#i thought i was over all the bullshit classes when i finished my bachelor's

[becca-alexa]

sometimes i want to just grab my professors by the face and give them a good ol shake and tell them to stop penalizing students for being shitty in mediums they don't work with

[fbfh]

older!logan x reader hcs

wc: 1.6k

genre: age gap, sort of sugar daddy logan

warnings: big (but legal) age gap, logan is early 40s reader is like early 20s, brief odette mention, logan is a killer lawyer, rory kinda traumatized Logan lol, I haven't finished gilmore girls or ayitl yet so don't come for me lol, logan is obsessedddddddd with reader, mildly smutty, mentions of marriage and proposals, your relationship progresses really quickly

summary: you were reading in a coffee shop when a charming gorgeous much older guy decided to strike up a conversation. little do you know that within a very short time that same charming stranger will know your dress size, your shoe size, and your ring size.

song rec: off to the races - lana del rey

a/n: the choke hold older logan has on me..... euthanize me at this point lmao

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280

As with all nsfw works, all characters are aged up to 18+ (like way over 18 in logan’s case lol)

That being said jesus christ let’s dive right into the brain rot

First things first, a little more about Logan

He’s in his early 40’s and aging like a fine goddamn wine

MEGA MEGA dilf vibes

After the whole millions of dollars sunken into a bad investment in his family’s massive media conglomerate mishap, he still faced a lot of pressure to join the family business

But with Rory rejecting his proposal, he felt so fucking down and beaten up by life

He just had two massive blows to his ego back to back

And he needed a win

Then the strangest thing happened 

He just got back from another late night of partying with his friends and switched on the tv so he wouldn’t have to fall asleep with his thoughts, and some random movie was playing

The girl in the movie is at dinner with her boyfriend and thinks he’s going to propose, but he breaks up with her instead

It hits a little too close to home and Logan’s about to switch it off

Then she decides to go to law school to prove herself

He finds himself getting more and more invested in this movie, relating more to Elle with every scene, and by the morning he confronts the idea he’s been shoving away for too long so he doesn’t rock the boat

He talks to his dad and they decide Logan will go to law school, but remain a prominent board member and shareholder of the family company

Mitchum is surprised by how responsible and well thought out Logan’s plan is

He’s forging a path to a very lucrative field - one Mitchum can tell he’s going to be very successful in - while still staying involved enough in the family business 

So Logan goes off to law school, and 20 years later he’s a total shark 

He’s a prestigious, expensive lawyer with a reputation for never losing and a long streak of killing it with really high profile cases

Now the Huntzberger name carries all the weight and power of his father’s media reach, and Logan’s success in the courtroom 

He’s excelling 

And he’s excelling enough to keep his family out of his personal life for a while 

He’s living the bachelor life until he hits 40

That’s when his parents decide it’s really unacceptable that he’s still not married 

So they tell him if he doesn’t get married soon they’ll arrange something

Some french heiress or something 

And Logan finds himself right back where he didn’t want to be

And then, like a gift from god, he sees you

Like I said in my initial drabble, Logan first saw you in a cafe reading some dusty novel no one actually reads like war and peace or crime and punishment or something

He's seen people your age do that before, reading complicated stuffy literature to seem smart and make some pretentious English class commentary that barely makes sense 

So he calls you on it

"War and Peace, huh?"

He’s expecting you to say something fake and pretentious

Some bullshit fake deep pseudo intellectual shit

But you look up at him, only pausing for a moment before you speak

You’re surprised to see such a gorgeous guy in a little cafe like this

Especially one that seems interested in talking to you

And god, the way you talk about it

The way your eyes light up

It takes him by surprise

He's not just interested

He's invested 

You start talking and realize that you've been talking for way longer than you expected to

And he wants more

He wants to know more about you, wants to see you sweet smile and hear your cute little laugh when he says something charming or compliments you

So he takes you out to dinner, his treat 

He guides you out the door and into his Porsche with his hand on your back 

It's a subtle gesture but it makes your stomach flip 

Then he buckles your seat belt for you

If you weren't sold before you sure are by now 

So he takes you to this nice fancy restaurant, wines and dines you, and he is laying on the charm thick

"Oh, come on. A pretty young thing like you must have a boyfriend."

"Really, you have excellent taste.”

You don’t miss the way he’s been eyeing you all night

And he doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together when he touches your face or plays with your fingers

One thing leads to another and after he pays the bill and leaves a generous tip, you find him ushering you back into his porsche

And yet again he closes your door for you and gets you all buckled in

This time when he drives his hand rests on your knee

He thinks he can handle this

He’s the biggest whore on the east coast /affectionate 

Then you grab his hand and move it up your thigh

There’s no going back now

He’s in just as deep as you are

Before you know it you’re tearing off each other’s clothes

His lips are all over you and motherfucker does he know what he’s doing

He worried for a moment he might have lost his edge

But as he lays you down into his big soft bed, your skin touching his silky sheets for the first time

But definitely not the last

As he finally touches you and feels how wet you are for him

He knows he didn’t peak in college

“Shh, listen,” he says between kisses that make you feel dizzy, “you’re gonna tell me if it’s too much for you, can you do that?”

You nod while he holds your face in his big hands

“You gotta say it,” he chuckles at how sweet you are, how well you respond to him, “use your words, baby…” 

You manage to choke out a desperate yes between kisses that makes his stomach twist

And that is the very beginning to your intense affair with Logan Huntzberger 

He’s desperate to see you again

He sends flowers and a dress and a gorgeous necklace to your apartment

And not the normal amount of flowers

The Logan amount of flowers

So a lot

And you can’t believe your luck finding a hot rich older guy that’s so into you 

You really like this attention

Your daddy issues are SCREAMING

And Logan likes having someone as gorgeous and intelligent and into him as you are

And he wants to do this right

But he’s rapidly approaching the deadline his family set

He doesn’t want to scare you off

GOD that’s the last thing he wants

But he is terrified of proposing and having it end up like it did the last time

Eventually he works up the nerve to talk to you about it 

He’s explaining everything to you while you pay your bills 

But it says they’re already paid

And your credit cards are paid off

And your debt has just disappeared

Even your student loans are gone

And there’s a fat deposit in your checking account 

He paid off all your debt and didn’t tell you

By the time he’s done explaining that you basically either need to get married asap or you can’t see each other anymore he still hasn’t brought it up

And you realize he’s not going to

He didn’t pay your bills to guilt you into anything

He’s not holding it over your head

He’s taking care of you

And all you’ve ever wanted is someone who will take care of you

Logan is surprised when you agree

But he’s even more surprised at how fast you agree

You sit in his lap and end up rambling about how much you love him, how you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone you like as much as him or anyone that treats you as well as he does

To no one’s surprise the conversation ends with him taking you on every surface of your apartment

Hours later you’re cuddling naked on your couch, resting your head on his muscular chest and listening to his heartbeat

“So like… are we engaged now?” you ask looking up at him

He laughs sweetly

“No, not yet. I have to actually propose first.”

You think back to your conversation earlier when you first said you’d want to marry him

“So that didn’t count before?”

His heart breaks at how little you ask for

“No, that didn’t count.” He kisses your head, “I’m going to take you out somewhere nice, give you a proper proposal, with a nice ring.”

You get butterflies thinking about it

You can’t believe how much he does for you

How much he wants to do for you 

You’re quiet for a moment, and he can feel you smiling into his chest

“...Okay.” 

Your voice is so small and bashful, and he can hear you suppressing a flustered giggle

Fuck he can’t get enough of you 

He laughs and pulls you closer, grabbing your chin and makes you look up at him so he can kiss you 

You fall asleep in his arms

And you think that you won’t mind being married so young if it’s Logan you’re marrying

Logan is looking at you with so much love and adoration

And right before he falls asleep 

He thinks that maybe it’s not too late for him to find love after all

[dumbbitchfrommars]

on another note (please let me distract myself from my pathetic past times) - MY PRESENTATION WENT REALLY WELL! well as well as i am capable of. i was reading from the cue cards the entire time but my script was good and so were my slides. i was shaking but my voice was steady, and my knees didn't buckle from the adrenaline-anxiety, so i think i did pretty fucking fantastic. for the others who are used to presenting and dont know the depths of my shame associated with a lifetime of crippling anxiety - its easy to critique my lack of connection with the audience. but in all honesty... IT IS SUCH A PRIVILEGE AND AN HONOUR TO RECEIVE SUCH CRITICISM. like, my presentation was substantial enough to even receive comments. and you understood what i said, and you listened to me, and it wasnt completely terrible, and i didnt have to watch myself so i survived. and i did it!!! it makes me cringe to imagine seeing myself up there not even glancing up at them for a second but sometimes you have to do what you can to get through difficult situations. i am so fucking proud of myself. like... i can hear my inner child jumping for joy. im actually fucking traumatised from the one time i tried to present in grade 7 and the dickhead class clown made fun of me for having badly made slides. in retrospect... he was criticising me because i was the teachers pet and was probably jealous of how smart i really was. and its easy to pick on someone whos already shy. but man did that fuck me up. and that shyness carried on into high school. i cant believe no one saw me and thought hm, she looks like shes struggling, maybe she needs counselling. maybe she needs help. maybe she deserves a little compassion. instead everyone took advantage of their power over the girl raised to be a people pleaser and subservient to authority. NOW LOOK AT ME YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! i wont listen to bullshit from anyone. not kim telling me oh, but makeup wont get paid as much as here, oh youll probably only get around $28 an hour. GUESS WHAT BITCH, I GET THE SAME EXACT RATES AS THIS SHITHOLE. and ill be even happier doing it. no more drunks, no more creeps, no more druggies, no more aggros, no more smelly homeless weirdos, and no more energy vampire coworkers.

fuck you scott for being less mature than me, someone probably less than half your age. i am the adult when youre around and it must make you so fucking insecure. anyway. i always get like this before the weekend when i am forced back into that hell hole place.... at least i dont have to deal with the annoying ones tomorrow. and fridays are usually more fun because there are more young people heading out for the night.

working in alcohol is just not appropriate, safe, fun, or nurturing for a beautiful 22 year old girl. sorry guys. i got to go. its not my fault my energy triggered you because youre old and afraid of change and settled for a shitty job just because it paid well. LIFE IS FOR LIVING NOT FOR MAKING MONEY.

on that note, i know its a privilege to up and leave a job simply because the "vibes werent right". its a privilege to say money doesnt matter to me. and its a privilege to choose a job based on my personal preference and not on survival. but its a privilege we all have, if youre willing to work hard enough. im sick of lowering my voice and downplaying my strengths and my achievements for fear of pissing people off, for triggering people, for bringing their insecurities to light. LET ME WIN IN PEACE FOR ONCE. smile for me for once. pretend to be happy for ME for once.

i hate fucking pretending its not that big of a deal when its secretly a huge deal for me. i have achieved so fucking much in the last year of my life. i finished an undergraduate bachelors degree, i got a new job and excelled in it, literally made all the customers prefer me over my longstanding coworkers who are miserable with the worst attitudes even towards me who is nothing but kind and friendly. i started and honours degree whilst working part time - and im excelling in that too. because i am hardworking as much as everyone wants to pretend im not, and that im not that capable, and that i need things to be explained to MAYBE YOU SHOULD FUCKING LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE. cause i clearly have a lot more going for me that you want to believe. i might only be 22 but i was raised to work hard and strive and always find something new and better to challenge me to work towards. anyway, i also went on a trip to europe this year . though it feels like ive already erased that from my memory, cause it didnt go the way i wanted it to. anyway. i know how to handle my finances, i am independent, i am strong, i push myself. i joined a gym after years of avoiding and bein afraid and not believing in myself enough to do it. I AM PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY STRONG AND GETTING STRONGER EVERY DAY. ugh . i just wish people could see that. i wish people appreciated that...

yes i was very sad to say i was leaving my job. but God instantly reminded me why i wanted to leave in the first place. why i decided to make that application, go to that interview, and pray for months on end that my time to leave would come soon. because no matter how much love and kindness i pour into that place, it will always take and never give. i am completely drained by it. i will break if i stay there. and i cannot fucking wait to leave and know that slowly but surely, every single one of the stupid, pathetic alcoholics that frequent that place will notice my absence and be disappointed that im gone. and they will wonder why, and they will realise and know, that the people there were so fucking terrible to me that i had no other choice but to find something better. that in their own little way, they contributed to me leaving.

even my manager. i already know im gonna miss him like crazy when i leave but its for the best. not only is this crush fucking relentless and so stupid, but hes not even that great, and he doesnt deserve my respect and adoration to this level. as cute and funny he is, he is just another white man. sigh

i didnt realise i had such a rant to get out... i think scott triggered me yesterday. the good thing is i dont really notice in the moment how much of a man child hes being, so he doesnt get the satisfaction of my irritation in person. but i wont forget that he dipped and i didnt get a break after being on my feet for 6 hours straight. fuck you, old man.

[everybodyscupoftea]

going nowhere

college isaac x reader

a snowstorm and a chill day

(warnings: cursing, google docs edited this)

You woke up before Isaac by a few minutes, shifting closer in his arms. The room was cold, and he was warm, hogging most of the blankets pinned between his arm and the bed. His eyebrows furrowed in his sleep, and you reached up to smooth them out gently before tapping his nose.

Scrunching it, Isaac’s eyelids started to flutter, and you waited patiently for his eyes to open and him to wake up. He blinked sleepily at you, “Morning,” he spoke, voice about two octaves deeper.

“Morning, hon,” you brushed a kiss across his cheekbone and he smiled sleepily.

Moving even closer, he shifted a little bit to give you room to get closer. He sighed in contentment, “What did you want to do today?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping a finger on his exposed collarbone, “we could go to the mall. Haven’t bought my roommate a Christmas present yet.”

“I need to get something else for Scott,” he broke off to yawn, “so that sounds good to me.”

You hummed, “Okay. We should get up before the mall gets too crowded.”

He groaned dramatically, but let you up, pouting as he did so. Smiling widely, you crossed your arms, staring him down until he got up and walked to the closet to get dressed.

“You’re driving right?” you asked ten minutes later after the two of you were bundled up enough to go outside.

He sighed, “You’re the one used to driving in the snow, but I suppose I can for your sake.” 

You laughed, throwing the apartment door open and immediately froze, staring out the third floor window at the feet of snow that built up overnight. He ran into you from behind, not realizing you’d stopped, and snorted at the view.

“Guess we’re not going to the mall,” you murmured.

“Looks like we’re snowed in.”

A gust of air blew through the building and you shivered, turning to nudge him back inside, “Go go go, I’m freezing.” 

The two of you took your coats off, and you nudged the heat up while Isaac made a pot of coffee. He handed you a warm mug a few minutes later and pulled you toward the couch. Before you joined him sitting, you pouted. 

Isaac sighed, faux annoyed, “Can I help you?”

“I’m cold.”

“Get a blanket,” he suggested, reaching over to pull one out of the basket you kept next to the couch.

“It wouldn’t be enough,” you insisted, definitely bullshitting.

He raised his eyebrows, “What would you like?” 

Grinning, you answered eagerly, “A sweater.”

His smile softened, and he stood up, “Now that I can do.” 

Disappearing into his room, you waited for him to come back, and when he did, he had one of your favorite of his cardigans in his hand. You pulled it on, snuggling into its warmth, and settled down on the couch next to him.

“So, what should we do?”

He hummed, “Would you mind if I caught up on my book?”

“Not at all,” you answered, “I might try one of the ones you suggested if you have any.”

Raising his eyebrows, Isaac huffed, “Sweetheart, do you think I just know off the top of my head which books I’ve recommended?”

Rolling your eyes, you told him, “You don’t have to, I have them all in my notes in my phone.”

Isaac looked genuinely taken aback, and you smiled as he finally gathered his thoughts, “Um, okay. Show me.”

And he did have some of the books so he pulled them out and let you judge by their covers which one you wanted to read first. When you picked, he grabbed his book off the nightstand and followed you back to the couch.

You let him lay down first, following suit when he finally stilled, resting between his legs, leaned back against his chest. It was comfortable, you moving with his breaths, and Isaac reached down with one of his hands to hold yours, fingers linked together. It was harder to flip the pages, but you didn’t want to let go.

The book was good, Isaac was right in his assumption you’d like it. Immediately drawn in, you held it in your right hand, as did he, your left hands linked together, resting on your stomach. He stayed very still, neither of you moving much besides taking a sip of coffee. 

The only exception being when he sat up, bringing you with him, to pull the blanket up over both of your legs. Both of you were facing a window with the blinds open, and every so often you’d look up to see it still snowing outside.

After what felt like minutes but was probably hours, Isaac’s stomach growled, breaking the two of you out of the peaceful silence. He smiled sheepishly, “We haven’t eaten yet.” 

“Do you have leftovers?” you asked, closing your book.

“Yeah.”

“Lunch break.”

You both made plates, taking turns heating them up in the microwave, and he sat down at the table first, waiting for you to join him to eat. It was quiet until he broke it again, “Hey.”

Eyebrows raised, you echoed, “Hey.”

He cleared his throat nervously, “So I’ve been wondering what jobs you’ve been looking into?”

You hummed, “I really liked the hydro class I took. Kind of knew already that I wanted to work in either transportation or water systems, but my transportation class sucked so I’m definitely leaning more toward water systems.”

Isaac nodded, “What would that entail?”

“Designing dams and stuff like that.”

“So you want to live on a coast?” 

With a laugh, you shrugged, “I’ll live wherever they give me a job.”

“Fair.”

“What about you?” you asked, leaning on your elbow, chin resting in your hand.

“I like the idea of being an English professor. I’d need to see if I need a master’s or not.” 

“Are you interested in getting a master?”

He shrugged, cheeks turning a bit red, “I like the idea. My dad always used to tell me I’ll never amount to anything. I know he’s wrong, I mean a bachelor’s degree is huge because he didn’t have one. But the idea of rubbing a master’s in his face is nice.” 

You nodded, taking it in, “I totally understand. I think if I can’t find a job relatively soon after graduating, I’m going to get a master’s myself. It’ll help me not only with a job, but I’ll be able to move up to a senior position one day if the opportunity arises.”

“And I’m sure you will, you’re very good at pretty much everything you try to do,” he praised.

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, everything but English and anything writing related that’s not scientific.”

He shrugged, “And I’m great at those things, so we make a great team. A team that should never split.”

Jaw dropping a little, you stared at him, “Are you proposing to me right now?” 

Stuttering for a few seconds, he eventually managed, “No, but yes.”

“That’s clear,” you responded sarcastically.

“I’m proposing we stay together after undergrad.We go somewhere together, I’m willing to move with you anywhere. We don’t have to get married immediately, but maybe one day, we could.”

You beamed, “I would absolutely love that.”

Isaac perked up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And for the record,” you added, “if you get into grad school before I find a job, I’d move with you too and find a job there.” 

He was shaking his head before you even finished, “No, your career is more important than any degree.”

You raised your eyebrows, “I want this to be fair.”

“It will be. It absolutely will be. I don’t want you to compromise that for me.”

Touched, you managed, “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Yeah well, I want you to stick around. If that’s what it takes, I have no issue. There are schools everywhere, but there might only be a few places with your dream job. I want to support that.”

Smiling tearfully, you had to stand up and walk over to him, tiling his chin up to meet you in a kiss. He returned it eagerly, and you felt something fall into place. An uncertainty you didn’t even realize you’d been dealing with finally being resolved.

Pulling away, you kept your hand on his chin to look him in the eye and quietly spoke, “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he answered back, just as quiet.

~

day 17 of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: snowed in

[animentality]

I can't believe I've been on Tumblr for seven fucking years.

I was a teenager in high school. I was a fucking sophomore.

I watched a lot of movies and anime and was awkward around people and was fifteen pounds heavier and had braces and bad acne and I couldn't stand most people and I was a writing tutor.

I still read books and loved history and social studies and learned Spanish, Japanese, and French.

I was in a speech and debate class and still terrified of presentations.

I wanted to work for the CIA or homeland security.

I watched hetalia and kill la kill and knb.

I had some friends but only two are still my friends right now.

Seven years is a lot of time, because in that seven years, from when I started Tumblr to here, I:

- got my braces removed.

- got rid of all the acne. It was apparently just a teenage phase because now I almost never get it.

- lost fifteen pounds

- started cutting my hair short and when I lost the weight, my face stopped looking less back end of a dumpster truck and more ok I can work with that.

- lost my fear of presentations thanks to speech and debate, but also due to college because I had one class that regularly sprung presentations on us, and learned to think on my feet and bullshit my way through anything.

