, and she pushed it into his chest like some sort of offering. “I’m. Sam.”

Instinctively, he’d put one of his hands over hers to keep her phone from falling should she pull away, but strange as it was to say, Sam couldn’t help feeling that she was the one who’d pinned him.

From that distance, less than a breath between them, she could see each and every tiny movement of his face, his eyes, so it was impossible to pretend she didn’t notice the terror that sudden snap of anger had been meant to hide. It melted into confusion, that confusion became irritation, the irritation circled back to confusion, and then…and then something clicked.

He took a step back, eyes dropping to her phone as she held it out into the open air, watching it as though it were a cobra instead of an outdated iPhone. “No you’re not.” She saw the look he threw her, the psych major look, the one that made it abundantly clear he was searching for any sign of deception: her eyes shifting to the left maybe, or a twitch in her nose. Whatever he was looking for, he clearly didn’t find it, because he just kind of shook his head. “You’re not. You’re not…no. Nononono. Huh-uh.”

For her part, Sam didn’t move. She just stood there, her phone held between them, her mind whirring a million miles an hour to try and come up with what to say or do, short of pulling up her voicemails and proving once and for all that she wasn’t the one pulling some kind of awful prank.

He’d taken up pacing right where she’d left off, not that the cramped dorm left him a whole lot of room. “You’re not,” he kept saying, no doubt trying to convince himself, “If you were…if you were that Sam, I’d know. I’d fucking know, because—”

“You wouldn’t have seen me. I wasn’t at the service.” It spilled out of her completely against her will. Her body rejected the thought like a sneeze. Once it was out in the open, she figured he’d stop moving, maybe throw a disgusted glare her way, but…per the usual, Josh was nothing if not full of surprises. He just shook his head again and kept moving, leaving her to stumble over her words. “I just…I couldn’t go. I-I wanted to, I did, but it—”

Josh’s reaction to that was a scoff. A real, honest-to-goodness scoff, and Sam immediately shut her mouth. She’d expected him to be mad or insulted or anything, really—anything other than what she actually got. “Yeah, join the club.”

Well that…she couldn’t make heads or tails of that. So she just continued to stare at him, her eyebrows drawn together so intensely that she could actually feel a tension headache begin to take root.

He didn’t look her way but seemed to sense her confusion all the same. Blowing a deflated breath out from a grit jaw, Josh ran his hands furiously through his hair before dropping them from his head and muttering a quiet, “Sure. Sure, why the fuck not,” to the air before explaining. “IIIIII…didn’t go either.”

If her eyebrows were squinched together any tighter, they would’ve torn themselves clean off her face. “…what?”

“Mhm.” There was a lilt to his voice that she couldn’t immediately place; it wasn’t pride, and it wasn’t amusement, but it was still (outwardly) more chipper than it had any right to be. When coupled with the look on his face, Sam got the idea that it was some sort of strained defense, his curdled drawl a coping mechanism she simply hadn’t been exposed to before—a mask of childish self-deprecation meant to be a barrier. ‘You can’t fire me, I quit,’ in different packaging, something more like, ‘You can’t be disappointed in me, you can’t be disgusted by me, I do that all by myself, thank you very much.’

“I guess you could say I freaked out a little after it happened,” Josh said in that same strange, strained voice, liberally throwing a mess of air-quotes into the mix. “Had something of a breakdown, went off the deep-end, you know how it goes.” Then he did stop moving, standing directly in front of her window, blocking the falling snow from view, “So, so, so, so what, this is a joke?” He folded his arms across his chest, steeling his jaw in such a way that made the angles of his face that much more pronounced, “You come join up with us and then spring this on me like this is Punk’d, is that what this is? Pretty shitty goddamn sense of humor there, Sammy—”

“Am I laughing?!” It was only then that she realized she was still holding her phone out. Feeling unspeakably stupid as she did so, she shoved it back into her pocket, away from their view; there was no use pretending either of them would (or could) forget about it, though. Oh no, there was zero chance of that happening. “I had no idea who you were until Blackwood came up! That’s why I freaked out, that’s why I was upset, that—”

“Of all the stupid listings for groups and clubs and shit, you want me to believe—you honestly want me to believe—that you just, what? Stumbled on mine by accident?” Whatever steadiness his voice had had in the beginning of the conversation had long-since flown out the window. Never once had she heard that waver behind his words, not during any ghost investigation or hangout…not even after the rock in the corn maze. She wondered if he was doing the same mental math she was, connecting the same dots.