- graduated high school. Got into every school I applied for, but went to the school that was closer to home.

- dormed for a year in college but hated it, so went home and commuted for the last two years.

- changed my major from global affairs to international relations to Russian language to sociology to anthropology.

- met a lot of interesting people and made a few friends, but stopped being obsessed with finding the "crew" of friends I'd been spoonfed from every sitcom ever.

- met the love of my life on Tumblr, @conticentteumessian.

- met someone whose friendship now means the world to me, someone who I would never have expected to have such an impact on me, @moldypechas

- also met one of my writing idols, @raevell and fellow salt miner who I now commiserate regularly with because they're the cloud that rains on the internet's pity parade and some friendships are built on mutual hatred and bitterness.

- learned a lot from all of my various anthropology classes, with different focuses and philosophies.

- published my first book in 2015. Published another in 2016. Published four more books.

- got my bachelor's degree in anthropology with a minor in sociology in three years, graduated magna cum laude.

- jumped into my masters degree and started working on my masters thesis.

- wrote a masters thesis (167 fucking pages, 70+ sources). Cried, laughed, commiserated, obsessed. Decided I would drop out when my computer crashed and I thought all of my work was deleted. Also decided I would drop out a week before I finished because Microsoft word gave me such a hard time that I was ready to quit. Almost had a nervous breakdown near the end.

- learned a lot about trump supporters, the alt right, and neo Nazis. Their content sickened me, and could make you lose faith in humanity 73245623 times every three seconds, yet I also learned a lot about the psychology of being an asshole. There is also something transformative about living in the skin of people you find repulsive. Something almost cleansing in all of that rot.

- got my masters degree and graduated with a 4.0. Never got anything lower than an A.

- spent six months fretting and job searching and agonizing over what I wanted to do with my life.

- got on medication, hated it, switched to all different kinds of chemicals, stopped it altogether because I couldn't handle it, almost committed suicide one night, was hospitalized, released, got back on medication.

- got my first job.

- my friends have all graduated college this year and are working or looking for work.

this is really the beginning of my life, I guess.

All 21 years before now has just been the set up. I will be working longer than I was ever in school.

I don't know why I woke up and felt strange about this, but here we are.

How the time flies?

For those of you who have followed me since I was captainarlert, you've known me since I was a teenager.

Back when people told me I was mature for my age, and now they say wow you're 22? Damn you're old.

Not mature for my age anymore, although hilariously, there are way too many 25+ adults on this site who act like 16 year olds.

You guys have been here since I was raving about anime all the time and getting into fights with internet strangers and now I just write bad takes and stir the pot for old time’s sake. 

Has it been weird? Or has it felt normal, natural? Have you all grown too? 

@marizjenne, @aizawa-before-tea, @khattikeri, @weirdaboo, @kawaiidood, @trashmouse76, @foxflightly, @supersoswe, @honeybeelily, @we-are-all-trash-here, @oroborochi, @pinkfluffyowl, @alphakade, @bonersniper@s0lareuat @marshmallowdonutsprinkles @kinsdura, @corvid-shmorvid @stuffkimlikes @starklefark, @drewdler, @autiegotmoves, @jerbearwhy, @alwaysrunning15, @that-one-anime-freak, @ichoosemyownpath, @ihaveapencilbehindmyear @persistence-burning, @lozat @gently-berns, @hat-hit, @wolvesofskittles

we’ve all been mutuals for forever. I don’t understand how, when I am the most obnoxious creature to have ever graced the third planet from the sun, but you sure are still here. 

And also, I didn’t expect to put so much effort into this post, and yet here I am....shoutout to newer friends, @sensual-alpaca, @mariposa-diosa, and @crazyj2. 

This has been a weird seven years. Full of awesome friends and weird enemies. 

I’ve learned absolutely nothing from this site, and I’m proud of it. 

I hope one day this site will be bought by pornhub and finally be shut down so we can finally escape, but in case that never happens, I guess welcome to the long haul, and good luck in your academic and professional careers.

[youralternantpersonality]

Next Kill

Paul x Reader: Next Kill

Warning: Free Spirited Hoe

“Next Kill” Niykee Heaton

***

College is about having fun and being in the moment while passing all of your classes. And don’t get me wrong, I am doing all of the above, but I also have my fun. Somehow, I had a major glow-up between my senior year in high school and my freshman year of college. My h/c h/t hair had become more luscious and full of life; my e/c outshined the females around me; my acne cleared up and somehow dressing up in the same high school clothes still got the attention of others.  But with that attention came opportunities and I decided to take mine. After my first break up with Leo Henderson (caught him fucking around with my “best friend”), I decided to go solo and just, as I said before, have fun.

Shell cases on the kitchen floor I don't love him, not anymore Say it's been a long time, the wrong time Fuck it baby now you're all mine I don't love 'em like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew I don't love 'em like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew

His name was Riley Biers. We had college algebra together and we’d occasionally flirt but nothing more. Although I did like him, I wasn’t expecting him to be as infatuated over me like he was. But I wasn’t going to complain. He asked me out and we went on a few dates and I had fun. We started seeing each other for about two months before I had sex with him. But then, I broke it off. Don’t get me wrong, he was a great guy, but there was something off about him. But what killed me the most was after freshman year I found out that he went missing and I only prayed he would’ve been okay in the end.

After ending it with Riley I was straight chillin’ until I met Kyle Freeman, and let me just say, God did wonders on him. And like with Riley, we had fun. Only there were clear guidelines with this, we were friends with benefits. He was needed when necessary and, to be honest, this is the first time I can say “just because they look good on the outside, doesn’t mean they’re good on in.” You’d think with his looks and charm that he’d be decent. But the standard I have for men after him, rose 12 notches. Unfortunately, he forgot the guidelines and shit went south after that.  I’m talking about having to switch dorm rooms so he would leave me alone.

Are all guys in college like this?

Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew Got a love known blood written on the wall I loved a few, but I killed 'em all Told him on the first kiss Don't fall in love with a natural-born killer 'cause I never miss

I had recently gone back home to Forks and caught up with a few of my friends. Found out Leo knocked-up Scylla (ex-best friend) the summer after graduation. So, to say I was shocked when I ran into him at the store and for him to make a pass at me is only half of what I was feeling. He was my first love, and unfortunately for him, he was also my next victim.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Why is she being a whore?” and it’s a simple answer. I’m not a whore, I just have hoe tendencies…and slight murder ones. But not like physically murder them, just emotionally. Just like before, he apologized and flirted with me, and I just said, “fuck it!” and went for the kill. In my defense, just because you knock someone up, doesn’t mean you’re with them. I never got clarification, so I assumed that they weren’t together.  

Needless to say, I could do better and I’m glad we ended it in high school.  

I don't love 'em like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew I don't love 'em like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew

 Although, you might be sitting here wondering, “damn, she has a high body count!” Well, I’d advise you to listen to Jesse Reyes song Body Count before you start some bullshit. And secondly, even if I was to tell you, it still wouldn’t have been any of your business!

Anyways, I finished out my associates and was moving on to my bachelor's the following Spring semester (took a semester off). I went back home and just worked and relaxed for my break before heading back. Nothing dramatic, I just didn’t bother people and didn’t want to be bothered by other people. It wasn’t until I went to the beach on my day off did my life shift like gears in a standard.

Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew Like I used to Like I used to Like I used to Setting up my next kill Thought that you knew

Everything was fine in my world; I was fine in my quiet life at the moment. That is…until I met him. Paul Lahote, a man who will ruin me from here on. I was walking along the shoreline my coat wrapped tightly around me, just taking in the moment and enjoying the view of the ocean. I heard yelling and laughing down the beach, not too far from me. When I looked over, I saw it was a bunch of guys and a few females. One guy caught my attention; it was like we were in unison. We looked at each other at the same time and I was lost.

A friend of his ran into him, knocking him down full force on his back. Hearing a groan coming from him, thinking he was hurt, I ran over to him.

“Oh shit! Are you okay?” I said looking down at him. He looked up at me and gave me a charming smile. He leaned up, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself.

“Hello, beautiful. I’m Paul Lahote, at your service.” Believe it or not, I realized he would be in my life for a while and I kind of liked it.

Masterlist

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 3: Food?

Third chapter is out! Not much to say about this one, expect that we finish up the day with some delicious Chinese takeout! Nothing heavy going on in here! Nope! Not at all!

When Stacy felt Scout was sufficiently distracted, she pulled her laptop out of her bag. 'Let's see, what was the group that guy was a part of? Vox I think...' She searched the group on Google, and found them almost immediately. She clicked the link to their website, and was struck by how professional it looked.

'So these guys are paranormal investigators...' From what the site said, they were a professional team that specialized in locating and researching. Specifically, they went after the newer, modern activity, like the Waygetter toys, or cursed animatronics.

'Where were you guys when I was a kid?' She shook her head. 'Focus, Stacy! Forget the past, focus on the present! You have a different problem to solve...<' She scrolled down and clicked on the contact button, which gave her an email address. She clicked over to her own email and typed in the address, but paused before writing anything.

'What do I even say to them? They didn't believe that Anthony guy, and he was one of them. Maybe if I send them proof...' Her eyes drifted to Scout, who was staring at the TV. Her attention was completely taken by the show, and she seemed oblivious to what Stacy was doing and thinking. 'A picture might not be enough, but maybe a video? But would she even agree to it? And could I even do that to her?'

Stacy shook her head, closing the laptop with a small sigh. 'I can't. Not right now. Maybe once things are settled...' She moved the computer to the side and stood up, stretching as much as she could. She then went into the kitchen and started digging through Sammy's fridge.

'Ugh, he's such a bachelor. There's nothing in here but some old lettuce and leftover soup. He'd better be buying groceries on his way back from work, or I'm telling Aunt Hannah he has no food again.' She closed the door, and then grabbed some bread and peanut-butter from the cupboard, and the last clean knife from one of the drawers. She quickly made herself a simple sandwich, cut it in half, then went back to the couch.

"Where'd you go?" Scout asked when she'd sat back down. She flopped over onto her lap, making Stacy jerk her plate up to keep it from getting hit. "You're missing the show!"

"I've seen it before, don't worry." Stacy assured her as she bit into the sandwich. "I'm not missing anything important."

"Hey, what's that?" She climbed into her lap and peered onto the plate, reminding Stacy of a cat. "Is that Host Food?"

"Yeah, it's a peanut-butter sandwich. I got hungry, and it was all Sammy had to eat, other than gross leftovers." She took another bite of sandwich, not really paying attention as Scout pulled the plate down a little. She watched the Puppet grab the other half of the sandwich 'Gross.', and examine it closely. Then, without warning, she tore a bite off and started chewing.

Stacy froze mid-chew, unsure of how to react. While she knew Scout had to have organs, she hadn't thought she actually could eat anything. It was quite surreal, watching a thing made of cloth chew and swallow real, human food.

"Hmm, not bad. Kind of sticky, though." She smacked her lips, then tore off another bite and turned back around to keep watching the show, leaving Stacy feeling like she'd smoked some of her cousin's weed. She shook the feeling off, though, deciding to come back to it at a later time. Like maybe when she'd actually had some weed.

Instead she finished her half of the sandwich(since she apparently only got to have half, now), and then pulled back out her laptop. She opened up a new doc, and started drafting up some plans.

'One way or another, I'm gonna figure this out.'

Several hours later, and Stacy had not figured it out. She had maybe one and a half pages of notes on the Puppets, most of which was on just Scout, and three different plans.

1. Go to the police.

-Too Risky for Scout

-Can lie about what's going on if needed

2. Ask Vox for help.

-Way too risky for Scout and me

-Can't lie to these guys about it

-They would know what they're doing tho

3. Arson.

-Has potential

-Can have a bon fire and roast marshmallows while we do it

-Could get arrested but might be worth it if we can get all the Puppets

-Might also be worth it just to see Scout try and eat a melty marshmallow

So far, plan number three was looking like the best one. It still wasn't the absolute best plan, but it was all they had at the moment. She'd have to talk to Will and see if he still had those gas cans in his garage.

"Hey, are you guys still here?" Stacy started at the sudden entrance of Sammy, surprised at how late it had gotten. She shut her laptop and put it to the side for now, standing up.

"No, we left and stole all of your soup." She told him. What you're seeing now is a hunger induced hallucination."

Sammy paused, the held up a plastic bag with a panda on it. "So you don't want the takeout I got?"

"Oooh, gimme!" Stacy rushed to snatch the bag from her cousin. She brought it over to the table, pausing briefly to pick Scout up from the couch. She started to set the food out while the Puppet settled over her shoulder, watching what she did. While she worked, she also pointed out what each different food was.

"So, all of this stuff is rice. We don't normally eat it, but they include it anyways with some of the meals. This is teriyaki chicken, and this is-"

"Stacy, really? Why would it even need to know what that stuff is?" Sammy tsked as he sat at the table and grabbed some noodle dish. "It's stuffed, and can't eat."

Stacy just stuck her tongue out at him and sat down. She picked up a pair of chopsticks and set about showing Scout how to hold and use them properly.

For awhile, they ate silently as Scout watched them, which Stacy personally thought was a little odd but didn't want to say anything. If the Puppet wanted to be weird, then she wasn't going to stop her. Sammy, on the other hand, soon fixed her with a hard stare and cleared his throat.

"So." Stacy looked up at him mid-chew, cheeks bulging. "What are you going to do when you get back to your apartment?"

She swallowed hard, putting on a more thoughtful expression. "Go back to class, tell Carol I can't do the article and why, maybe go tell the police about the psychopaths in the warehouse." She shrugged, digging out another bite of chicken from one of the boxes. "Y'know, stuff."

"And what about...?" He gestured to Scout with his chopsticks, and the Puppet glared back at him. Stacy, in a stroke of seldom seen genius, offered the Puppet her chicken before she could say anything.

"She's coming with me, of course. I live alone, so there shouldn't be a problem." Scout chomped down on the chicken, to Stacy's mild surprise. She quickly picked up some more food for herself. "Besides, Will is gonna love her. They're so much alike."

"Okay, ignoring the fact that you just fed that thing," Scout made an offended noise. "that sounds like a shit plan. There's no way in hell the police will believe you without proof."

"Fine, you're right. I have a back-up plan in the works, too." She thought back to her arson idea as she offered another bite to Scout. "But it needs work, so I can't put it in action yet." ‘And gasoline. Lots and lots of gasoline.’

"... Where's that food even going, anyways?" Both Sammy and Stacy turned to stare at Scout, who didn't even pause in her chewing to send them both a glare. Obviously, she wasn't going to be explaining anything, so Stacy turned back to her cousin.

"I have no idea. Don't think too hard on it."

'Don't think about why you're feeding her, either.' She ignored her own thoughts to shove some more food in her mouth. That was something to think about later. Or, perhaps, never. Never seemed like a much better time.

They finished their food, with Stacy giving Scout a few more bites, then boxed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Stacy then made Sammy get them a blanket because "It was too cold last night I almost froze to death!"

"It wasn't that bad, Stace." He told her, but fished out some spare bedding anyways. "It was near sixty."

"And yet, you had the air on or something. I swear it was colder than that in here." She insisted. She almost shivered just thinking about it. "You need to turn the AC off."

"The Ac's not on." He frowned at her, head tilted like he was studying one of his patients. "Maybe you're getting sick? You did spend God knows how long running around an abandoned warehouse with open wounds. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught something."

"God I hope not." She muttered, helping him spread the blanket out on the couch. "I gotta drive back to my apartment tomorrow. I don't wanna be sick while doing that."

"Well, if you do come down with something, promise me you'll go straight to the walk-in clinic or ER." Sammy told her seriously. "It could be something worse than a cold, like an infection from the stitches."

"Promises are curses." Stacy responded automatically. "But if something comes up, I will go to the walk-in. I don't wanna die after going through all of that bullshit."

"Wow, you're swearing. Must have been some pretty bad bullshit." He joked as he handed her a pillow. She resisted the urge to hit him with it.

"It was the second worst thing I've ever been through. It was horrible, and I hated it, but now it's over forever." Her eye twitched slightly as she placed the pillow on the couch, and saw Scout watching them from the side table. She was overcome with a childish urge to knock Scout over onto the pillow, which she quickly did.

"Wha-? Hey!" She pulled the blanket up over the Puppet, and heard a soft snort of amusement from Sammy.

"Are you ever going to grow up." He shook his head with a sigh as they watched the blanket covered lump move around.

"Nope!" She told him cheerfully. "I'mma be a kid forever!" She noticed the lump had stopped moving and leaned down, reaching for the blanket. "Uh, Scout? You oka-"

"DEATH FROM ABOVE!" Scout hit the back Stacy's head with far more force than necessary, knocking her onto the couch. She then bit onto the top of her head, though that didn't do much.

"AAUGH! How'd you even get up there?!?" She became aware of laughter and turned a death glare on her cousin. "Stop laughing! It's not funny Samuel!" She threw the pillow at him, but that didn't stop the almost hysterical laughter coming from him.

"Oh my God!" He gasped out, collapsing against the couch. "She just came out of nowhere! Holy shit!" He fell onto the floor while Stacy wrestled the apparently feral Puppet off of her head. She held her at arm's length, trying to simultaneously give her a disapproving look and check her over for injuries. It was hard to do, however, as she kept trying to bite her hand.

"Dude, seriously? That's not even gonna do anything to me..." She watched Scout thrash for a moment, actually struggling to hold onto her. "Okay, seriously, stop it right now, or you're going back under the blanket and I'm gonna sit on you." That got her to stop, but she kept up the death glare.

"Geez..." She looked over at Sammy, who was coughing on the floor, finally finished laughing. "It wasn't that funny..."

"It was fucking hilarious." He retorted between coughs. "Instant karma." He took a deep breath and started to pull himself up from the floor. "I like that Puppet." Stacy just sighed. "Whatever dude. Glad to know my pain is what made you like her." Unconsciously, she hugged Scout close and sat on the couch. She grabbed up the remote to turn Netflix back on, wanting a distraction from her humiliation. She let Scout drop onto her lap, and resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands.

'Defeated by a hand puppet. I'm never living this down.'

Sammy climbed up onto the couch seconds later, still wheezing. He went to speak, but another death glare shut him up before he could start. So he just shot her a smug look instead, holding out a hand for Scout to fist bump. "That was a pretty great move." He told the Puppet. Stacy ignored him, but heard a quiet "Hell yeah!" from Scout. "You should do it again the next time she does that."

"Do you want to die?" Stacy deadpanned, but Sammy just shrugged as he finally settled in to watch the show with them.

"Hey, it's just a suggestion." He couldn't keep that grin off of his face, and it was starting to annoy her.

"Whatever." She resolved to just ignore everything for now and watch the show. Sammy attempted a few more times to draw her into conversation, but quickly gave up when she didn't answer him and started watching too.

A few episodes later, however, and Sammy stood up and stretched. "Well, I need to get to bed, I have work tomorrow." He started towards his room. "I'll be gone by the time you two leave, so make sure you lock up tomorrow, okay?" "Kay. G'night Sammy." Stacy gave a halfhearted wave as he left, leaving Host and Puppet alone for the night.

"Leave?" Scout asked after they heard his door close. Stacy glanced down to see the Puppet staring up at her, a worried look on her face.

"Yeah. We gotta go home tomorrow." Stacy told her. "I gotta tell Carol about what happened at the HQ and find out what she wants me to do about that article. And then classes start back up soon, so I've gotta be back by then." "... I thought we were staying here." Scout said quietly, and Stacy felt a pang of... something. She wasn't sure what, but it made her feel bad and she decided right then that she hated it.

"Eh, it was more of a stopping point, really. Some place to get my mouth cut open and you off my hand." She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "And as much as I would love to hide here until I die, we can't actually stay on Sammy's couch forever. He doesn't have any food, and would expect me to clean."

"..." Scout was silent, and no longer paying attention to the show, instead staring down at her hands as she played with the hem of Stacy's shirt. The Human felt like she should say something, but didn't know what. Instead she stopped the show and turned off the TV, dropping the Puppet to the side and standing up.

"I'm gonna get ready and go to bed myself. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want to make sure I'm ready for it." She started towards the bathroom, almost missing the quiet "Okay." in reply. She hesitated at the doorway, but forced herself through anyways.

Scout would figure out it was better this way. Her apartment was even further from the HQ than Sammy's was, and thus safer than Sammy's. Plus, it would be better if it was just the two of them alone, and they could figure things out.

Things would get better, starting tomorrow.

They had to.

[handweavers]

so i was told last spring that in order to qualify for admission to all the universities i wanted to apply to i would only have to complete 2 semesters of post secondary schooling and i'd be fine. i already had completed 1 semester of post secondary, and had dropped out of my second due to a health crisis which pushed back my uni entrance to the next year. unfortunate but couldnt be helped, and i just needed one more semester. my ultimate goal, the thing i was trying to reach, was a bachelor's degree in textile art and design. just a basic fucking bachelor's degree. i went to a different school to try something else but had a mental breakdown and dropped out (story of my life) and went back to my old program and now I'm almost done my second semester! that should qualify me for university!

so i applied to several programs, some textiles bFA/bDes programs and an art history bA in case the other two fell through, and i'd still be happy doing art history. the textiles programs said that i needed a high school English credit that I don't have, but otherwise said my admission academically looks fine, so i signed up for a gr 12 English online class.

then i inquired with the admissions offices of the art history program and they said that actually, because i take reduced course loads due to being disabled, when I finish my second semester this spring I'll Actually Have Only Finished One Whole Semester as laid out by my school and would need to complete another whole semester (which takes me 2 semesters, or a year) to do, and this is likely how the other universities will respond as well once they look at my transcript properly. so I inquired with the other universities about this and they agreed that my transcripts aren't good enough (even though I have a 4.0 gpa LOL!!!) and I need another 6 courses before I can be considered academically PLUS the gr 12 Brain rot English course, because my 99% GED score and certificate isn't good enough for them either. they'll look at my portfolio and they won't contact me again until april/may about admissions and have since stopped responding to my emails.

so my killing myself over my portfolios for months and having panic attacks obsessing over what i would hand in and all that effort and hundreds of dollars was wasted because they moved the goal posts and none of them are going to let me in. and i have to do a whole entire year more of college to qualify for university. which I have been trying desperately to get into since I was 18. and i will be 23 this year. starting my bachelor's at 23 is upsetting enough as someone who has been desperately fighting to start one since high school, but now the earliest i'll be starting will be the year i turn 24.

if my brain wasn't completely fucking broken and my body constantly in pain and falling apart and my life wasn't a whole mess from start to finish i would literally be finishing my master's degree right now. but instead i can't even get into a bachelors program, not because my grades aren't good enough but because my whole schooling record is so unconventional and marred by my decades of fucking suffering and breakdowns none of it is good enough for these institutions and they told me it was and lied to my fucking face and changed their minds and said No Actually Fuck You. and it keeps happening to me over and over and over again my entire life. And I am so unbelievably tired. I thought this would finally be over and I'd be in university finally and this drudgery trying to qualify for SOMETHING ANYTHING PLEASE would be over but this bullshit is neverending. A whole more year of this garbage. And then what? They'll change the goal posts on me all over again. I can't even talk or think about it without crying i feel like Sisyphus rolling a rock up a hill nearly killing himself every time just trying to get it up there and at the top somebody kicks it back down and I just do it over and over and over and every time it gets kicked back down and every time a part of me dies

[richie-fuckface-tozier]

medicine - reddie wedding

the gay wedding we deserved as a head canon ! also, I was listening to the song medicine by the 1975 and realized how much it radiates reddie energy, so here, enjoy this reddie hc :

- basically fuck all that clown bs that bitch ain’t SHIT

- both Eddie and Stanley are alive? It’s canon Stephen king idk what you’re talking about

- basically Richie and Eddie are happy bitches and love each other so much and we just can’t thank Beverly enough for encouraging both Richie and Eddie to confess their life long feelings for another and Stan for practically exposing them for loving one another

- it went a little like this : they were all at dinner and alcohol was in their veins

- and Eddie and Richie are bickering (per usual)

- Richie pulls some dumb your mom joke again that basically makes no sense and Stan has had : enough for the night so he just says

- “oh god shut the fuck up richie we all know that you’re gay”

- “-actually, that you two are gay. Especially for one another.” He adds sassily.

- Beverly just stares at Stanley angrily because she kind of told him after both Eddie and Richie privately came to her and told her that they both have feelings for each other but Stan’s always speculated it

- obviously I mean

- how couldn’t you

- so richie and eddie are just dead silent alongside the other losers

- and then Richie just says “I’d prefer the term ‘bisexual’ but kudos to you for OUTING me, dickhead”

- Stans just like : 🤷🏻‍♀️

- and Eddie is, for once in his life, just quiet about it

- they don’t talk about it and bill changes the subject as soon as possible to talk and discuss about a new ending he had planned for a new book he’s writing

- in fact, that book is just straight up about 7 kids fighting a killer clown in the sewers and shit

- Bill had planned for him to get the girl, but Ben doesn’t approve (nor does Beverly, to be honest)

- Stans kind of pissed about it too because he gay

- anywho so Eddie sleeps over at Richie’s after

- and Richie knew it was going to get awkward as fuck but Eddie couldn’t help himself on the drive to his place and just shot it out

- “you have feelings for me to?”

- “I mean, you’re annoying as hell, but it’s cute-wait, what do you mean by ‘too’?”

- and Eddie just places his hand on Richie’s

- kudos to Eddie for making the first step ily babe

- still doesn’t mean he’s a top you fuckers

- “I like you, a lot”

- yup so they fuckin at the end of the night

- it’s cute tho cause they gay

- they start to passionately date and although it seems to annoy the fuck out of Stanley he’s so goddamn happy for the two for finally making it happen

- he’s been legit rooting for them since ‘89

- hardcore and first reddie shipper

- so like not long after Richie actually manages to get his grandmothers ring or something

- Eddie has tiny hands™️

- and after three months he already proposes and it’s so inappropriately adorable

- like, he had planned this whole romantic gesture when they travelled to Paris to support Beverly at her fashion show, and Richie was going to do it completely cliché under the stars at the Eiffel Tower

- turns out, he accidentally does it at one of his stand up comedy shows

- btw, a bitch is : famous

- cowrites and acts in some snl sketches and oml Eddie couldn’t be more proud of him

- so at one of his stand up shows, he’s talking about Eddie, something he usually does

- Eddie couldn’t be there for that show but he definitely watched it on tv

- richies also in a completely different state and he returns 3 days after that show

- so Richie says some shit along the lines “so, my boyfriends a bitch. But it’s okay, because soon, I’ll make him my bitch”

- he’s kind of unaware that Eddie’s seeing all of this

- “that sounds wrong, which it is, I can assure you that. But it’s okay, I love him, more than I love his mom”

- his fans love his mom jokes, especially because they know it’s about Eddie’s mom

- at some point he just lovingly but stupidly goes “fuck, man, sometimes I just look at him for like 30 minutes and think ‘shit, he likes me back’ and I watch him do these small noises while he sleeps and how he smiles when I gently touch his hair or when I kiss his forehead, and I watch him blush...and I’m just thinking ‘marry me, you bitch!’” He yelled and Eddie was kind of surprised, but his heart was fluttering so much

- especially when he saw the beautiful ring Richie showed to the crowd

- “so, yeah, I’m a dumbass. I was supposed to propose just a few weeks ago in Paris, you know, the usual cliché bullshit, but I forgot the ring back in LA! And then I was about to do it in a Taco Bell, you know, propose, but my hands were all greasy and I couldn’t even properly hold the steering wheel after that. And now-”

- he stopped, falling on one knee

- “I’m just gonna propose? On stage? Without him noticing?”

- yep Richie definitely had some drinks before that but Eddie couldn’t stop laughing and blushing and crying and ugh

- Richie starts pouring his heart and soul out but with humor obviously added and at some point he just repeats I love you like a hundred times over again and jumps around with his hyper ass

- people are enjoying this gay mess

- “should I say, will you marry me, eds? Or will you lawfully take me as your bitch?” He asked to the crowd and everyone had different answers, which just made him laugh.

- “he’ll complain about me calling him eds, so that could guarantee a no”

- he stopped about the proposing for a while and Eddie definitely had no proper sleep for the next 3 days

- Richie just comes home on a rainy night and Eddie’s already ready for bed, and when he answers the door he just jumps into Richie’s arms and kisses him oh so passionately

- “I do, Richie. I do. I want to be yours.” He whispered against his lips and for a second there Richie was completely confused but smiled and they both started crying and being in passionate love

- Stanley when he finds out, Jesus.

- stan has emotions? Hell yeah a whole LOT of them

- anyway back to the gay wedding

- so it’s the 20th of April

- yes, Richie chose that date and Eddie just thought it was a normal date without any meaning whatsoever

- man oh man was he wrong by the time the invites were sent

- Richie’s wearing a suit, a black one, it’s nice but casual and he took maybe 4 hours to choose the right one for the right one

- Eddie is wearing a white suit that so nice and soft and silky and he’s so in love with it

- and under Richie’s request, or well rather damand, he’s wearing a small veil with a small flower hair clip on the side of his hair (que, Stefon’s fairwell)

- Eddie is : panacking on their wedding day and Bill and Mike help him calm down as much as possible

- his inhaler won’t even help he’s a : mess

- Richie is pretty chill and everyone’s just like ??? what the fuck you’re marrying the love of your life today you dickwad and he’s just like “okay”

- but that all seems to change when Eddie walks down the eisle and Richie just gets so weak in the knees

- it’s like seeing him the first time

- btw, their first encounter was at the pharmacy of the summer of ‘86, richie tried contact lenses for the first time that summer and had to pick them up, but he stupidly forgot his glasses that day so he just ended up bumping through the entire store

- including Eddie

- Eddie was way too soft at that time and he just looked at him and helped him all the way to the counter and helped him get his prescription and fuck

- Richie could tell by his voice and his blurry vision that he saw an angel

- they had multiple classes together but Bill was the first one to really introduce him to the losers

- anyway Richie’s almost crying and Eddie is nearly having a heart attack

- but as soon as he arrives and everyone applauds, Richie just takes his hand to assure that he’s doing okay

- Richie is wearing contact lenses btw

- Eddie is so soft for that shit because he knows how deep Richie takes things and knows it’s about their first encounter

- Richie didn’t really think about that though until Eddie referenced it later and he’s like “yeah, uhhh, totallyyyyy” but he just didn’t want to wear his glasses on his wedding day

- especially because they broke the night before on his bachelor party

- don’t even ask unless you want a single hc for THAT

- they don’t even listen to the priest talking and just admire each other’s presence

- Richie doesn’t even hear him say “will you take eduard kaspbrak as your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death-”

- “oh please, have you met me? I will love the hell out of this bitch”

- Eddie is just so embarrassed but he loves him so much so he’s the first to crack up after everyone went dead silent and gasped

- “you really had to say hell, Tozier?”

- “sorry, tozier in 5 minutes”

- Eddie blushes and it’s his turn to say, after the priest took that as an obvious I do, and Eddie just immediately blurts out and can’t even hold his excitement, jumping up and down for the priest to finish before saying himself “I do, till death tear us apart”

- Richie cries, Eddie cries, Stanley’s SOBBING (Stanley btw, Richie’s best man), Beverly and Ben and mike and Bill are all crying the hell out of them

- bev is Eddie’s bridesmaid and the other losers basically are too lmao

- “I will now pronounce you husbands-” Richie is already eating Eddie’s face and everyone’s jumping up and applauding

- everyone’s throwing white roses after them as they get out, Richie holding Eddie bridal style to the limousine

- they spend the wedding in a nice hall and the decorations are whites and wine red

- decoration and designing both by Ben and Beverly. They really went all out with this and the two couldn’t thank them enough.

- red velvet cake with both Richie and Eddie as figures on them.

- after Richie’s request, they made Eddie purposely smaller and Richie’s just loving Eddie’s anger about this but it’s not too bad because it’s his wedding day, with the love of his life

- Stanley makes a toast, prepare to cry :

- “Maybe since 1988 I’ve been waiting to call Eddie Eddie Tozier. I sometimes did when Richie wasn’t around because I didn’t want to be that mean to Richie. I knew he had hardcore feelings for him. Richie was so in love with him that he’d sometimes come to me crying about Eddie, how much he loves him. I was the first one to know. I was the only one to know.”

- Beverly stands up, going on : “Eddie told me he loved Richie. It was first a like situation, but it truly and quickly turned into true love. I was always there to support Eddie. I could never be mad about it.”

- Bill goes on, saying “I-I never knew until n-now, b-but I c-couldn’t be more proud of them. I d-don’t know how I would’ve thought about it b-back then, them being homosexual, but then was then, and now is now. I am so happy for them.”

- Ben says “I couldn’t think of anyone else for them. Richie belongs to Eddie. Eddie belongs to Richie. They were meant for each other. God wanted this. No one knows how important this love story is, and I am so glad I can be apart of this.”

- Mike, finally stands up and adds “all of this bickering was just them confessing their love for another over and over again” he pauses to laugh with the others, and Eddie and Richie are crying so much, Eddie more than Richie. Eddie’s sobbing but Richie, his tears are just falling down and he’s holding onto Eddie’s hand with the ring on with his own ring wearing hand. “So, us losers, we couldn’t be more proud of how you two have finally made it. You two deserve one another. Till death do you apart”

- stan finally ends off with “honestly, I’m great full that I accidentally drunkenly said that you two loved each other” everyone laughs, alongside the two. “But you two were simply meant to be, and even though I always seemed like I hated you two, it was just me being sick and tired of you not finally kissing one another.” He smiled. “Till death do you apart” everyone says, raising their glasses, and everyone else does so too.

- they all party and eat cake a little until the wedding dance is on. Their song is ‘medicine’ by the 1975. Richie and Eddie loved the 1975 and it once played on this playlist Richie made for Eddie and then the whole day long they were just dancing to it

- this was pre-engagement by the way, turns out they were learning their wedding dance all along

- so they dance, Richie takes the man role of the dance, and Eddie just has his hands wrapped around Richie’s neck. They can’t stop looking at each other and kissing each other and they both always mouth along the song, especially at the chorus

- “in case you’re my medicine, yeah you’re my medicine”

- Richie softens up at the part “I, i wanna marry you”

- after the dance everyone applauds of course and they just party a little

- maybe around 4am everyone else goes home except the losers. The losers go to the beach and hang out together until the sunrise.

- it’s so beautiful because they make a small fire and then just watch the sunrise and Eddie and Richie are just so in : love

- and everyone’s so happy for them

- Jesus Stanley can’t stop crying and Richie makes fun of him forever for that

- they all go home and Richie and Eddie into their new home, which is so nice, and then

- ya know

- they fuck

- and after that, Eddie falls asleep first, Richie can’t stop staying awake and he just looks at the ceiling with Eddie in his arms, wearing the brightest smile he’s ever worn, and just whispers to himself

- “holy shit, he likes me back”

- and then he just admires Eddie and at some point, he falls asleep

- they’re the happiest together, don’t come for me

- it’s canon you fuckersssss

- also they adopt a pomaranian and later a girl

- aLSO (nearly forgot to add this, I came up with this during bills part of the speech) bill ends his story with the two best friends of the main characters ending up together, although he nearly killed off one of the characters, he edited it and they end up together and live a happy life together

[tomhollandish]

Always Like This

A/N: After maybe two years of never writing anything, I’m back for @pparkerwrites writing challenge! This is my magnum opus, clocking in at 14k, and it’s inspired by Studio Ghibli’s Whisper of the Heart, The Louvre by Lourde, the prompt “I wish we could stay like this forever”, and my own anxiety about finishing college and growing older.

Summary: As you begin wrapping up your final year in college, you have some wishes, fears and regrets. This is the story of how you overcame all of them, with a little help from your friends. Platonic!Avengers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, mentions of past Bruce Banner x Reader and Quentin Beck x Reader (Yeah, I know,)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of (public) sex, and the reader being an anxious wreck

Word count:  14k (my bad)

                                         *            *            *            *

There is a tap once, twice, three times against the plastic cubicle, but your attention is elsewhere. As you breathe heavily, you can still see the black and white pages of your latest research endeavor printed underneath your eyelids. You swim in the words, trying to pick out what you can even comprehend when the rapping becomes less gentle.

“’Tis some visitor,” you recited, mumbling out the lines of a poem you’d once memorized. “Rapping at my chamber door.”

“It’s campus police,” the visitor said, and you fumbled to sit up properly. The harsh florescent lights made your eyes bleed, and the ugly khaki uniform of the man hovering over you was just as terrible a sight.

“Fuck,” you cursed, and then upon realizing that you just cursed in front of an officer (a glorified security worker, but you weren’t about to take pot shots right now), you covered your mouth. “I’m sorry, I just–”

“I just need your ID.” He smiled politely and you squirmed under the gesture.

“Right.”

You found it wholly ridiculous that this man was carding you in your campus library at—what time was it? —three in the morning as if you could be anyone other than a student. No sane person would be doing this without reason, and even so your reasons were wearing incredibly thin as your shitty bachelor’s degree grew closer into your clutches.

A bachelor’s degree in English? What will you even do with that?

Doesn’t matter what it’s in. It just matters that I’ve got it.

You didn’t want to spend four years doing something you hated. (With your bullshit Liberal Arts Program, it was really only two years of English, but who was counting?) You thought it would be easy to just pick up some desk jobs that would pay the bills once you graduated. But then you decided to grow noble and have an ambition and things rapidly changed.

The officer handed your card back to you. His eyes flitted over to the mess of a work station you had, before giving a pitying smile. “Long night huh? Haven’t seen you stay here this late in a while.”

Goosebumps ran up your arm. You tried to play it cool, painting on a smile as you wracked your brain for familiarity. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“No, not really. I’ve been working this shift for maybe two years, and you’re on this floor a lot at night. I just, uh, remember you.”

“Uh,” you blinked, unable to answer. The odds of this guy remembering you were like, twenty thousand to one. And while you were a regular patron of the third floor (it is the film section after all) it seemed unlikely that someone could pick out your face.

The guard seemed to understand that he’d stumped you, so he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and moved on. Still stunned, you stared back at the pile of books across the table and groaned at the thought of continuing. It was late, and you had class at ten the next morning. The very class you were doing all this work for.

You sighed deeply and pondered whether or not to call it a night—it was only the third week of the fall semester and you were already working like a dog. There was a terrible feeling in your gut that if you didn’t save your energy for later, it would bite you in the ass.

Settling for checking out one last book, you scribbled down its call number and pulled yourself out of the mini cubicle, heading for the stacks. As you made your way you noticed that there were really only a few other people with you, many of them with their heads ducked into textbooks or laptops, engrossed in their own worlds.

The people began to fade away as the rows and rows of books dominated the room. You looked up and down between your notebook as you stomped through sections, passing anatomy, then biology before glancing at American literature. You ducked down one row, fingers grazing every book as you mumbled the call number under your breath, afraid it would escape you.

Finally, you knelt down, wincing as your knees cracked audibly in the quiet library. Sitting on the bottom shelf like it had been waiting on you for eons was the book in question; an innocuously black bound book, the title in plain white letters on the spine. A library reprint. You opened it, just be sure it was the exact copy you were looking for, when you realized something.

Someone had annotated this copy. Your school didn’t charge damages for writing in library books, but this person seemed to have written paragraphs worth of content between margins and on blank pages. It was the kind of analysis that could only belong to someone taking it very seriously; perhaps a fellow film studies major.

But the writing wasn’t mesmerizing because it was insightful, rather, it was because you recognized it. You stomped your way back to your seat with purpose, looking for the other companion novel; a newer, cleaner, bigger book and yet, as you flipped the pages you caught glimpses of the handwriting—legible, but obviously a quick scrawl. The e’s were always connected to the letter after it, and the m’s were hardly definable squiggles, but it was still nice to look at.

As you’d combed your way through these books, you’d found their handwriting more than once. They usually echoed the sentiment you’d been trying to capture, but they had done so first. It had discouraged you at first, thinking yourself a simple copy-cat, but it later comforted you that someone shared your ideals.

It was wishful thinking to wonder about them. Useless and distracting.

You still entertained the thought.

The whole trip back to your dorm, you busied yourself with thoughts of them–their major, if they had graduated already or if they were still here; what if you shared a class with them, or better yet, if you knew them? Your mind filled with romantic possibilities as your body took you through the process of getting you home—a maneuver you could pull in your sleep.

Once at home, you forgot all the formalities of bedtime routines and simply stripped down, crashing straight into bed. Sleep would overcome you in any moment, but in your last fleeting moments of consciousness you dreamed of flipping pages and handwriting.

                                           *            *            *            *

If college were a racket, you’d be fucking rich.