Her tongue poked at the tip of one of her teeth. How to answer that one, how to answer that one…

‘Funny story,’ she could almost hear herself saying, ‘I didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. See, I think maybe, perhaps, it’s possible that just for a minute or two, my laptop was, uh, haunted! Just like my quarters and the lights at that party and the psych department’s servers and that stupid scarecrow from the maze and the seatbelt of your car and let’s not forget your bathroom mirror!’

Of course, ‘almost’ was the operative word in that little plan. Believer or not, this didn’t feel like the moment to press her luck with Josh.

So what she said instead was what Chris had told her before, “You had nothing to do with that listing! Ash wouldn’t let either of you guys near it, and it’s not like your names were on the page!”

Another scoff, significantly more frenzied than the first. He raked his fingers through his hair again and again until a few cowlicks began to stand out comically from the rest.

“Don’t you think I would’ve said something before now?” Her phone felt too heavy in her back pocket, like it was a brick instead of plastic. “You really think I’m that much of a jerk?” Sam was surprised to hear her own voice—there was any hurt in it, and that seemed like a hell of a thing. There was confusion, sure, but somehow she had pictured his all going…differently.

When Josh finally looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, she could only offer him a shrug in reply. It wouldn’t have been right to say she felt better getting it out in the open (she didn’t), but there was a kind of relief that had come with it, the sense of having purged something poisonous from her stomach, and it had left her feeling winded. After another few seconds of that awkward silence, she sat herself down on the edge of her mattress, taking up only a sliver. She figured if he wanted to join her, he’d get the message.

“The other day at your apartment…Ash started telling me about the Canada trip.” Her voice was more measured then, but not by a whole lot. “About the sanatorium and stuff. But then she mentioned Blackwood Pines, and just…” She turned her hands palms-up on her knees and slowly shook her head. “I figured I would’ve known if the twins had a famous dad.”

She’d been staring at the natty carpeting as she said it so she didn’t see Josh move, but she most certainly felt the way the mattress dipped as he sat near the foot of the bed. “Yeah, well…” He kept speaking with that snippy cadence, making her think of some tragic movie protagonist preparing for a monologue. “They didn’t exactly, uh, go bragging about Pop.” Something about the way he said it made her realize he hadn’t, either—it had been Chris and Ashley who’d told her in the first place. “Not everyone’s particularly proud of the schlock he puts out.”

The room went quiet again. Around them, the sounds of the dorm continued to hum just below the surface, people stomping up and down the stairs, doors slamming, laughter ringing out from some distant, unseen place. And the two of them simply sat there looking down at their own hands, their thoughts nearly loud enough to constitute speech.

It was a markedly different silence than before. The tension had been taken out of it—bled out of it, really—and now it had settled into something softer around the edges, something less like surprise and more like grief.

Sam heard Josh take in a sharp, deep breath, and so she braced herself for the questions she was sure would follow; she was, after all, the mysterious contact Hannah’s last calls had gone out to, so he’d probably ask all those same awful questions she’d been asked during the inquest, the who-what-where-when-why of that day…

“I was supposed to drive them,” he said instead, tone perfectly matter-of-fact, his mouth still stuck in that shape—the one that had started as his usual smirk but was not looking more and more like a grimace of absolute agony with each second that ticked by. “But I went to a party the night before. And I got…pretty drunk. Wasted, in fact. ‘Sloshed,’ as the kids say. One could even go so far as to say ‘Completely Goddamn Shitfaced.’ So I ended up passing right the fuck out and sleeping the sleep of angels until I woke up in the middle of the afternoon to two other morons nursing hangovers, and when I checked my phone, wouldn’t you know it, I had about a thousand missed texts from my sisters, who were both telling me to wake the fuck up and answer my phone.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to wince or widen her eyes. It was a familiar story. Horribly so.