You’ve been at the same shit for nearly two decades, and still you felt like you were the absolute best at it. Sure, you weren’t top of the class (probably not even close) but your professors loved you and other students made the effort to know your name. You weren’t the obnoxious teacher’s pet, nor were you class clown, but people acknowledged your existence, which was honestly more than you could ever ask for.

It was moments like these when you thought twenty thousand a year (all in loans!) might have been worth it; you were talking with your professor—whom you called Kyle with the ease of an old friend—after class about some nonsense that had happened over the weekend, about the movies you had watched recently, and about school.

You felt a strange bittersweetness as he began to talk about your undergraduate thesis again, bringing up all the regalia that your presentations entailed. Maybe he noticed your sudden hesitation at the topic, because he stopped speaking and hummed.

“You’ve already started working on it, haven’t you?” It was a confirmation, but there was still a layer of trepidation to his voice you couldn’t decipher. You nodded, but it didn’t disappear. “You’re far more prepared than the others.”

“I’ve been thinking about this since sophomore year,” you confessed. “It’s nerve wracking, thinking about the presentation, but I like the topic.”

“When you blurted out your thesis during the first meeting, I think everyone wanted to kill you,” he laughed. “But as I’ve gotten to know you, I’m not surprised at all. You always know what you want.”

There was a lull then—a moments hesitation where you wanted to bluntly correct Kyle and tell him that you didn’t actually know what you wanted, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead you smiled, and took that silence as a good place as any to end the conversation and quickly walk out of the room as the reality of your situation crashed back into you.

Staring at the tiles beneath your feet, you tried not to trip over your own mental leaps. Everything came folding in on itself as you thought of the upcoming semesters like the end of an era; the last of your eighteen years of education. Anxiety crept up your spine like a chill, and you felt yourself gripping your books tighter to keep from shaking.

And them something jammed into your shoulder, hard, the books in your hand spilling all over the floor. You grumbled to yourself, thinking you’d clumsily walked into a wall, but then you heard “Um, hello?”

Fear struck your heart as you turned to face someone: a boy, looking at you with knotted brows and his arms open with the expectation of an apology. Your fear turned to annoyance as you studied details like his tiny, low ponytail, his navy-blue blazer and the copy of The Sound and The Fury clutched in his hand.

You looked back at his face, painted with clear annoyance and spat out a half-assed, “sorry,” topped with a fake smile. His animosity was near palpable as he heel turned and kept walking, leaving you to pick up your things alone. You muttered under your breath angrily.

“Asshole, English Major Prick.”

                                          *            *            *            *

It was ironic to call the boy you’d bumped into earlier an asshole, considering who you spent your time with.

Your Monday/Wednesday afternoon schedule ended with a late as hell lunch with some old friends. Emphasis on old, because you were pretty sure after your major switch you had nothing in common with these men anymore.

“And what I’m telling you,” Tony Stark punctuated with a wave of his hands, “is that there’s no way Beck’s design would even theoretically work, let alone should Dr. “MIT graduate” allow him to continue with this completely doomed to fail idea.” He pointedly took a bite of the (likely now cold) pasta he’d spent ten minutes raving over before spitting it out onto a napkin. “God, what the fuck is up with this cafeteria?”

“Maybe if you would shut up for ten seconds, your food would still be warm.” You never had any clue what the self-proclaimed genius was ever talking about. It was a wonder you considered him a friend still, but even his annoying tendencies couldn’t break the brotherhood you all had from sharing the shittiest dorm on campus freshman year. You felt like you still owed Tony a debt for killing that roach in your shower all those years ago.

“I agree with Y/N, for once.” You side eyed Strange, wondering if there was some sort of punchline, but then he gave a nod of solidarity. “You’ve been complaining about this guy non-stop.”

“Beck is just,” Tony banged his fists on the table, shaking every one of your trays. “So infuriating. Y/N, how did you ever fuck this guy?”

“Stop,” Bruce says, his arms hovering over his drink and other objects that might fall over. “Tony, I’m begging you to let this go.”

“See, even Bruce admits he’d tired of this. Can we move on please?”

“Oh? Tired of me bring up your ex in front of your ex?”

“Tony, knock it off,” Bruce warned, but there was no threat in his voice. Tony dropped the subject, but still looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.  

“Or do you have any exciting developments in…what is it you do again?”

You threateningly held out your fork towards the engineering major and he flinched. “I’m about to major in murder if you don’t Shut. Up.”

The three science majors stopped their babbling and hurriedly shoveled their food into their mouths. You sighed into your cup of powered lemonade. While you were used to Tony’s jabs, he was right: your future felt inconsequential next to their aspirations. But you would be damned if you let either him or Stephen Strange know that you felt that way.

Bruce laced his fingers together and fidgeted for a moment. You turned to him, and he smiled nervously. “So, how’s your paper coming along?”

There was another awkward pause as you sipped your drink, trying to come up with something impressive or dramatic enough to hold their attention. And then you rolled your eyes at the thought. “Well, I’m at the part of the process where I sit in the library until my mind goes numbingly blank from staring at an empty word document or director interviews or companion books and then I go home and never sleep.” You said honestly. This earned a laugh out of Tony.

“English Majors: They’re just like us!” he joked.

“That fact that you think college majors are equivalent to high school cliques is very telling of your immaturity,” you sneer at Tony. He throws a fake smile at you—not that any of his smiles are ever real.

“Psychoanalyze me all you want, Dickinson,”—his habit of calling you whatever writer came to his mind was also telling— “But the fact is, the three of us are more like each other than we are to you. It’s just facts.”

You looked to Bruce for a moment. Like always, he was on the same wavelength as you—he averted his gaze the moment you two locked eyes. “Be that as it may, we’re still friends somehow.”

“‘Somehow’ being the operative word,” Strange spoke under his breath. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Not my fault the three of you are giving into society’s capitalist ways and are only in it for the money.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tony says, dropping his fork in his barely touched food. He purposefully scoots his chair back with a grating noise and you wince at the sound. “Y/N, I can’t handle you when you’re like this.”

You huffed. “Now you know how we feel about you all the time.”

“I’m done with this discussion. Strangelove, Brucey,” he acknowledges his friends by their stupid nickname before rolling out. Strange sighs before following his lead, but Bruce stays put.

“He’s sensitive about that.”

You shrugged. “Then maybe he should try going into a career that helps people instead. No ones making him become a money mongering executive.”

“You know what his dad is like.”

“Yeah, rich.”

Bruce dragged his hands down his face, but there was a chuckle underneath his exasperation. “Your coldness is honestly so incredible. Aren’t writers supposed to be compassionate?”

“I am compassionate,” you stated defensively. And then, more flippantly, “Just not to rich industrialists who steal from the middle class.”

You laughed when Bruce shook his head at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So are you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with your own. There was nothing in the gesture, not like there used to be. “I mean, you want to be a nuclear physicist, or whatever. Ain’t nothin in that but prestige and your name on same wall.”

“You know that’s not what I want.” He used that voice, the one you’d become intimately familiar with towards the end of your relationship. “I just want to pursue something I’m passionate about. Isn’t that what you want too?”

The fruit under your fork slid out and rolled across the table. Both of your eyes followed it as it fell out of sight, and then you said nothing. Bruce sighed.

“I didn’t mean too—”

“Yeah you did.”

The buzzing of your phone jolted you two out of the tense moment. You lifted it up, seeing a message from Steve. You felt Bruce’s eyes peering over at your phone.

“You got to go?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“No, Tony’s probably waiting for you outside. He’ll just follow both of us if you don’t go with him.”

He pursed his lips, caught between a rock and a hard place. He looked up at you as you prepared to leave.

“I really didn’t mean it.”

“Even if you didn’t, you’re right.” It wasn’t hard to admit anything to Bruce, even after everything. “You’re damn good at it too.”

He tried to swallow back his bashful smile, but there was still a shimmer of it in his eyes. “You’re good at what you do, too.”

“Well, after four years, I’d fucking hope so.”

Bruce laughed through his goodbye, and you reveled in that small victory as you booked it to the art building.

                                        *            *            *            *

Perhaps it’s the creative part of you, but a piece of your heart fully adored that decrepit, godforsaken building. The elevator was broken, the hallways were a rotating gallery of amateur and professional projects, and it always smelled like some sort of chemical, but the building has charm.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Steve stopped in his tracks to look at you when you said that. He’d been guiding you through the labyrinth known as Bauer Hall with a well-trained quickness. He resumed it after the initial shock of your statement wore off. “You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

“I do,” you said, knowing there was no way to defend yourself from such a true statement. “But so are you.”

“There’s only so many things I can romanticize, and I have to say, Bowser Hall ain’t one of them.” You laughed through your nose at the ridiculous nickname. “Besides, I’m all romanced out.”

Steve walked through a room lined with canvases bigger than the both of you. In different corners students painted in different styles, with different elaborative brush strokes that revealed their subjects in a matter of moments. Someone’s music played from a wireless speaker, but you imagined everyone had tuned it out.

Steve lead you to his station, which was currently covered with photos of you. It was embarrassing to see yourself plastered all over his desk, but as you studied to pictures closer, you became enthralled.

“Is it narcissistic to compliment how awesome these looks?” Awesome didn’t even encapsulate the emotion. Not by a long shot. Over the summer Steve had approached you about featuring in his senior art show pieces, and you’d shot preliminary photos. He couldn’t guarantee that he’d paint you given the complexity of his idea (as well as his own perfectionism) but now he was promising that he would paint you.

So, you stared down at the photos, remembering the how he’d climbed onto your roof at night and shined a flashlight taped with blue gels through your window and you tried not to laugh. The fruits of that night where in your fingertips, and you were struck at how much more somber your face looked on a physical photo than it had on the camera that night.

“It’s not narcissistic considering Nat took the photo,” he said, leaning over your shoulder. He rummaged through the stack before he pulled out a specific picture. “I think I’m going with this one.”

“Of course you are,” you poked fun at him, but you actually did like that photo. The light that shined across your eyes was blue, but you were shrouded in a hazy purple. It was a close shot, with your hands framing the expression on your face that was equal parts haunting and beautiful. Steve had been trying to capture those hard-to-explain moments that crossed people’s faces, and yours had been the most agonizing. In his words.

“With most people it takes forever to get the shot. You got it in one.” There was veiled concern in his statement, but you’re a master of words. You drop the photo and step back from it all, looking at Steve.

“Wasn’t hard,” was all you told him. Steve took the photo and tacked it up to a ready to paint canvas.

“I’m thinking about using these two as well.” Steve handed you two other photos of different subjects, only one of which you really know.

“When’d you take this?” You flipped over the photo Sam, his face caught precisely between elation and realization. Steve took it gingerly before sitting back on his stool. You wished he could paint the look of utter longing that plagued his own blue eyes.

“He got the deployment letter that morning,” Steve explained. His voice was low as he talked through the lump in his throat. “I asked him to pose for me, because I knew when I saw his face that I wanted to capture whatever the hell it was I just saw.”

“He’s used to being your guinea pig. I’m sure he liked knowing he’s the inspiration for your project.”

“He’ll probably hold it over my head ‘till I die,” Steve managed a laugh, but it was hollow. The sigh he took afterwards could have cracked his ribs.

“It’ll be a great gift, you know? A huge photo of his favorite thing—himself.” His laugh this time was slightly more genuine. You’d have to take it.

“Who’s this?” You showed Steve the second photo, one of a man whose face was marred with the shadow of blinds, his eyes looking back as if it pained him to. Nat was a wonderful photographer, and Steve had an amazing vision, but you knew Steve well enough to know that whoever this was, the look was all his own.

“Oh, that’s Buck,” he said easily, and you lean forward as a gesture to elaborate. “Bucky, my best friend?”

“Not ringing any bells.”

“Hmm. You probably don’t know him because he was in Prague the semester we became friends.” Steve had been part of your freshman dorm nightmare, but he lived on a different floor than the rest of you. You didn’t get to know him until you realized Nat was a mutual friend.

“Did he spend a whole year there?” You leaned forward and stared at the picture, trying to find any recollection of this guy. “Cause it’s been like, a year since then.”

“No, but he did have an internship when he came back, I’d forgotten about that.”

You dropped the photo, feeling jealousy prickle down your arms. “Wow. Busy guy.”

“He tries to keep himself busy. Otherwise he looks like that all the time.” You understood the implication. You pinned the photos next to each other and contemplated just how Steve was going to recreate them in all their glory. He seemed to have the same thought, because he ran a hand through his hair.

“It really will take me all semester, but I’m excited.” He bounced on his feet. “I think I’ve found my thing.”

“Your thing?”

“Yeah, my niche, I guess,” he shrugged, but his excitement was contagious. “It’s good to be excited about something again.”

“I’m glad you love your project, because it’s going to turn out amazing,” you assured him.

“Thanks. I started Sam’s painting already and it wore me out. I think I’ll start on Buck’s next. Sorry,” he shot you an apologetic grin. “I’m just tired of looking at the same colors.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me for anything,” you said earnestly. “I totally get it. In fact, I think I’ve taken a long enough break on my own work.” You backed away from the blank canvas and glossy photos, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. “It’s no masterpiece, but.”

“Hey, your writing is always incredible. I read that paper you wrote about the mis-en-scene of Art Cinema.” He recited with your work with such ease, it made you blush. “You’re really good at writing., Y/N.”

“You remembered.” You tried to laugh off the little swell of pride in your chest. “You’re sweet, Steve, but this is a lot more than a three-page writeup.”

“If it’s yours, it’ll be great. What’s your thesis again?”

“The politics of monster movie horror films.” When you told him, Steve shook his head with a proud grin.

“See? That’s brilliant!”

“It’s been done before—”

“Everything’s been done before. But you haven’t done this. You’re smart, you love movies, and you’re the most well rounded, analytical person I know. You’ve got this.”

You wanted to run back and give him the clingiest hug of your life, but instead you swung bashfully on the doorframe. “Thank you for your support, Steve, but I have to at least write it first.”

He waved you off. “Fine. Go, be great.”

You felt something unidentifiable rise in your stomach as you left, the knot only growing bigger and bigger until you reached the library. You wanted to exhale it out of your chest as you pushed the up button in the elevator, but it stayed stuck in your throat instead. You decided to leave it be as you settled into one of the plastic cubicles on the third floor, your home for the foreseeable future.

                                           *            *            *            *

Anxiety. That had been the feeling.

It gnawed at your stomach and in return you gnawed at your lip, thinking about Steve’s success as an artist and Bruce’s summer spent applying to grad schools. The future was in sight for both of them while yours was blocked by your laptop screen, showing you the three pages you had done out of the twenty you needed.

Angrily, you slammed the computer screen down and shoved it into your bag. The buzzing overhead light made red spots dance in your eyes even when you closed them, so you figured it was time for a break.

And by “break”, you meant spending the fifteen minutes between your apartment and the library trying to reword the sentence that had been bugging you over and over again. You were so out of it that when you opened your apartment door you were in shock of all the people sitting in your living room, despite having seen all their cars parked out in front.

Someone’s greeting went whizzing by you, but it’s only after the door slammed shut did you piece together that it was Pietro. The rest of the group chorused “Hi Y/N” with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Hey, sorry they’re so loud,” Wanda pulled her cardigan close when she crossed her arms, smiling uncertainly at you. “I won’t have them here too late.”

“Nah, they’re fine,” you brushed off, slipping out of your uncomfortable shoes. You hated the fall—it always encouraged your terrible habit of style over function. “I’m just here for a quick costume change then it’s back to the ol’ grind.”

Normally Wanda would chuckle at your ridiculous phrases, but she creased her brows when she continued talking. “Actually, we were thinking of grabbing some food. Pietro’s bulking, or doing some other stupid diet and Viz thought we could go back to the diner. You know, the one on the corner of 11th?”

Oh, you knew the 11th street diner. It was the premier spot; you’d been there on dates, 21st birthdays, celebrated there after long arduous projects, and gorged on fries after movie marathons with Peter. The sheer mention of the diner was enough to make you swoon, and Wanda was likely exploiting that weakness.

So, when you sighed, her eyes lit up. “I’m sorry,” you said, watching as her shoulders deflated. Your heart broke at the sight. “I have to work on this paper. It’s—”

“Your senior thesis, I know, but. Y/N when was the last time you ate?”

You had the audacity to look defensive. “I ate with Bruce and Tony earlier today.”

“I saw Bruce and I asked him. He said you only ate a bowl of fruit and some lemonade.”

Snitch. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to take a break from your work or you’re going to burn out.”

The sound that came out of your mouth was harsh and condescending. “I’m already a burnout, Wanda. I’ll be fine. Have fun at the diner.” You dodged the rest of her questions by slipping into your room and closing the door. As you hurried into a sweatshirt and old jeans, you heard the gang walk out of the house and leave you in silence. You checked to see if the apartment was empty before grabbing your things and locking up.

You planned on daydreaming the rest of the way back to the library, but the sound of a bicycle following you made your hair stand on end. When you turned to see who it was, you relaxed the grip on your pepper spray.

“Fucking hell, Parker,” you chastised as the teenager as he hopped off his bike and came up to walk beside you. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You looked like you were going to shank me,” he laughed, falling into stride with you. Regardless of his own destination, Peter would always ditch his own path to walk with you, day or night. The night part was incredibly sweet and chivalrous. “Where are you going anyways?”

“Library,” you said curtly. You were tired of explaining yourself. “You?”

“Came back from MJ’s, I’m heading home.” Peter still lived on campus due to his scholarship, and frankly, you were a little envious. It would be amazing to live seven minutes from the library again.

“How is the new girlfriend?” The smile in your voice made Peter roll his eyes.

“MJ’s fine. She’s in abnormal psych and she hates it because it’s too basic for her.”

“Ugh, yeah I took that class. But it’s a prerec for—”

“Psychopathology,” you two said simultaneously. “She told me.”

“If she wants, she can have my old notes from the class.”

Peter quirked his brow. “You still have them?”

You shrugged. “I keep all my old notebooks.”

“Why?”

The question was simple, but you felt yourself pondering the answer for longer than you’d care to admit. Why did you keep all that old stuff? You never went back and studied any of it, so it was essentially junk. Yet you treasured it like a childhood keepsake.

“I don’t know,” you lied, completely aware that you felt exposed by Peter’s question and embarrassed by the real answer. “I thought they’d come in handy one day. Looks like I was right.”

Peter looked at you, and it struck you how similar the expression was to the one Bruce had given you earlier. When he’d asked you about passion and doing what you wanted.

He seemed to drop the topic, because when he opened his mouth again, he said, “I don’t think she needs it, considering how much she loves that kind of stuff, but thanks for offering.”

You only hum in acknowledgment, spending the rest of your walk together listening to the cars passing by and the soft clicks of Peter’s bike chains; sounds that had plagued you since sophomore year.

After this year, you’d never hear them again.

You bit your lip to keep from sighing. Peter would surely ask you what was wrong, but you couldn’t admit all this to him. He had way too much on his plate, between his honors scholarship, his biochemistry major and his job running the Photo Lab, it was a wonder he even spent time with you.

There was no way to tell Peter you missed him without spilling your guts, and you were too tired and too scared to say it. So instead you made a joke when you parted ways, and spent too much time in your head worrying about what you should’ve said.

And if you’d been paying attention instead, you wouldn’t have bumped into someone for the second time that day. This time the person had spilled all their books, a large stack of hardbacks that scattered in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” you said, not looking them in the eye. You crouched down to help them pick up their books, but when you placed The Essentials of Faulkner into someone’s hand, you looked up.

The blue eyes were soft on yours for a brief moment before recognition sparked in them. The man furrowed his brows before standing to his full height, which towered over you even when you stood too.

“You again,” he said, arrogance still pronounced. The English Major Prick.

Your blood pressure seemed to spike with anger. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“I’m mostly just shocked at my odds,” he said. “I must be the unluckiest person in this whole university to get knocked over by the same spaced-out girl twice.”

“One,” you glared, “I didn’t knock you over, my shit fell the first time. Second of all, you could also avoid me, ya know.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Hey,” a third party cut through your arguing. Someone walked around you two, flicking his middle finger at the both of you. “People have to fucking walk here.”

“Mind your business, asshole!” you whisper-yelled, and at the same time the English Major Prick said “Take a fucking hike, buddy!”

You were about to stare at him, but he was already disappearing into the pitch blackness. You shook off the encounter and headed back up to your regular post on the third floor.

Determined to actually get farther than before, you treaded through the floor stacks, searching up and down for the theory books you needed. One such book you found on your first stop, flipping through the index to find the pages you were looking for. A flash of blue caught your eye, and marked all over the page was the mysterious handwriting, like in the books from before.

“Huh,” you said, wondering what the odds were that you had checked out the exact same books as this person. It was unbelievable, and quite fantastical, if you were honest, but here it was; their handwriting in your hands once again.

“I wonder if I’ll find you, mystery person,” you lamented, before closing the book and carrying on.

                                           *            *            *            *

Weeks passed by in a similar haze: you would spend your days pretending to take notes while in reality you were highlighting sentences in articles, re-wording paragraphs and rearranging structures in your head. Mid-terms came and went, stringing you out even further. Time was unraveling at the seams, only stitching itself together when you needed to know what day it was or where to be.

Everyone around you seemed to be planning for something though; whether it was grad school or lining up jobs, or even something as simple as graduation, their eyes were on some far away prize while you could barely visualize waking up the next day.

Kyle noticed this. “You look awful,” he’d said, after he begged you to stay and talk after class. You rolled your eyes.

“Is that all you wanted?”

“No,” he said pointedly. “But it is concerning. You’ve been working on your paper?”

‘Working’ was both an understatement and a gross misuse. “I’ve been staring at the screen wondering why it doesn’t sound like I know it can.”

“That’s the dilemma of the author,” Kyle chuckled, but you were too numb to respond. “Tell you what. When you come in for your advising,”—he put emphasis on the word because he knew you hadn’t signed up for a time slot yet— “bring your essay and I’ll edit it. Sound fair?”

“You know it’s still a first draft,” you whined, mostly to hide the dread that bubbled in your throat.

“I know, and I expect it to be rough. But I know you’ve been working hard, so let me help you out. Please.” He added the extra please to sweeten the deal, and it had worked. Which is how you ended up outside of his office, contemplating which spot to take when something caught your eye.

It was blue ink, the m’s and n’s nothing but little scribbles, the capitol J hanging well below the line. It was familiar, so familiar that you fumbled around in your backpack for the research book you’d been carrying around with you, the one that held mystery persons notes.

You held up the defaced text, looking between the scrawl on the page and the name written on the line. It was exact match down to the ink, and you gasped in elation.

“I found you,” you whispered, making a squeal of delight. “I actually found you, James Buchanan.” You squinted, reading the name in the slot. Your excitement died down as you tapped your finger to your lips.

The name didn’t ring any bells. You didn’t expect that you would know the mystery writer, but the fact was, you shared an advisor. You pressed your fingers to the name as if it would disappear before your eyes.

“You complicate things,” you told it, as if somehow, they could hear you, feel you. Maybe they could.

“I’m no shrink, but talking to pieces of paper is definitely on the spectrum of insanity.”

His voice couldn’t scare you, even if it was so sudden. An office door closed, and Thor looked at you in amusement. He looked better than you last remembered, considering you hadn’t seen him since he had told his father—the college professor—he was dropping out.

“What are you doing here?” you straightened up, facing him with a beaming smile. He mirrored the expression.

“Talking to dear old dad about some things,” he took a few steps way from what you presumed was his father’s office. “Checking in on Loki.”

“How is the snake these days? Haven’t heard from him since you left.”

“I suppose there really is no reason for Loki to speak to any of you anymore.” Thor side eyed you. “Not that he shouldn’t.”

Thor’s departure had been a curveball in your sitcom-esque life up until that point. He was the connective tissue in your helter-skelter friend group; smart, compassionate and charming, he’d taken all of you out of your fussy shells and made you relax in ways you didn’t even realize you needed to.

And then, just like that, he was written out, and in his absence the void grew and grew until you didn’t feel like friends with anyone anymore.

It hadn’t been Thor’s fault. He’d done it for himself, and you were proud of him. You just wished it didn’t make things so goddamn complicated. So different.

You couldn’t dump that on Thor. “Yeah, well, he’s probably busy freaking out over the LSAT to even remember we exist.”

“God, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” Thor laughed. “I have all these videos of him cramming and falling asleep on the dinner table. I once picked him up and put him back in bed and Hela filmed the whole thing.”

“Shut up,” you said, a maniacal grin forming on your face. “Odinson, don’t lie to me.”

He wasn’t lying. The two of you laughed loudly in the hallways as you watched Thor lift Loki like he was a little girl into his arms and proceed to walk through their house, Hela snickering behind them. You were bracing yourself against a wall trying not to howl, while Thor held no such qualms about letting his booming laughter fill the silence.

It registered somewhere between your fourth gasp for air and Thor’s winding down laughter that someone had opened a door. And then, in a low, pointed voice they said, “Hey, people are trying to study in this lounge.”

You tried to hold back your laughter, but Thor’s insistent giggling kept a smile on your face. “Sorry,” you said behind your hand. “We didn’t realize—”

The smile slipped off your face when you looked up, seeing the angry pout of the English Major Prick staring back at you. His eyes glanced between you and Thor, leaned cozily up against a wall and laughing at something private. Embarrassment coiled in your stomach.

“Didn’t realize the lounge was right there. Sorry.” You averted your eyes. Thor had stopped laughing at this point, turning to you with an expectant look. You nodded and waved goodbye, noting the look he gave the English Major Prick as he walked past him.

And then he turned his accusatory stare back to you. “Was that Thor Odinson?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought he dropped out.”

“So what if he did?”

“What’s he doing hanging around the English department?”  

You crossed your arms. “His father is a professor here, smartass.”

“Oh.” All his malice seeped out as his shoulders deflated. The two of you stood awkwardly facing one another. It had been a long time since you’d bumped into him that day (twice), but you’d started to see his face everywhere. Out of the corner of your eye in the stairwell or sitting on a table in the school café you’d catch brunette hair and distant, sad eyes.

They were never that way when he looked at you. It was probably the anger.

“Read any Faulkner, lately?”

You wanted to fucking die. It was lame as hell, but he didn’t seem like he was leaving anytime soon and you just had to break this tense air.

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you’re reading Faulkner.”

He looked away for a moment and you banged your head against the wall when. You muttered stupidstupidstupid to yourself while he chuckled.

“You’re paying too much attention to me, mystery girl.”

The nickname made you perk up you head. “Mystery girl?”

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered. “That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said too late. You sucked in a breath to calm down the nerves that felt like they were frying all over your body. “You think about me, huh?” It didn’t sound cheeky like you wanted it to—it sounded almost hopeful.

“You left quite an impression on me. Literally, my shoulder is bruised.”

You hummed. “Better than what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Oh, you really don’t want to know, buddy.”

He was out of the lounge now, leaning on the door frame and fully facing you. “But I really, really do.”

You smiled down at the ground, partly because you were about call this boy a prick to his face, but also because he was smiling at you for once, and he looked rather sweet when he curled his hair behind his ears.

“English Major Prick.” His eyebrows shot into his hair and you had to put your hand over your mouth to stop laughing. “I told you you didn’t want to know.”

“No, no, it’s—” he scuffed his shoes against the ground. They were well shined oxfords with scuff marks on the very tips. “I deserve that.”

“So, we finally agree on something.”

The bashful smile he gave was infectious. “Well, I’d prefer you not refer to me as that.”

“Who says I’ll be referring to you at all?”

“Well, you do think about me.”

It shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, considering you knew he did the same. And yet your reaction was textbook flustered. “I mean—”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name,” he continued. “It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Oh shit. Oh no. “You’re Steve’s friend?” It came out as a question because you were suddenly terrified. You had been off-handedly telling Steve about this guy for the better part of the semester and now you knew he was his best friend but you were also—no, you were not falling for this guy you barely knew.

But you did feel something in this stupid little interaction. Especially when you saw a new expression on his face—surprise.

“You know Stevie?” Stevie. Cute.

“Yeah, he’s—I, huh.” You took a minute to gather your thoughts. He was patient about it. “I modeled for him? You know, for his senior exhibition.”

Something crossed his face before he said, “Oh,” in a tone that was supposed to be surprise, but sounded like something else. “You’re the girl he’s painting.”

God, this could not be any more complicated. “Yeah, I am.”

The conversation came to a full stop, and from behind Bucky a familiar bearded face popped out, looking for him. “Hey, Barnes, don’t leave me hang—” Quentin Beck’s entire face went pale when he saw you, muttering out a “sorry,” before disappearing into the lounge.

Bucky whirled around, and you didn’t expect the wide eyes he gave you. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get Quentin to shut up?”

You snorted and he shushed you, but it was no use. The two of you broke into suspicious giggles, trying desperately to be quiet.

“It’s a long story. One you don’t have time for. Quentin will set this building on fire if you don’t pay attention to him.”

Bucky bounced his shoulders against the wall. “You’re probably right.”

You stood there dumbly for a moment, not meeting one another’s gazes until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I guess, um, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You turned around on your heels so you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, but also to hide the stupid, childish grin you got from thinking about bumping into him again.

                                          *            *            *            *

You found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes at the most inopportune, and rather inappropriate times.

You were never going to make a move on him; he was smart and well rounded and Steve’s best friend, three things that intimidated you into only confessing your feelings in drawn out day dreams. In your head he would always say yes, but there were many other discrepancies between your head and real life.

For example, in your head your essay was a masterpiece, but on paper you weren’t so sure.

A strange assembly of people sat around your table to read your magnum opus: Nat, Bruce, Wanda, MJ and Pete all flipped through the copies of your first fifteen pages, highlighting and scratching in notes. You had decided to stay with them and answer any initial questions, but it got very quiet very quickly as they became absorbed with your writing.

To keep from bursting with anxiety, you’d let your mind drift, thinking of the earlier days when this might have been a dinner party, or maybe even one of Tony’s house parties. And then you remembered that Steve had been to those too, but on the peripheral of everyone else. And if Bucky was his best friend, he must have been on the fringe as well. What it would have been like if you’d known him then…

Their insistent chittering interrupted your daydream, so you engaged them by saying “Something you want to share with the class? Peter, MJ?”

Peter shrank back at your raised eyebrows while MJ’s bored look persisted. “I was just telling him that I think your topic has been done before.”

You instantly remembered why the younger girl intimidated you so much. MJ seemed to read your face, because she continued: “I like your take on it though. You break it down in new ways, but you don’t dumb it down for your readers.”

“Okay, okay,” you repeated. There was nothing you could do with praise except keep your paper the way it was, but that wouldn’t help you write the remaining pages. “Everyone else? Thoughts?”

Nat kept scribbling down something in the margins while she spoke, never looking at you. “Your argument is well thought out, and your choice of movies reflects it really well.” She added one last embellishment before smiling up at you; small and genuine, but gone in a flash. “I might even add in one more film if you can.”

You breathed out to keep your elation under control. Had you seriously pulled this off? And so far away from the deadline? “You think so? Like the theory doesn’t feel like an afterthought?”

“Not at all. It feels like you’ve developed it pretty well. It’s solid.” Bruce complimented. His smile was warm and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he slid your paper back to you. “It’s a pretty good paper.”

The elation disappeared, replaced with a cold rush of fear. “Is that all? It’s just good?”

Your panic must have been alarming, because everyone tripped over themselves to console you.

“I like the part where you call the films low-key racist.”

“Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, you picked some good movies. You should use Jurassic Park.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a monster movie,” Peter explained this like you were stupid, and hadn’t just write fifteen pages on the ethics of monster movies.

“It doesn’t, it’s not—”

“It doesn’t work. No one wanted to fuck the T-Rex, Peter.”

“Can we focus on my theory and NOT on fucking T-Rex’s?”

Wanda came to your rescue. “Y/N, the theory is sound. It’s a well-constructed paper, with very minor issues—”

You wanted to tear out your hair. “What issues? You guys haven’t said anything!”

“Hey, hey,” Bruce came out of his seat and walked around you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your short breaths became a sigh as you let him soothingly rub out the tension. You hadn’t been this close to Bruce in a long time, not since you two broke up sophomore year. But he could still read your anxiety like a book.

“Calm down. We know this paper is important to you.”

“I won’t graduate without it.”

“But you did a great job.” The occupants of the room smiled at you, and they felt honest. “You picked us to read it because we wouldn’t lie to you, right?”

You nodded. Bruce really did know you well.

“This is a great paper. Your teacher will love it.”

Bruce had never lied to you, but it didn’t mean he was infallible.

Kyle had a strange look on his face while he read your paper. A couple of times you’d broken away from your daydreams (usually about Bucky—you really did think about him in your worst times) and caught him whispering questions to himself or underlining furiously. You caught words being written in bold red ink and your heart dropped out of your stomach.

“Y/N this is,” he started, but was unable to finish. “It’s rough.”

“It’s my second draft, Kyle.”

“I know,” he was trying to use a calmer voice, but he was strained. “But it’s very early, and if you go back and fix some things, I think it’ll make more sense.”

“It doesn’t even make sense?!”

“Hey.” His tone was firm against your hysterical whine. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hands were laced across his desk as he looked to you pointedly. Your words died in your throat. There wasn’t anything you could tell him, there was no reason your draft was shitty. It was all you, all in your head, everywhere except on the page where it needed to be.

When you didn’t answer Kyle sighed. “You know you’re one of my favorite students, right?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter.” He was offended, you could hear it. Offended, concerned, and angry.

“You’ve never gotten higher than an A- on your papers. Not in my class. But you’re extremely smart and I know you can read my comments, so I’m just wondering why you think it’s okay to waste my time—and your hard work—not changing your essays when I tell you to.”

You felt like a scolded child. Tears pricked in your eyes, but you held it together. Just not enough to speak.

“Everything is here, but it feels like you’re holding back. Like you can’t see the bigger picture, and that’s not like you. So, I’m asking you, right now, why you’re afraid to put everything in this essay.”

“I—” your voice was thick with emotion. He knew you were on the brink of collapsing, and he sat back, defeated.

“This paper isn’t the same as all the others. You can’t get an A- and go. As you go farther in academia things change, and you have to step it up. You’re a senior, Y/N.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

You weren’t sure how that thought slipped out of your mouth, but Kyle sat up when it registered to him what you’d said.

“That’s just how it is. Are you…are you scared of that?”

Your heart rattled in your chest. The obviousness of his accusation hit you like a freight train, and Kyle could tell he was right.

“Y/N,” he started, but you stood abruptly, snatching the paper off his desk. “Y/N, wait.”

“I’m sorry, professor, Kyle, I just—” you left it at that before bolting, shooting down the stairs and storming out of the building. The tears came dripping down your face and you crumpled, breathing heavily like you’d never had air before.

It was utterly humiliating. Passerbys would look at you and remark in hushed tones, avoiding you like the plague. You wanted to scream about how normal this breakdown was, but it didn’t feel normal.

He’d seen through you like glass and shattered you twice as easily. Everything was raining down too fast, and there was no way to stop it.

You were shaking so hard that when a hand came to rest on your shoulder you hardly felt it. “Whoa, Y/N?” came Peter’s warm, boyish voice. “Hey, hey what happened?”

He slid next you, curling his arm around your back and forcing you to lean on him. You did so with very little protest. His heart beat was steady as he coddled you, and through bleary eyes you could see Ned Leeds squatting to look you in the eye.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it?” His voice was so soft, like he was talking to a baby. The thought made you laugh.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. I’ll just, bounce back up and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do Peter,” you sighed, feeling another round of tears prick at your red rubbed eyes. “I have to, or else everything will come fucking crashing down—”

“Hasn’t it already?”

The statement pierced through your sobs like an arrow and you glared at Peter. Even through watery eyes you managed to take him aback.

“I’m not going to sit here and have you fucking patronize me, Parker!”

“Fine then, let’s go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

Peter didn’t exactly smile, but his mischievous look was enough to ground you. “Somewhere the entire campus can’t see you have a breakdown.”

                                          *            *            *            *

Now that winter was approaching, the sunsets crept up earlier and earlier until by 7 pm the sun was already set, and twilight brought out the first twinkle of stars. Peter led the way up the scaffolding stairs to the sloped roof of the creative sciences building, despite having the afterhours key.

“I wanted the nostalgia of sneaking up here,” he told you, tossing his backpack over the highest point of the building and hauling himself up. The two of you helped Ned and the walked over to the best vantage point on the entire campus.

This far from the city, and with the lights out in most of the buildings you could see the stars wink into existence. It felt like lifetimes had past since you were last up here—it was Thor and Valkyrie who’d imparted this knowledge on you and you’d kept it confined within your friend group ever since.

The three of you laid down, backpacks under your heads like pillows. The only sounds were of the wind in your ears or the cars down below. You breathed deep to clear your lungs, and you hiccupped out your last sob.

“My professor says I’m afraid of change.”

There was a shift on either side of you as Peter and Ned simultaneously sat up and stared.

“He said that?” Ned asked incredulously. “Like, to your face?”    

“No; he kind of asked me, I guess? I don’t know. He fucking read me.”

“Are you scared?”

Peter’s voice was as uncertain as you felt. No, that was a lie—you’d know this for quite some time now. You closed your eyes, letting it all wash over you.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“You mean crying over a paper that’s worth all of your grade and contemplating jumping off a roof?”

You laughed outwardly and loudly at Ned’s response. “No. Well, Maybe.”

“Elaborate.”

“I want to always be in college. It’s been the most stressful, chaotic, stupid crazy time of my life and I just,” you opened your eyes to face the truth. “I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to leave all of you, some of us scattered in the wind, the rest of you left behind. I want us to stay like this forever: sitting on the roof and counting the stars and pointing out constellations we don’t even know the name of. Laughing in the diner until midnight and screaming on the streets every time we jaywalk. Drunken house parties, movie marathons. This era, forever.”

There was a moment of silence after your confession, and you dragged your hand down your face. “Sorry, that was—”

“That was sooo poetic,” Ned told you, reveling in your embarrassment. “How long have you been holding that in?”

“Y/N,” Peter said seriously. “You can’t just fail your classes and bomb your senior thesis and stay in college forever.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“You sure? Because it’s all going according to plan.”

“Peter, what if I’m not ready to leave?” You sat up to face him. “I’ve been going to school my entire life, and now I’m just supposed to walk out and be an adult? I never thought I’d even make it past the age of sixteen, let alone do all this! What if I can’t do it?”

“You think any of your friends are ready? You think Bruce, or Wanda or Steve are just, full fledged adults, ready to take on the world?”

They hadn’t even occurred to you. The mention of them felt like a slap in the face.

“God, for someone so smart, you’re really stupid. None of us are ready for whatever the hell is out there. We never were!” His voice had that pain in it, the one that shouldn’t belong to someone so young. “We all wish it could be crazy fun teen shit all the time, but we have to move forward. And we have to do it together, so we don’t leave each other behind. That means you have to move on.”

“Damn,” you let his words sink in. “When did you get so wise?”

“Sophomore year,” he said precisely. “When I had a mental breakdown over chem class and you told me the exact same thing.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You told me that the crying and the failing happened to everyone, but that I couldn’t dwell on it and stay stagnant. I had to be the best version of my myself, and that included moving forward from my mistakes.”

You remembered that moment. Peter had been curled up against the wall of his tiny, dirty dorm room and you, Bruce and Tony had coaxed him out with the promise of ice cream and you knew for the first time in your life that you always wanted those boys in your life. You smiled at Peter.

“Sneaky trick, Parker.”

“I learned from the best.”

Your phone buzzed against the roof and you picked it up before it rattled off the edge. Wanda had called three times, and she was calling again.

“Hello?”

“Where are you? Peter said you were crying?”

You shot a look over at the brunette and he played dumb. “Yeah, I was.”

“Well I was worried about you! You usually come home and change by now, or at least tell me you’ll be late but…” her voice morphed into concern. “What happened?”

You didn’t want to be at home right now. In fact, you didn’t want this night to be like all the others—with you laying in bed until your mind finally shut down. You turned to Peter and Ned and mouthed a question, to which they nodded vigorously.

“Hey Wanda, I was thinking we could get some food and catch up. Say, 11th Street Diner?”

She grappled for words before giving a snort of disbelief. “You’re a heart attack, you know that?”

“Meet me at 8.”

                                          *            *            *            *

Wanda had brought everyone—and by everyone you meant her usual motley crew of Clint Barton, Nat, her boyfriend and her brother. They were all wreaking havoc in different sections of the diner: Pietro, Peter and Ned were outside filming skateboarding tricks while Vision was taking his sweet time picking something at the jukebox. Nat and Clint had taken seats at the bar to get their food faster, leaving you and Wanda sipping your shared milkshake. Strawberry, like you both liked.

“Wanna hear a secret?”

“Tell me.”

You two used to do this when you realized you hadn’t talked in a while. You’d tell her something no one else knew, because she was both your roommate and the best at keeping secrets. So, you leaned over and whispered into her ear about the time you gave Quentin Beck a hand job in the corner booth of this very diner, and she sucked down her drink to keep from screaming with laughter. Or possibly disgust.