“But, see, the last few ones were them essentially saying ‘Hey fuck you, we’re not waiting anymore, so you can just meet us there.’” He scrunched his nose up in an obvious display of bitterness. “So I didn’t bother answering.”

Frowning down into the knot of her hands on her lap, Sam pressed her lips together. She and that guilt were old friends. Was this the part where she was supposed to say something reassuring? Something about how maybe he would’ve died too, had he gone with them? About how sleeping through his alarm could’ve been the only thing keeping the Washingtons from being completely childless?

None of those things would’ve made her feel better, she knew, so…she didn’t say anything. She just kept staring down at the space between her knees, her fingers tangling and untangling, the heel of her foot knocking an anxious rhythm against the bedframe. Slowly, still debating with herself over whether it would be the right move, she reached over to put her hand on his knee, pretending she wasn’t stretching to her limit to do it.

A moment passed, two, and then one of his hands closed over hers, his forefinger absently tapping at her knuckles as though in thought.

The quiet came back for its encore performance, and again it had changed its shape, becoming something even fuzzier. It might have stretched on forever, but then the mattress creaked again as Josh scooted more towards the middle, all signs of his earlier defensiveness withered into nothing as he muttered, “This is fuckin’ weird, Sammy, real fuckin’ weird.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed, letting gravity and inevitability pull her to the middle of the bed as well, tucking her chin against Josh’s shoulder once she was close enough. “Welcome to my world.”

Things took on the strange shape of a dream for a few hours after that. There was talking, she cried, there was definitely a pizza (and a deeply concerned delivery guy) involved at one point, but everything felt numb and syrupy. They talked around the events that stood out as particularly strange, instead bringing up stories about the twins that usually made them laugh, discussing Blackwood Pines and the holidays the family had spent there, a million little things that were just familiar enough to both of them to explain how and why they’d gotten on so well from the start. The day seemed to fly by and drag on at once, making sense in an upside-down sort of way. It was very different than the afternoon she’d spent in Hill’s office earlier that week.

Eventually, the wind pulled out of her sails by ears and memories, it became too much, and she found herself dozing, falling into a fitful sleep. And then just as suddenly…she was awake again, eyes open wide to stare at dark slivers of sky visible through the slats of her blinds.

At first she wasn’t sure what did it; one second she’d been asleep, the next she was awake, and that was all she knew for a few bleary seconds. Then the knocking came, loud and insistent, sending her heart racing up into her throat. Sam held her breath, waiting, and nearly jumped out of her skin when three more knocks rang out through the room.

The tiny dorm room bed wasn’t really meant to be shared, so she didn’t have to reach out so much as she move her fingers to jostle the shape wedged between her and the wall. “Josh. Josh.” The only response to her hiss was a quiet grumbling, so she jabbed at his back a bit harder. “Josh, seriously.”

Her comforter rustled as he repositioned himself, rolling his shoulder to shrug her away, grumbling a few words she didn’t understand and a few she did. “…an’ is jus’ Cochise…”

“One tiny problem with that,” she whispered, eyes still locked on the door as she flicked the shell of his ear. “We’re in my dorm, remember?”

There was a moment where he sputtered, grabbing at his face, but something—the tone of her voice, maybe, or the actual words she’d said—seemed to snap him out of it. Slowly he sat up, turning his head towards the door as another set of three knocks shook it on its hinges. “Yeah,” he muttered, words clumsy with sleep but eyes bright with awareness, “I can see how that’d be an issue.”

She was relieved to see him flinch when the next series of knocks came. At least it wasn’t just her.