“How long have you been keeping that in?” Pink liquid still escaped her mouth and you handed her a napkin.

“Since we dated.”

“Do you regret it?”          

“While I never want to do it again, no, I don’t.”

“It’s breaking the rules, but can I ask for another secret?”

You tilted your head. “‘Fraid I’m all out.”

“Not quite,” she said coyly. “What happened, when Peter said you were crying?”

You watched the ice in your drink while you swirled your straw and monotonously recounted the events of your disastrous advising meeting and the roof with Peter and Ned. Wanda’s face fell into its usual pensiveness.

“Is he right?” The question was leading, but you fell for it regardless.

“Yup. Peter and I have established that my subconscious is sabotaging my paper.”

“I always knew you’d be your own worst enemy.” She wasn’t not smug when she said it, but the sip of her milkshake is. You snatched the glass yourself and she pouted.

“You’re right, I just hate hearing people say it.”

“Well, it’s because you’re always in that big brain of yours.” She prodded her finger on your forehead, like fuckin E.T. “And your overly romantic heart.”

“God, you’re like the fourth person whose told me that.” You counted them on your fingers. “You, Bruce, Q, and Steve. That’s entirely too many.”

“Five,” Nat interrupted, walking up to your table with Clint in tow. “I’m saying it now. Also, Bucky Barnes has been staring at you for ten minutes.”

A shot of adrenaline went through your heart. “Bucky Barnes? Where?”

“He’s at the bar, alone, so I suggest you do something about it.”

Wanda looked at you expectantly, then leaned out of the booth to get a look at him. You hissed at her to stop, but her mouth curved into a satisfied grin.

“Well, he sure is handsome. I wouldn’t mind if you ditched us for him, but you’ll have to tell me the details of this later. After you properly explain the Quentin hand job thing.”

“The what now?” Nat’s stoic face broke into one of pure shock, so you found it a good a time as any to escape the tension and enter…new tension.

Bucky turned his head to act like he wasn’t overtly staring at you, but you’d caught the sight of his eyes going wide. You sat on the stool next to him and waved off the server before leaning over the counter.

“You know I can see you even though you aren’t looking at me, right?”

He seemed to be ready for the confrontation now, because when he swiveled around there was confidence painted on his face. He opened his mouth but you stopped him in his tracks.

“Actually, before you say anything, do you want to get out of here? We have an audience.”

He looked behind you to see three sets of eyes peering over the booth you’d just left. He huffed before placing exact change next to his plate and standing up. You followed suit, snatching a few fries off his plate and flipping off your friends.

When you two stood on the curb of the diner, he confessed, “I walked here, so, there’s really nowhere for us to go.”

“Oh.” You realized it was the same for you, but you tried to hide your disappointment with a smile. “That’s okay. We can walk.”

So, you did. When you told him you’d go anywhere but the library, he seemed surprised. “You like, live there.”

“So it would seem. I’m just not really in the mood to do any work tonight.”

“Oh, so it’s one of those days.” He said it so knowingly, and you realize that he is also an English major, and a senior.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on my senior thesis.”

“No shit,” he said, but without the condescension. In fact, he’d been perfectly civil. “Same here.”

He talked about how he was taking Southern Literature because it was dark and surprising. His paper was on the Southern Gothic, and how that idea had moved on to other aspects of modern American ideology. Bucky moved his hands when he talked, his broad shoulders going up and down. He was wearing a blue bomber jacket that you liked because it caught the light from the street lamps nicely.

“What’s yours on?”

“Oh,” you came out of your thoughts abruptly, unsure of what he’d said. “Well, I specifically study film—”

“That makes sense.” He blurted out, and you creased your brows.

“What do you mean?”

He hissed out something to himself. “Nothing, it’s just when you’re on third floor sometimes I see you watching the weirdest shit and I wonder ‘why is she doing that in the library?’”

It took a minute for you to fully understand the implication. “You’ve seen me around?”

He rolls his head with a laugh. “You’re hard to miss.”

This was news to you. You’d flown under the radar for quite some time, never having joined any clubs or sports people could recognize you from. You’d gotten a few compliments on your outfits in the past four years, but nothing you thought could make you known.

He was very good at making your stomach turn into a mosh pit of butterflies. You felt not exactly vulnerable, but strangely delicate around him. Like you were floating on air.

So, to quell that feeling, you replied. “I’d beg to differ.”

“I’ve seen you around the library since, what, sophomore year? You’re always on third floor, you walk in like you own the goddamn place.” He smiled down at the ground when he talks about you. It was the cutest thing in the world to watch him curl his hair behind his ear and smile at you sideways.

“You never noticed me.”

It was true, you hadn’t. “I try to pick through my memories and find you. I feel like I’m retroactively learning about you.”

“Thinking hard?” It’s an accusation you’re okay with, because he was bashful, not arrogant when he said it.

“Maybe.”

You swayed when you walked beside him, thinking you could listen to his stories for hours. At times you felt like you were boring him, because the stories of Austria and internships were large compared to your freshman dorm party memories, but he laughed like he’s never been more entertained in his life.

“I wish I’d talked to you earlier. Gotten your name from your lips before anyone else had said it to me.”

Your eyes widened. “I never told you my name?”

He shook his head, and the hair came out from behind his ears. “No. that day I told you mine, was it the first time you’d heard it?”

“Maybe. I think Steve just calls you ‘Buck’.”

“Steve talked about you first. And then when I became friends with all his adjacent buddies, they talked about you too. And then, of course, when I went back to Quentin that day, he told me.”

“God,” you groaned. “What did he say about me?”

“That you’re smart and crazy and kind. He would say your name like it was cursed and enchanted all at once.”

“And my friends call me romantic,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been branded that too. But I don’t mind it so much. There’s worse things to be.”

“Like what?”

“Like an English Major Prick.” He emphasized that last consonant and you hid you face in your hands.

“You won’t let me live that one down, huh?”

“Maybe. If I like the way you say my name, I might consider it.”

There was a split second where you realized how fragile the moment was; one wrong step and it was broken on the floor like humpty dumpty. You thought of your professor pegging your fear of change. Peter’s words echoed in your brain and you felt like you were jumping off the roof when you said:

“Bucky Barnes, you smooth son of a bitch.”

He smiled, brighter than the moon. All at once, everything that was ever certain was shattered, but you leaped over it and left it behind.

                                           *            *            *            *

Steve called you in one last time about two weeks before the showcase. You were scribbling over the words written by the mystery writer (James, you affectionately called him) while Steve wiped sweat from his brow. And incidentally, paint in his hair.

Tapping your leg to the beat of whatever pretentious song, you were too engrossed in your ‘work’ to hear Steve say “You look happy.”

“What?” you screamed over the music.

He turned it off and sat next to you with a smug look you disliked. You pushed his face away and he only laughed, that big almost fake sound you knew was real.

“Seriously, you’re so empathic that whatever your feel, I feel. And today’s goin’ great.” He gestured to the painting that was supposed to be you, but all you saw were swirls of paint. You took this to mean things were going well.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I had a rough week last week, but things are getting better.”

“Did you talk to your advisor again?”

“Yeah.” Kyle had spent the better part of an hour picking apart your thesis in ways you couldn’t have even imagined. By the end of it you’d had at least three pages worth of new material, but still a hell of a way to go. “Kyle and I worked it out.”

“That’s good. You know my advisor’s freaking out about my work? He thinks it’s too complex.”

“It’s just faces.” It sounded dumb to say, but that was the way you saw it.

Steve picked up your chin. His fingers were wet and cold with paint. “You’re not just a face, Y/N.”

“Ah!” you screamed as lilac rubs off on you. “Let me go, paint monster!”

You dropped your book into his lap as you ran around looking for the sink. Steve’s laughter subsided as he looked down, puzzled at the writing that swirled around the pages of the library book.

“Hey, Y/N?” he called out, but you’re preoccupied with wiping paint off your neck. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Where’d you get this?”

“The library, doesn’t it say that on the spine?”

“But this hand writing,” His voice tapered off.

You exchanged the book for the rag and assessed James’ words. “I’ve been curious about it too. It was in like, all the books I checked out, isn’t that wild? And—get this—it belongs to some guy named James Buchanan, and we have the same advisor. Isn’t that crazy?”

Steve looked like he was trying to say something, but he eyes turned towards the door as someone knocked twice.

“Yo, punk? You in here?” Bucky’s voice carried into the room. When he walked in, he immediately paused, taking stock of the two of you staring at him.

“Oh,” his voice wavered and a nervous smile appeared. “Hey.”

Steve’s eyes cut to yours, and you feel immense pressure. “Hi, Bucky.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s voice is a bullet, and Bucky turned to him, automatically annoyed. “Y/N has this book I think you’ve read.”

“Oh, which one?” He crossed the room in easy strides, and you were helpless in the situation you thought Steve was orchestrating. When you handed it to him his eyes lit up in recognition as he flipped through it.

“Holy shit, I really wrecked this one, huh? Good thing the university really doesn’t give a shit.”

You were having trouble processing what he’s said. Steve had gotten up wordlessly, but there was a particularly blank look on his face as he avoided your eyes. You turned back to Bucky, who was fondly reading over James’ words.

“Though Scott himself does not adhere to Weaver’s interpretation, the fact still remains that the tension between the Alien and Ripley,” he trailed off with a stunned look. “I was a regular old critic, huh?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. “You wrote that?”

He was startled at the way you raised your voice, and answered cautiously. “Yeah, like, years ago. For a film class I took.”

You reeled back at the information. You fought the urge to open your backpack and ask him if he’d written in all the other books, but that couldn’t—how could he be—

“I checked out, like, seven books from the library this semester and they all have the same handwriting in them. And then, I found out that it matched to a guy named James Buchanan—”

“Barnes,” He finished.

“What? No. That’s not what I saw.”

“That’s my name. James Buchanan Barnes.”  

You sat there dumbly, your eyes narrowed in thought. There was no fucking way that he’d written in all these film books. In every single one you’d painstakingly read with romantic ideals and dreaming of who it’d belong to and how you’d meet. The fantasies were crumbling around you, leaving you in the dust.

Bucky’s face was earnest though. Steve was silent behind both of you, painting away like your worlds weren’t colliding.

“You. Okay,” you restarted. “If your name is Bucky,”

“Doll, it’s a nickname—”

“Let me finish.” You ignored the ‘doll’ part and tried to Sherlock your way through this. “If everyone you know calls you Bucky Barnes, why did you write ‘James Buchanan” on Kyle’s sign-up sheet?”

Bucky settled into the stool Steve had been sitting on. “It’s a joke between the two of us. He thinks it’s funny, so I humor him when I can.”

“Okay but, the books are companion pieces for films, I thought you were an English lit major?”

“I am, but I took Intro Film sophomore year.”

“What? With who.”

“Kyle.”

You thought back to two years ago, when you’d been new to the world of film, and you’d met Kyle for the first time. You’d aced that class with flying colors, quickly becoming one of his star students. Coincidentally, so was Quentin Beck, a cock sure boy who got into arguments over any little thing with you. The two of you were the most outspoken in the class, and you never paid much mind to anyone that wasn’t him. But there had been other people that would wait after class for a moment with the professor, and it was in those memories that you recalled him.

Brunette hair, but far shorter. Crystal blue eyes and impeccable clothes. Bucky.

“That…you were in that class? But I never—”

“You never noticed me.” His voice was resigned and so was his smile. He’d told you this before, that he’d seen you around before, but you never imagined he’d known you since sophomore year. “I remembered you from all the way back then: you had long, shiny, impeccable hair and this glint in your eye whenever you talked. Which was a lot. You could dazzle the class just by breathing. And I sat rows and rows behind you, and never spoke. There was no reason you would have ever seen me.”

There was a wavering sadness in his voice, and for a moment, Bucky looked exactly as he did in Steve’s portrait: haunted by the past, unable to fix it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why am I just now figuring out that you’re the boy of my dreams?”

There was music playing in the background that hadn’t been there before; a cozy, soft melody by one of Steve’s favorite artists. It matched Bucky’s breathlessness as he gazed at you with a tilted head and eyes full of hope. A far cry from just seconds before.

“What did you say?”

“I’ve been thinking about this mysterious ‘James Buchanan’ who’s written exactly what I think, and has seen all the same movies as me. And I’ve been wondering what he’s like, or if he’s nice, of if he’d ever even like me if I met him.”

A coy smile stretched across his face. “Well, what is he like?”

“He’s,” you blanked for a moment, trying to tone down all the wildly romantic thoughts you’ve been having ever since you’d met Bucky Barnes. You decided to risk it all and tell him the truth.

“He’s very smart; he reads Faulkner but think Hurston has more heart. He dresses like he already has his PhD but it looks good on him. He’s sweet but extremely romantic, which is okay because I could listen to him talk for hours. He’s a bit of a prick, though.”

He hung his head back when he laughed at the last part, and you felt your heart swell tremendously. He wasn’t mocking you. He was agreeing with you. You knew this to be true.

“Well, do you think he does like you?” Bucky suddenly became serious. He was nervous.

“I don’t know, does he?”

“Can you two just fucking kiss already?”

Bucky threw something at Steve, but you couldn’t tell what. In the moment he threw it you were laughing, but once it’s over his hand slid onto your face and pulled you into a kiss. Your eyes closed when you felt it, and he tilted his head to keep you occupied. Otherwise you would have heard Steve triumphantly yell “yes!” behind you two.

Bucky rested his forehead against yours. His blue, blue eyes were so much lovelier this close. He whispered, “I think he does.”

You kissed him quick, once, then twice, then sighed contentedly. “Good. I like him too.”

“Well I for one am happy for them.”

This time you see a wet paintbrush beam for Steve’s eye. “Less talking, more painting, punk!”

                                          *            *            *            *

Bucky is lost in thought when the door to Kyle’s office opened. There was a low chatter between two people and he looked up to see Kyle propped up in the door was as you spoke to him. You were dressed up nicely in a tweed coat that matched his own.

Kyle’s eyes rested on the chair Bucky sat in and he perked up in recognition. “Oh, James,” he said, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me?”

“No, not you.” He stood up and brushed out the wrinkles in his shirt before coming to your side. You gave him a quick smile before turning back to your professor, whose face was openly shocked.

“Oh,” he said in a dubious, but delighted voice. “So, this is happening.”  

“We’re going to the senior art exhibition to see our friend’s graduation project,” you explained, looking rather annoyed at the two men. “We’re both in one of his paintings.”

“Together?” he asked, a bit of scandal in his voice.

“No,” you droned, shutting it down. “Mind your business.”

“You’re both my advisees, this is my business.”

“Good night, Kyle,” you said pointedly, turning around and marching down the hall. Kyle sent a congratulatory wink at Bucky, who acknowledged it with a salute.

As he caught up with you, he handed back a thick essay, riddled with blue ink and yellow highlighter. You added it to another similar essay, one with exclamation points and significantly less marks.

“How’d he like it?” Bucky made conversation as you two trekked across campus. Winter made the nighttime seem even darker, but the two of you glowed underneath the street lamps.

“He loved it. Said it was infinitely better, and then apologized for the millionth time for making me cry.”

“What did he say about the part about Ripley and the Alien?”

You shot him that crazy grin, the one that looked unbelievably beautiful as you approached the traffic lights. Your face was highlighted in red and Bucky thought of the painting you two were about to witness.

“He didn’t say a thing. I should have cited you on that.”

“I’m not a published writer.”

“I know. But one day when you are, I can tell people I gave you your start.”

Bucky laughed, mostly to keep his heart from beating out of his ribcage. Crazy, crazy girl.

You two entered the exhibition hall and traded your backpacks for flutes of fake champagne. The room was lighted lowly, the works of art brandished with bright lights to show off their artistry. You two walked through still life paintings and abstract canvases, marveling some he understood and other’s that made him think.

“Art’s not my forte,” he confided. You hummed, taking a lofty sip.

“Mine either. But they’re gorgeous.”

You floated down the hall as if pulled by a string, and Bucky noticed what you were hung up on.

Steve’s paintings were hanging in a trapezoid shape, and when you walked closer, they seemed to engulf you in color. To your left was Sam and to your right was Bucky, but you stared dead ahead at yourself.

Bucky had seen the painting early, per Steve’s request. He’d helped him move them from his apartment, and had seen the three of you looking very somber and one another.

You were silent as you examined the pieces, and Bucky strode right up to your side.

“So, what do you think?” you started. “I know art isn’t your forte.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

You hummed, pointing to your right. “I like this one better.”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

“His eyes; they’re so expressive. I remember being moved when I saw the reference picture. It’s haunting, but ethereal.”

This wasn’t poking fun now, you genuinely meant it. Bucky tilted his head.

“I was thinking about the future.”

“But you’re looking back.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” There was no humor in his voice. “I was thinking about how it could be the last time I ever modeled for Stevie, done everything at his beck and call, whatever the fuck he wanted. How it was my last year to do something impressive, something memorable. How I had,” he eyes looked to yours for a flash, but you caught his meaning. “Wishes. Regrets.”

Your hand snaked up his back and rested on his shoulder. The touch burned and comforted him all at once. “Do you still have them?”

“Some of them. Not all of them.” He gave you a smile and a quick kiss. Not you.

“Good. That’d be a shame. These three deserve to be happy.”

“They look so beautiful when they’re upset, though.”

“Don’t they?” you sighed and laid your head on his shoulder. “They should hang them in The Louvre.”    

“They’d shove me in the back.”

Steve’s voice echoed from your left, and Sam strolled up with him. He stared at his own giant face, all mellowed out with blues and pinks.

“This face deserves to be in every museum. Front and center.”

“God, I did not miss the sound of your voice,” Bucky groaned.

“And I didn’t miss your sour attitude Barnes, and yet here we are. Y/N, remind me again why you’re with this loser?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. He’s had a crush on me for a looong time,” you drawled, lacing your hands together when Bucky rolled his eyes. “Decided to give him a shot.”

“I’m glad you did. Now he can finally stop talking about you with that look one his face.”

“What look? You mean that one?” Sam pointed to the portrait.

“That same exact one.”

“I’m leaving.” Bucky marched back the way he came, with you, Sam and Steve laughing at his heels. He tried to turn away and hide his smile, but everything was falling into place very nicely. All those wishes and regrets withered when he walked back to the entrance and found all their friends gathered loosely on the street.

Bucky had never been part of a friend group so large, but they cheered at his arrival. You greeted everyone in different ways; shoving Peter light heartedly, hugging Bruce and telling Tony to fuck off. They walked as a pack down the street to the 11th street diner, stupid, young and infallible as they all jaywalked, hollering like they were committing murder and not a minor traffic offence. In the hilarious chaos your hand found Bucky’s and you ran like hell, racing Pietro though you two knew you would lose. He kissed the back of your hand. Tony gagged.  

He wished they could always be like this.

[kikifeliz]

8 TIPS FOR MAKING THE MOST OUT OF YOUR UNIVERSITY EXPERIENCE!

Deciding to become a university student is a huge investment of both time and money. You don't want to start only to have to drop out due to finances or failing grades. You also don't want to finish and find that all you have is a piece of paper with mountains of debt and no job prospects.

The average cost of a 4-year Bachelor's degree is about $36k at a public university, and about $136k at a private university. Google the yearly cost of your school of choice, then multiply by 4. Then add on about 5k for the additional costs of books and travel fees, clothing, and other miscellaneous. Then add on about 10k for the interest that your student loan debt will incur! 😫

The average cost of graduate degrees can vary by school and concentration, but can easily cost over 90k for tuition alone. Student loan debt is not a joke! Invest your time wisely while you're in school so you don't end up regretting your decision and sharecropping your life away in some 9-5 that you hate.

So, here are my tips for making the most of your time as a university student! Whether you're in undergrad or graduate school, I hope this advice helps you! I'm not going to give you the basic "go to every single class" bullshit. While that's undoubtedly good advice, I want to be a bit more practical and dig a little deeper. I think if you're paying for an experience like college, it's obvious that you should attempt to be as immersed in that experience as possible. You're not going to pay for entrance to a water park then stay off the slides and out of the pool, are you? No, you're going to jump in and go on as many rides as possible! At university, you're paying for school, so you need to treat it the same way. If you're paying for a class, obviously you should go as often as you possibly can. So in the hopes that I can be practical without being trite, I'm going to address the finer details of the college experience. From the perspective of a woman who's in the process of finishing her 2nd Master's degree (at an Ivy League school, no less), you can take it or leave it!

1. Update your resume as soon as you commit to a school and give them your deposit.

As soon as you've paid the deposit to the school of your choose and sent back your decision letter, go ahead and update your resume. If you don't have a resume, make one now! There are plenty of templates online you can follow.

Include your new school and anticipated graduation date under the "Education" section. (You can add it to your social media bios too, if you're into that sort of thing.) The truth of the matter is, the moment you pay the deposit to the school, you've paid for the brand name. You might as well start wielding and wearing it ASAP! This will help you as you apply for internships for the summer after high school and during your freshman year of college.

2. Once on campus, join clubs and student associations.

This is super important! So much of college is about networking. Once you graduate and leave campus, your college network can help you find jobs, travel, keep you up to date with learning opportunities/conferences, or even help you settle into to a new city. It's important to make authentic connections with people on campus outside of your immediate friend group, and a great way to do that is through common interest clubs or associations. Attend a programs fair and check your school's websites and message boards to find events.

Once you've decided which clubs you want to join, make sure to introduce yourself to the leadership! By getting to know the club leaders, you can make sure you'll always know what's next for the group so that you can take part and continue to build community.

3. ‪Spend as much time as you can at the library and in other public study spaces on/around campus.‬

Most university libraries will have cafés, help desks, computer labs, and even group study areas. Often it's okay to talk in the group study areas, so you can always take a break from studying and do a bit of socializing when you need to. When you need more privacy or quiet space, it's typically available just a room or a floor away! Bring healthy snacks like carrots and almonds and chocolate-covered espresso beans or raisins to keep you energized and alert.

Studying is obviously an important part of being in college. You don't want to get into the job field without fluency in the language/jargon or requisite content knowledge that is necessary to succeed!

4. Use the "free" time to develop your genuine interests and hobbies.

If you have the time and don't have a ton of responsibility to other people in your family, take advantage of that! You likely won't have a lot of time like that in your life again. Use this period to follow your curiosities and your interests. Make art! Join an intramural sport! Experiment with fashion! Work part-time in a place you never thought you would! The possibilities are endless. As my dad would say, "It's your world, squirrel!" (He's really corny.)

5. Be as discerning as possible with the classes you take - you are paying for each of them, after all!

Take classes that really interest you, with professors you truly want to learn from. Read the class descriptions carefully, and do research on the professors. Try to get professors that have great ratings, multiple publishings in reputable journals, books, and websites, and a good track records of helping students.

Many colleges have core curricula that you must complete to graduate. If the classes in your core don't interest you, see if you can find ways to navigate the system so that there's a silver lining or so you can make the best out of them. Always give it a shot, you may find that you're more interested once you attend than you were by reading the description alone.

Even if the class isn't of interest, the people there probably are - especially if everyone has to take it! Whether that's ensuring you get the best professor that's offered or finding a great group of friends to struggle through it with, get to know the people around you. Maybe you decide to develop a working relationship with the TA by attending office hours and asking questions about how to contextualize the content in a way that's more engaging for you or more aligned with your interests. To do this, just explain your interests or proposed field of study and ask them for examples of how you can transfer the knowledge you're learning in class toward your interest.

Another option is seeing if you can take the class pass/fail. If this is possible and the class isn't aligned with what you feel your true academic interests are, then don't expend too much effort. Attend lecture, pass the class, and devote your time to your other interests. (This is an option only for people who are serious about not failing the class. Make sure you calculate what scores you'll need to pass exams and other requirements like attendance, and hold yourself accountable to these. Do your absolute best on your papers! Taking a class pass/fail is NOT an excuse to slack off or avoid doing your best work, but it may be a way for you to free up some time if you calculate your grades and find that you don't need to do every single assignment to pass.)

6. If you can find a work-study job or start a side hustle *without* jeopardizing your grades, do so!

Again, the student loans are no joke. I avoid taking them if I can, because I hate debt. Of course, this means I occasionally have had to pay tuition out of my own pocket. I held 3 jobs when I was in undergrad and have always had side hustles even while working 9-5. Many of my favorites have included babysitting, tutoring, pet/house sitting, DJing, and party planning. I know a lot of people in grad school who also worked in restaurants or as delivery drivers, as administrative aids in university offices, law offices, and medical practices. Nowadays, a lot of people work as as influencers, photographers, video editors, and models for their side hustles. I always preferred jobs that were lowkey so I could study. My favorite work-study job was at the library! I always got to see my friends and I could read PDF copies of my assignments while I sat at the circulation desk.

7. Find out about scholarships and fellowships that are offered by different departments in your university.

A lot of fellowships and scholarships are only advertised internally by department and school. Spend time on your department's website and stop by the department office every few weeks to make sure you're up to date on the opportunities that are being offered to students. Become a frequent patron of Financial Aid to see what is available through that office as well.

Additionally, feel free to email the department chair/other professors to ask if they know of any fellowships or scholarship opportunities that may come up in the future so you can be prepared. Ask about qualifications for those as well, so you can plan ahead.

Do your research and make sure you qualify for these opportunities! In writing your essays, attend to each point of criteria laid out in the "call for applications." Treat your essay similarly to how you'd apply for the job. Why are you the right person to receive this money? How do you fulfill the criteria that this scholarship is supporting?

8. If you're struggling with your studies, use the resources on campus that you're *already paying for* in order to get back on track.

This includes TA and professor office hours, peer tutors, the writing center (most universities will have offices that can help you structure and edit your essays, etc.).

Join or create study groups by finding a partner in your class to study with, and ask the university librarians (and your advisor!) what other resources/tutoring/study help is available on campus.

A strong foundation in the content knowledge for your field of choice is a necessity once your graduate. My father always told me, "The key to success is uncommon knowledge." I agree with this somewhat, but I really believe it's actually that the key is an uncommon thirst for mastery. You move forward in your career and your personal development by learning and mastering new levels of skill. The more you know and the better you can communicate, the more respected you'll be in your field - which opens the door to further opportunities. Studying (and studying *well*) is imperative during your time at university!

Good luck this year, scholars! Work smarter & always remember, education is the key! We cannot dismantle the master's house with the master's tools//we are the gold we wanna hold! Go forth & make this school year your bitch!

Xoxo,

Kiki

(c) 2019 by Kiki Feliz

[crystalblueskie]

I got bored and wrote some jokes. Tell me if you like them.

So, to get started let me tell you a little something about my family. My mom is disabled and so she has a service dog named Callie Ann...that is such a country white girl name, Callie Ann, amirite? Anyways, so this dog obviously goes everywhere with us: doctors offices, grocery store, restaurants. Normal service dog stuff, you know? But for some reason, everybody stares at her like it's the weirdest thing they've ever seen. A dog wearing a vest walking around Target... I use Target because Walmart is too controversial. Walmart: EVIL!! Target: fair game. Walmart: Trump Target:...any other president. Anyways: dog wearing a vest walking around Target, a vest that blatantly say "SERVICE DOG" on it mind you and random people like to just walks up to us as we and the dog are minding our own business and ask "Is she a service dog?" *Stares bewildered* and every time I'm thinking in my head "I DON'T KNOW, WHY DON'T YOU ASK HER VEST!"..."no, no ma'am we just slapped a service dog vest on her so she can go everywhere with us. Thank you for asking. Goodbye. Have a nice day." Another thing about this dog, I love her to death I really do. It's fun we have a young dog in the house again, she loves to play with anything that squeaks or makes a weird noise, I'm getting exercise again! Yay! But my mother takes it to a WHOLE 'NOTHER LEVEL!! We'll out shopping...*whispers* at Target...and we'll walk past the dog section... I'm trying to walk past as fast as possible. My mom stops right at the mouth of the aisle and walks down it. Shit, I know how this goes. My mom and her dog happily trot down the aisle and her dog smells all of the toy until eventually she smells a toy for more than three seconds...my mom is ready. She talks in that annoying baby voice, you know the voice right? *in an annoying baby voice* "Do you like that toy? Yeah! You like that toy? You want that toy? I'm gonna get you that toy!" SHIT. Toy goes in the cart...We end up leaving the store with more dog treats and a goddamn dog toy. Ever. Single. Time. And I'm over here thinking, if I got a toy every time we left the house as a child, I would have more toys than my tiny, little, ADD-riddled brain could handle. Now a days I'm a old 24 years old. If you don't know what that means, it means I'm mentally 24 years old and physically 80 years old. I'll be walking around the house like this *walks around like an old lady holding my back* and my mom will be looking at me and ask "what the hell are you doing?" And I'll yell back to her "what does it look like? My back hurts!!" I look outside "Get the hell of my lawn, you mangy kids!!" Anyways that obviously means I am a young millennial, which basically means that I remember when Netflix was delivered to your front porch and when Blockbuster was a thing. Also, I was told I needed to go to college or I wouldn't amount to anything. Jokes on them, I still didn't amount to anything. I got a Bachelors in Individualized Studies which means I was indecisive about my major and when I graduated I got a piece of paper basically thanking me for my participation. After 5 years of college, I got a piece of paper thanking me for participating in college. Think about that. This is what happened, I was originally going to school to become a teacher, but to become a teacher you must first waste your time taking a bunch of bullshit teaching classes like "How to teach Math" and then after about 3 years you have to submit a portfolio answering questions such as "Why do you want to become a teacher?" Maybe because I need a job and I was told the only way to get one that pays well was to go to college and I like kids sometimes and I took a course in school where I was basically a teachers assistant for 2 credits a semester and this seemed like the easiest job to get at the rip old age of 18. WRONG!! I was so very wrong!! What my teachers and professors failed to tell me was that to even get accepted into my colleges teaching program is not only do we have to answer the portfolio questions is: you have to pass 2 tests. This is what the TAKS tests were really preparing me for. One test was on Math. At this point, I have not done basic Mathematics in 2 years. The other test was on English and Grammar. I have barely passed my English courses with C's my entire life. The cards were not in my favor. You get approximately 60 minutes to finish each test. They take you into this office and you get a little locker and a key in exchange for your Drivers License. You are expected to place your phone and your purse or bag in the locker. They then place you in a separate room with desks with computer lined up against the wall. And at the opposite end of the room, smack in the center is a person that is paid to sit there and make sure you don't cheat. That is their only job, to sit there and stare at you like this *stares around room* am I making you nervous? *whispers* good. Because that is exactly how I felt the entire 60 minutes. And the thing is they don't even give you scratch paper for the math portion, just a TI-84 calculator. You know the ones that cost like 250 dollars and were fucking MANDATORY in middle school? Little secret about those calculators, they have 4 games on them. Yup. Found that out really quick. I used to sit in class on my calculator and the teachers would be none the wiser as I played the same game on my expensive calculator for the whole hour. I still play on it to this day. Anywho, no scratch paper, just an expensive calculator that I can play games on but forgot how to graph on. And I don't know about you guys, but I can't do math in my head like some people, I'm not wired that way. So, I had to go up to the creepy guy paid to stare at us and ask him for scratch paper. At one point I got so involved in solving a problem that I kept getting answers that were not multiple choice options, that I ran out of time and automatic failed 8 out of about 50 questions. A month later I found out that I somehow managed to get a B on a test I didn't finish. *whispers* I'll take it. So, the first time I turned in my portfolio, I had the tests scores that they were looking for but not the detailed answers to their profound questions. I obviously did not get into the teaching education program the first time. A year later I was allowed to turn in my portfolio again. This time I got smart, I made my sister proofread and rewrite my answers for the incentive of 100 dollars of my financial aid. *whispers* I got in. Now at this point, you're probably wondering why I told you all of this and why I don't have a Bachelors in Early Childhood Education like I intended after I went through the torture of 5 years of college and my acceptance into the TEP and the answer to that is, I showed up to the TEP orientation to be told that I had to take 2 more years of teaching courses and at that point I had been in college for nearly 5 years and I was like "There is no way in Hell that I was going to graduate after nearly 7 years of college just to teach children how to count and what the primary colors are." That was probably my biggest mistake in life. Just FYI, all of your childhoods are a lie. Red and Blue are not Primary colors. Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow are the true Primary colors according to the art wheel. To those of you that don't know Cyan can also be called Sky Blue and Magenta is a bright shade of Pink. We good? Good. The definition of a Primary color is a color that cannot be made by combining any two colors. They just exist in the world as is. Still good? Okay. Blue and Red by definition are not Primary colors because they can be made by combining two colors. Blue can be made by combining Cyan and Magenta. Red by combining Yellow and Magenta. They are by definition Secondary colors, colors that can be made by combining two primary colors. Look at that, you came out to have a good time and I tricked you into learning something, I am a teacher. I'm just kidding, I'm lying I didn't always know that. I always thought the Primary colors were Blue, Red, and Yellow just like all of you. I learned that how everyone learns things nowadays, YouTube. Anyways, moving on. The other day I couldn't sleep to save my soul, I had insomnia. And I noticed the weird way that I lay in my bed. It looks a little something like this. *walks over to a pillow and Petunia laying in the middle of the floor* One moment I'll be laying like this *places right foot on side of left knee* You think that ones weird wait until you see the next one. Next minute I'll turn over and be laying like this *place left foot on top of right knee* and then I'll turn over again and do this *pull legs up closer to my body and place them slightly apart* I don't know what this one is, it's like when Deadpool got ripped in half by Juggernaut in Deadpool 2, sorry spoilers. And his lower half has to regrow and he's standing there in front of the remainder of X-Force and Cable but his legs are that of a toddler. That's what this looks like to me, a grown ass person with baby legs trying to run away from something. And then I'll turn over AGAIN and do this *lays almost on front and places left foot of the side of right knee* know this one , this ones not even a sleep position, this is the fucking tree pose from my beginners yoga class. *Stands up and does the tree pose placing both palms together.* Just *hums yoga hum*. That's what that is right there. Haha. I got so bored one morning around 6 o'clock that I decided to clean the mess that was my closet. I had shoes thrown all over the floor of the closet and smack in the middle was a laundry basket that had all the clothes I had ever worn in 3 months. I opened the doors up *pretends to open doors* and I just screamed *screams* and then promptly fainted. Right in front of my closet. That is how messy it was. And the ironic part is that I have OCD. That mess was too much for my tiny, little OCD-riddled brain could handle at 6 in the morning. Which was ironic considering the fact that I had been living with it for 3 months and my OCD didn't seem to mind. But the minute my brain decided it wanted to clean that mess, suddenly my brain was overwhelmed. It took me approximately 2 hours to clean out the junk filled drawers in my dresser and put all of my spring/summer clothes away. Some of you probably noticed I said spring/summer clothes, that is because my autumn/winter clothes do not fit in my room anywhere. So they lay in a tote, a room away, until the temperature starts to drop, and then I would change them out. Men you don't realize this but every girl you know has more clothes than she can count, and some of those clothes, *whispers* she don't even wear. I have a half a closet full of skater dresses, that I wear once in a goddamn blue moon, just because I wanted to feel pretty that day. Interesting thing about switching clothes out, it's not even a new thing. Back in the 19-whatever's girls and women would have a hope chest that was filled with dresses for the spring/summer time when it was autumn/winter outside, and vise versa when it was spring/summer outside. I learned that story from my beautiful mother over there, because one day I pointed to her mothers hope chest and asked what it was used for. Interesting fact about me and my grandmother is that if you look at pictures of her when she was around the age of 13 sitting at the pool, my 13 year old self looked exactly like her, facial expression and all. My grandma unfortunately died of Breast Cancer 5 years after giving birth to my mother, her only surviving biological child. I say "biological child" because after my grandma had so many miscarriages and stillborns, she and my grandpa gave up and went to purchase a child *whipers* from Target. Haha. I'm just kidding, everyone knows that babies come from heaven and that storks carry them down in their beaks to a random families' front porch and leave the baby there to get stepped one when the Husband or Wife goes to check the mail. Probably the Wife, husbands are useless at running errands. You tell a man to go to the store to get 5 items and he comes back with 1 maybe 2 of the items that you had purposely written down on his arm so that he would remember everything. Do women have to do everything? Even figure out what's wrong with our own cars because we've been asking you to do it for 2 months and you keep saying "I'll take a look at it as soon as I have time." "As soon as you have time, bitch? That's right now!! You're sitting on the couch watching goddamned football and drinking beer. Guess what either you can record or pause your game for 15 to 30 minutes or you can sit there watching it and not have anything to eat for dinner, because I was so busy doing your "job", that I forgot to do my "job"." I put quotations around job because I don't understand why the cooking and the cleaning and the children-taking-care of has to be done solely by the woman and why yard work and fixing cars and sitting-on-there-all-day-watching-the-game-while pretending-to-take-care-of-the-children has to be done solely by a man. I don't work like that. Everyone can do any household job. For example, I have broken the side mirror of my moms car 2 times now. Do you think I was just like "Oh, well, I don't know how to fix a mirror I'll have to take it to Chris to get it fixed." Just FYI, Chris is a real person, he's my mechanic for things that I can't fix on my own. Hey, Chris! I didn't just give up, I did what every person in my generation do, I turned to YouTube and typed into the search bar "How to change the side mirror of a 2005 Ford Focus" *ding* Millions of videos pop up. I click on one, I watch it, I now know the basics for how to change a side mirror on a car, I took me exactly 5 minutes to learn it. How long did it take you Chris? Since then I have now replaced 3 of my mothers side mirrors. One on the drivers side that she did, and two on the passenger side that I did pulling in and out of the garage. Both times. YouTube has gotten ridiculous. Remember way back when when it was filled with music videos and people would post videos of them singing along to the songs. Nowadays, you can search anything on YouTube and find a video on it. For example type in "how to get mangy kids off my lawn" and you will most likely find a ridiculous video on how to keep children and dogs off your lawn. I love YouTube, I watch a lot of gaming videos, some Youtubers that I watch are Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, the GameGrumps (creators of the fabulous game DreamDaddy), The Fine Brothers or FBE, Graveyardgirl or Bunny, and Good Mythical Morning with Rhett and Link. Search any of these Youtubers and watch their videos, and you will not be disappointed. I love how there's a channel out there for any genre. Baking, Cooking, Make-up, Video Games, React Video, and ,my personal favorite, rant videos. Do you guys remember when Chris Crocker did the "Leave Britney Alone" video? He was ugly crying and I'm pretty sure wearing mascara and guy liner and he just keeps yelling into the camera for 30 seconds straight "LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!! LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!! YOU *points at person* LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE AND YOU *points at a different person* LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!!!" And it just goes on like that for 30 seconds of a guy ugly crying over Britney fucking Spears. You thought girls where the best ugly criers, you were wrong, it's the gays. Gays overpower all girl powers by like a 100. A girl will be like "Look at my make up isn't it nice?" And a gay guy with jump out of nowhere add flawlessly apply FaceOff quality make up and be like "you look beautiful, do you like my sexy alien?". Anyways, I just love YouTube, I could watch YouTube video of people playing scary games that look interesting to me but I'm too scared to play *whispers * all day long.

[poptarts-and-rainbows]

Hi HI hi

So tomorrow is my birthday...

I am turning 29 

                                 (T͖̥̲͍̭͇̣ͬh̤̆ͧ̐ͩ̔ͭ̎a͈̤̺̹͎̫̔ͪ̄̒̚tͧ̒'̺͈s̖̝̯̘̺̹ͬ̌ͧͯ͛̚̚ ̳̜̬̝̔ͮ̏̉͛̓͆ä͉̮̞͍͆ͣ͛̈́ͤl̥̯̝̱͖̥͖̒̍ͥ̍̚ṁ̯̭̟̟̬͖͆o͍̠͂̀̉̎̅ṡ̩͖͓̬t̖͔̺͇͇͑̏ͨ̄ͅ ̬̈̆ͤ̽3̟͖̬̗̐̏̍͑0̖͉̪ͪ̾̑̉ͬ̎,͌̂͒̈́ͤ ̤̞̌̉ͪ̾ͨw͔͈̪̻̪͍̽͐͒̆͌ṭ̳ͪfͧͤ̍̎ͅ)

And I am freaking the FUCK out.

I'm just... feeling... overwhelmed and very unaccomplished. I've never dreaded a birthday more. It's the last year of my twenties.

Like, I get it, I know- all of those supposed lifetime "milestone" deadlines are just made up from out dated societal bullshit and don't actually mean anything, especially in our current climate. But knowing that doesn't help me not feel like crap.

I just haven't done anything. I was a smart kid, and everyone I've ever worked with has been SO sure that I could be successful at whatever I choose to do, but I just... I'm almost thirty and I have nothing to show for myself.