“RA?” Josh rubbed his face to wake himself up, blinking hard a few times.

Doubtful—the floor’s RA was a flake and a half, and why the fuck would she be coming to bug at her at this hour? During finals week? Something about the situation made her tongue feel too heavy to get that all out, so she settled for, “She’d say something.”

He hummed lowly. There was a long pause between them as they stared at the door, waiting for the next sound to come. “Are you…gonna check it out?”

Sam frowned, shooting him a disbelieving look. “Uh, aren’t you the big, bad paranormal researcher? You check it out!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression you were also a big, bad paranormal researcher, my bad. What? You expect me to do it because I’m the guy?” If nothing else, at least he was sounding like himself again. “Now that’s just plain sexist.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes but it was a close fucking battle. “I expect you to do it because I thought you liked this spooky crap!” There was another rustle as he turned to look at her, and Sam huffed a frustrated breath through her nose. “Okay, okay, and also…it’s hard for me to see out the peephole, okay? Are you happy now?”

Knock knock knock!

He waved for her to get out of his way, sliding off the bed and beginning to pad towards the door. “Remind me to get you a stepladder or something for Christmas…”

“Har-de-har,” she whispered, following close on his heels.

They crept to the door, Josh peering through the peephole, Sam bending just a bit to try and spot the shadows of feet in the tiny wedge of light between the bottom of the door and the carpeting…and both jumped like startled housecats when another brisk set of knocks came from only inches away.

“Okay, ha ha, hilarious. Why don’t you…” Sam watched Josh pull the door open and stick his head out. She didn’t need to see his face to know the expression he’d be wearing—she would’ve bet dollars to donuts she had the same one on her face as they stood there on the other side of the threshold, staring out at nothing but an empty hallway. “…oh please,” Josh muttered, gesturing for her to take the door so it wouldn’t lock behind him. He stepped into the hallway, looking down one side then the other, but it was clear as day there was no one else around. All the chatter from earlier had gone away, the lights in the study area were off, and as far as either of them could tell, there wasn’t any light coming from the tiny shared kitchen either, so…

A tiny noise from behind her made Sam jump out of her skin. Still holding the door open, she whirled around just in time to see the screen of her phone light up and then go dark. “Hey Josh…” she began, letting the last syllable drag on in a hiss of its own.

“No one out here,” he said, answering a completely different question as he ducked back into the room. “Comedian’s probably hiding in the stairwell or some shit. Assho—what’s with the face?”

Once there wasn’t any risk of him locking himself out, she let go of the door, making it to where her phone was charging on her desk just as its screen lit up again. She tried to swallow and found she couldn’t, her throat feeling like sandpaper and chalk. Her fingers were shaking as she grabbed it, and she hoped the darkness of the room would be enough to keep Josh from seeing that. She read the notifications on her screen, blinked, tried to find her voice. “H-hey Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your phone?”

“Uh…” The only warning she got before the lights came on was a soft click from behind her. Josh walked over to her, making a low sound of acknowledgement, “Ah, there, I set it on the ledge to charge, why?”

She didn’t answer because she knew she didn’t have to. She felt him looking over her shoulder. It didn’t take a genius to know he was reading what she was reading. “I think…” she said, when she trusted her voice again, “Your phone’s doing it’s speech-to-text thing.”

He pulled in a long breath. “It sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Neither of them moved for a long while, so absorbed in reading and rereading the texts on Sam’s screen.

Josh: wake up wake up wake up wake up

And then:

Josh: I’m cold

After what might’ve been a minute but just as easily could’ve been an hour, Sam set her phone back down on her desk, making sure to place it with its screen against the wood. “Hey Josh?”

“Hey Sam?”

She inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, set her shoulders, and made the admission she’d been desperately trying avoid from the very start. “I think I’m starting to really, really believe in ghosts.”

[foxy-voxy]

Ouch.

Just got a D on a final. Ouch ouch ouch.

Dropped me down to a C+ for the final grade. Nothing like tanking my GPA.