I haven't graduated from college yet (yes I'm going back to my old school in the fall, but I'll be finishing my undergrad at 30, and what does a bachelor's really get you?)

I'm still 25+ grand in debt from the last time I went there, and that's down from $40,000

At the end of next month I'm moving from Washington State back to New York, like half of all other reject Millenials, retreating home to Mom's with my proverbial tail between my legs

I've moved around so much the last 5.5/6 years that I have literally two friends

I've never dated

I'm not particularly skilled or talented at anything

Savings Account, what? 401K? Never heard of her.

I don't know what I'm doing, almost ever

Worst of all: I don't know what I want to do

Everything I think I would want to do/get fulfillment from or be decent at, either my family is against (which shouldn't matter, yeah yeah...), it's terrible in some way and is actually hurting people (the Army, police, etc.), wouldn't be able to financially support the life I eventually want (like being a teacher and being able to afford to adopt some kids), or it requires more school than I think I'm capable of handling (Psychologist, and ALSO teaching), and I just want to do good. I want to be good.

Of course I've done stuff in my life. I've had the opportunity to travel a lot! I've been to 9 countries outside of the United States, and I am so grateful I was able to do that. I was in the Army for almost 6 years, think about that what you will- but I liked it most of the time and was good at it. I have a car. I've gotten sober and am working on staying that way (I was up to 44 days, and I did have a rough weekend, but I'll be at 3 weeks again on Sunday). It's just... none of that seems to mean anything? I don't know where I thought I would be by now, I never really had an "ideal life" envisioned, but this isn't it.

And I know- I've heard it all, I even said it earlier, and I've reblogged about it before- timelines don't mean shit. A college degree at 30 is still a degree. Oprah was fired as a newscaster at 20-something. JKR didn't get Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone published until she was 32, and she was living in her car before then, homeless and depressed. Stan Lee didn't catch his big break until he was almost 40. Vera Wang didn't design her first dress until she was over 40. I know, I know, I know.

That still doesn't make me feel any better.

When I complain about it to my mom she tries to make me feel better by telling me that she still doesn't know what she wants to do either, and she's almost 50. Like, how would that comfort me? I'll be feeling like this, lost and hopeless, forever?!??

People figure out their shit at different times in their lives, everyone goes there own speed, and some people don't have a passion, and that's ok, I know... but last night I covered half of one of my walls in paper to try to write out some sort of plan. To figure out what I want, or even just what I like, and I just ended up sitting on my floor and staring at it with a marker in my hand until 4am.

I don't know. I know this is a relatively common dilemma. I'm not stranger to the existential crisis. This last year since I moved to WA has just kinda sucked, and my plans for tomorrow consist of skipping class and going to wander around Seattle alone, so I'm just really bummed overall and wanted to vent ☠💕💖

[fnoboqbl]

This is how they get you.

first i went to uci as an undeclared major in 2011, ended up having issues with depression and substance abuse, and with tuition hikes and no sense of direction i came back to bakersfield to figure out a major and a way forward. 

enrolled at bc in 2012, declared my major at the end of 2014 once i had finished all my GE reqs. Didn’t leave bc until after spring of 2015 because a string of bad counselors advised me to take various classes fulfilling the same requirements over and over, essentially wasting an entire year of my time there. finally left bc without even getting the AA I went there for because some counselor didn’t add up the classes right and i came up a unit short at the end of spring 2015 and just applied at csub. they let me in as if I had gotten the AA, which was a homie move by them, and i thought my days of bullshit counseling and admin fuckery were over.

I declared as a english major with credential emphasis (EMCE), which i was led to believe made me an english major and an education minor, where the minor would count as a teaching credential after taking the cset/cbest. something like that. the program advisor for EMCE turned out to be hands down the worst teacher i’ve ever had, just fully incompetent, and i had heard that Point Loma Nazarene University had an accelerated credential program for people with Bachelors degrees in english. Since English Major Language and Literature (EMLL) at csub  required fewer units, i decided to switch majors so i could get the bachelors faster and then get the credential from plnu.

that meant i had to change minors too, (and obviously also meant that i had already taken some classes i wouldnt need anymore as a EMLL major) and all that wasn’t a big deal.

the problem really started when i changed majors, because suddenly nobody seemed to know when my calendar year was. I started college in 2011, but I started csub in 2015, and in those 4 years the requirements had changed. I kept going to counselors and getting different information about what was required of me to graduate. Then the faculty tower (which housed the offices of most of the professors in the humanities department, along with the English department chair and the main counselor for the program) was torn down and relocated, which put most of these vitally important people out of commission during the moving process.

this coincided with the decision to move csub from a quarter system school to a semester system school. This meant a complete restructuring of the classes the school offered, class names and numbers, and graduation outlines for students. People on the pre-Quarter-to-Semester (Q2S) system had to stick to the requirements of their calendar year, as per CSUB’s guarantee that requirements wouldn’t switch up and potentially keep you in college purgatory.

except, what was my calendar year? I have graduation roadmaps filled out by NUMEROUS counselors, stating variably that my calendar year is 2011-12, 2012-13, 2014-15, 2015-16, and 2016-17.

so i went to the CSUB page- not that I hadn’t before, of course, but i thought maybe this time i’d find something- Then to my program advisor. Then to academic advising. then to the department chair... Except oops, he RETIRED like 3 months ago and the new dept. chair has decided to take a LONG vacation out of the country for the summer. All I wanted was a sheet of paper telling me what classes I had to take if I wanted to graduate with a degree in English. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I HAD TO DO TO GET A DEGREE. After no fewer than 8 hours on campus, spread over 2 consecutive days, i was beginning to think such a thing didn’t even exist. I tracked down the previous department chair, he told me to find the program advisor and not to call him again (after all, he was retired). So I found the program advisor, who also had no clue. That's the top 2 authorities of the English department at csub, both not knowing what a person has to do to get a degree in their program. I went to the advisors, who told me to ask the dept chair. I ended up walking into the office of the theatre department chair, where finally some secretary listened to me recount my entire college story, and then got on her computer and just pulled the exact list of requirements I was looking for off a mysterious “V File” somewhere in cyberspace. The whole time sb. Was constantly reminding me me how much this “wasn’t her job”, as she was "just a secretary", but she still found it. Finally, I thought. At least I have the paper.

It was the requirements for the 2016-2017 year, butBut I trusted her. She was the only one who could produce the paper, after all... and I hit pretty much every person I could think of who would (and should) know. I applied for graduation based on those requirements in 2017 for fall 2018, and thought i was out of the woods.

WRONG AGAIN.

i get a letter from csub stating that I have unfulfilled requirements, insufficient credits to graduate. what the fuck. Turns out THEY NEVER HAD OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTS FROM BC OR UCI. then, turns out they were EVALUATING ME BASED ON THE NEW CRITERION WHEN I WAS TOLD I WAS ON THE OLD CATALOG. so graduation denied, I go back in to find out that under the old catalog (which, i remind you, i had not yet gotten a roadmap for, since i was given the 2016-17 one) i had to take 3 “theme” courses; Themes A,B,andC. Okay fuck. so i go to sign up for these theme courses. But guess what? Now they’re themes Q R and S, because its a new system there now and they offer classes satisfying Q R and S, and THERE’S NO GUIDE FOR FUCKING FIGURING OUT WHICH OF THESE Q R AND S CLASSES SATISFY THE REQUIREMENTS FROM THE OLD CATALOG. does q correspond to A? does R correspond to B? who knows? But Riley, couldn’t you just take all 3 and assume the same shit is covered? I’m so glad you asked because that’s what I thought too, but sadly no, I am attempting to fill old requirements using the new catalog and ALL THE TITLES ARE MIXED THE FUCK UP OR UNRELATED or include extra shit or exclude important shit, and when I click on the handy-dandy Q2S conversion chart on the csub website i get a message saying i need authorization i don’t have.

lets skip ahead. I cut off my left arm and squeezed the blood into the mouth of a gargoyle which then sprung to life and figured all that shit out. I got enrolled into the classes, at the age of 25 years and 9 months old, healthcare expiring in 3 months, still living with my parents, broke because school is my life now, and i paid my grad check fees with the tuition for my last semester at csub.

2 months later the grad check money is returned with no note, nothing. just “here’s your check for $70, enjoy.” I was suspicious. I went online to make sure my shit’s all okay.

And it was, and I lived happily ever after. /s

-_-

now they don’t have my substituted classes (on which i got approval from both dept chairs, previous and current), they don’t have my bc classes, some classes i was told would satisfy certain requirements are no longer satisfactory or valid, and It says i never applied for graduation, which I had surmised when my graduation fee was mysteriously sent back to me.

I’m 8 years into my college experience at this point. BC lost my UCI transcripts not once, not twice, not thrice, not four times, but 5 TIMES. I have 5 receipts showing official transcripts being sent to BC on 5 different occasions. They lost my official transcripts five times and got away with that!!! I retook English B1 THREE TIMES because they kept on not-having the records of me having taken that class at UCI. Imagine how stupid I felt when I aced the class, then showed up back in that same classroom the next semester, where the same professor looked at me the first day like... “dude... you passed this class, what are you doing here” and I had to be the idiot saying “idunno, they tole me to take the class again so i’m just taking the class again”. You’d think that after taking the same exact class the semester before, BC would have at least had the transcripts of me doing that, but if this shit made any kind of sense I wouldn’t be posting about it. I ended up with 80 extra units (that’s enough for an entire other degree) that will not be counted toward my B.A... which as it stands now isn’t even coming because my application to graduate after fall 2018 was not processed, which is why the $70 was returned to me when I tried to pay the fee to run the check again. Again, there was no letter helping me put these pieces together... just the check, sent back to me, and nothing else.

The deadline to graduate after Fall 2018 was September 25, 2017. I only became sure that I would graduate after Fall 2018 like, 3 weeks before Fall 2018 started, when I was rolled into my final class off the waitlist. There were like 20 people though who did not get into the English BA finishing course off the waitlist. What happened? If they were aiming to graduate the same time as me, they all would have had to put in their request to graduate nearly a year earlier (a total of 4 semesters earlier, counting summer school).... which means that their failure to get rolled into this finishing course would require them to reapply for graduation at the next possible time... AND SINCE THE FINISHING COURSE IS FOR SOME IDIOTIC REASON ONLY OFFERED DURING THE FALL SEMESTER, THAT MEANS THEY’D HAVE TO APPLY IN SEPTEMBER OF 2019 TO GRADUATE AFTER FALL 2020. And that’s just how the stars aligned for them.

So either you have to apply every goddamn semester starting 2 years before you’re trying to, or you have to execute the last 2 years of college with no hitches or else you get fucked for another 2 years by the cactus dick of the school system.

Update 4/14/22

Not that anyone’s on the edge of their seat waiting for this update, but holy shit this was not even close to the end of the tunnel. Luckily I did not have to wait an extra 2 years to graduate, there was just a lag in the system that did eventually work itself out, and I did get my bachelors in 2018. And I only had to sleep with 3 school officials to make it happen. I then applied for grad school at PLNU, which required writing a personal statement explaining my VERY spotty academic record and subpar GPA, which took some serious spin, but I did it. 

[unhinged-diaries-blog]

Down another pound!

I don’t know what I’m doing but I really seem to have turned a corner. I woke up this morning and weighed myself and I lost another pound. I know what I’m doing by not watching what I eat but at the same time watching what I eat but not necessarily counting the calories just winging it is not the healthiest.

Currently with my schedule I will wake up in the morning, get a ride to the bus stop at stop for Starbucks. I will usually have a Venti acai strawberry refresher, depending if I’m hungry or not I may have a breakfast sandwich and I go with the lowest calorie count which is about 200 give or take for a egg whites, bacon sandwich and that will get me through until 2 PM.

After I eat I wait at least 30 minutes before I start drinking water again but now I still eat so slow that really I drink water in our later. I haven’t had a protein shake in a week and a half and I know we need to get back on the wagon. This is the first time all week i’ve had coffee made it home and I added not creamer but cashew protein milk and sugar because even though I do have Splenda fuck that splenda is gross.

For lunch I packed 2 1/2 ounces of Turkey pastrami, and ounce of strawberries and a cookie because I’m definitely going to need sugar and in the office I’m at I don’t have a car and there’s no way I’m gonna be walking 10 minutes away just to get something to drink and then 10 minutes back so basically a lunch.

When in reality I have lunch in the office. I know I’m going to get to work early and as long as I do my job he really doesn’t care he’s so relaxed and that’s what I love most about this job. I skip school today because I was exhausted. I did not fall asleep until 23:59 last night but I think in reality I didn’t fall asleep until 1 o’clock because all I heard was my dog whining because she was in her kennel, one of my cats trying to get into a closet which was pissing me off

I think I eventually fell back asleep until 630 were my husband kept asking me if I wanted a ride or if I was going to school and I’ve actually said fuck it I’m so tired I’m not going and I know I’m going to get docked off attendance points but at this point I really don’t give a fuck because I’m doing what I need to needs to be done, I’m taking photos and I will turn in the project that was due yesterday turned in today. A lot of the students didn’t take the photos needed for yesterday‘s Photo essay I took my photos on Sunday and I realize that a lot of students didn’t because who’s going to want to shoot with their camera for an hour when it’s 115° heat?

I sure shit will not do it and my professor is so relaxed about it that he is like basically we’re going to have to wait till it’s cooler which is awesome minutes south but I mean at the end of the day it sucks when you’re really needing shoot and certain students schedules like myself are so fucked up that the only time they didn’t have time to shoot is during sunset or early in the morning and I know for a fact I’m not gonna be shooting early in the morning waking up an hour heading to where I need to shoot for an hour and a half and then somehow catching a bus that will take me down the street to go to class for an hour and then having to go to work for five

that’s feasibly not possible especially after 730 is when the sun starts to rise and it gets extremely hot. I’m just really shocked over all with the sleeve it’s finally working the way I want it to work that I’m losing weight faster than when I was stalling over the last 3 1/2 months. I’m not upset by any means I’m just excited that my luck has finally really fucking tired because I needed this break so hard. Got a email from my boss last week my old boss and she asked me is there anything we can do to change your mind I’ve been sitting on it for days and I don’t even know what to say to her. What do you say to someone who treat you like a number in a place you work?

Do you say that pay per performance is bullshit and because of how you are in sales you get to go down to minimum wage? Do you say not thenwork itself it’s hard it’s the fact that you treated like we don’t matter, when we have legit questions and email the entire staff the entire coaching team no one gives us a fucking answer, when we have several terrible days are performance get stocked and are paid get stocked and the fact that I got dad to minimum wage is absolute bullshit and after three months of working there that’s when everything changed I went down from $10 an hour due to my performance and bad calls and the audit etc. to minimum-wage

that is not a living fucking wait especially when they know I’m a student, they know my schedule, and they know my limits. The email itself my boss said she didn’t want to lose me and I’m just thinking if you don’t want to lose people you should treat them better. If you don’t want to lose people management should be better and the entire structure should be better instead of going to the cycle that’s wrong did I did that wrong this is how I fix it

I wouldn’t say all that many call centers are you’re a number they won’t work with your schedule they don’t give a shit if you breathe or die as long as you keep the money coming in and follow their rules you basically get a keep your job but if you have a voice and say what we’re doing it wrong you’re the asshole and eventually get reprimanded for it this job is no future this job is a job you take when you have nothing else and you were forced to take this job to make money

I’ll probably sit in the email a couple more days before I really give her an email back. Things are great in the first three weeks I like this job, things were good until I saw the in tire Spectre my back. I saw how my buddy, R got fucked up his check and they took out almost $400 they over charged him, they don’t necessarily answer all emails and they are completely overwhelmed to where where we stand donors to validation nine times out of 10 we lose those donors

they’re tired of waiting and validation is taking so long that at one time I was waiting six minutes to get a pledge and to have a flight finished and who the fuck wants to wait six minutes on the phone trying to basically finish this transaction I fucking doubt I can see why donors are pissed and how you tell him multiple times not to call and they still won’t take you off the list but I guess at the game when it comes to donating anywhere

I think I just finally got tired of it so I talk to my friend and she had received my resume and sent it over to my current boss and he basically save me out of a bad position. I would’ve stayed with my old job until I just couldn’t take it anymore. It got to the point where after work I would be counting down the hours until I went to bed, and wondering how was going to make it through another day when I’m waking up early, and getting bad sleep, and I am hoping I get hit by a car because I feel my life is so bad at this point but that she dropped and things are a lot better

Now the next thing I’m waiting on is if I get excepted into this internship and I should know by this week. I really hope this goes through because I need this more than anything I have one more year of this and I am done with school for now I just need to keep on pushing and realize this is it going to last forever at least suck right now but you were so close to the fucking finish line it’s not funny and that’s what keeps going and that’s what keeps me going knowing I’m so close to finishing after seven years and struggling and death and toxic families and moving I’m finally here getting my bachelors and nobody can take that away from me. No one in my mediate family has her bachelors and I’m going to be the first want to do it and it’s not because I’m a woman but because I chose to put my career first had to take shit jobs and she keep going when I wanted to absolutely quit. I wanted to quit when my brother died being here all alone in Vegas with Noel family I wanted to in my life when my dad died because I thought my future but nothing without him, and now six years later I have a finally I finally have a future to look forward to and no one can take that away from me out of the bad days no matter things Zaidi no matter the depression I have a future in life I’m finally looking forward to

Happy Wednesday

[exxar1]

Episode 4: Waking Up

11/14/2020

Good morning, folks. As I write this, I’m sitting in my living room, listening to an Apple music channel of classic Christmas carols, while late morning sunshine streams through my front window. I have just finished putting laundry in the dryer and washing the few dishes in the sink that piled up during the week. My McDonald’s iced coffee is almost gone, and I’m feeling ready to face the day.

I have a couple hours before I have to start getting ready for work, so there’s not a lot of time to hammer out this blog entry. I don’t have a lot to say for this episode, but I have been feeling somewhat strange for the last couple weeks. Not ‘strange’ in the physical sense, but ‘strange’ as in ‘there’s something happening with me that I can’t quite explain’.

And now I’m going to try to explain what I’m talking about.

Per my usual work routine, I spend 5 ½ hours every morning, Monday through Friday, in the lobby of Walmart, greeting customers and making sure everyone is wearing their face mask. And, as usual, I have nothing but my own thoughts and the occasional conversation with co-workers to keep me company. But mostly just my own thoughts. And boy, my brain lately will just not shut down – or even go into standby mode. It seems that all I can do lately is just think, think, think. Here’s a sample of what tumbles through my head from morning until night every day:

·      Is the ballot recounts for the national election close to being done? Will Trump retain his presidency (I hope), or will America finally get its first female president? (Yes, you read that correctly.)

·      Spencer Klavan of the “Young Heretics” podcast so damn good looking, and the fact that he’s also a “Super Mario Bros” fan in addition to being ivy league educated and possessing near-savant level human intelligence has forced me to finally admit that I have had a massive crush on him for almost four months now. (I just wish he wasn’t such an avid gym rat. That’s such a turnoff. Well, that, and the fact he already has a boyfriend.)

·      I need to start working on the story ideas that came to me a few weeks ago. There’s two really good ones that I know would make excellent short stories, or, at the very least, novellas. One’s about a superhero called The Red Mask, and the other is about cats and dogs that are created with a sophisticated AI that allows them to look, feel and behave exactly like real animals but without all the maintenance and mess that pet owners have to put up with (such as feeding them, combing them, bathing them, walking them, training them, cleaning up their poop, etc.).

·      Oh! A circuit court judge in Georgia just ordered a bunch of ballots to be thrown out in that state’s recount!

·      Spencer Klavan liked one of my tweets about Young Heretics!!!!

·      Should I have McDonald’s for lunch or the apple I brought with me? The apple. Definitely the apple. Need to stay healthy.

·      I can’t believe all the idiots on social media that not only voted for Biden/Harris but actually think that he will make a good president. What the hell is wrong with them???? Anyone with half a brain can easily recognize what Trump has done for this country, and it scares the shit out of me that the radical left (capital ‘R’, capital ‘L’) just might get their foot in the door of the White House. What the fuck is wrong with half of America right now??? It’s all that “white fragility”, “systemic racism”, “white privilege”, “black lives matter” bullshit!!! How the fuck did that horseshit gain such powerful traction in this country????Robin Deanglo and Ibram X Kendi and all their pathetic followers are so full of shit they ought to open their own manure factory!!!!

·      Yay! The 2021 “Super Mario Bros” and “Star Trek” wall calendars I ordered on Amazon have shipped! They’ll be here Tuesday!

·      And that reminds me, I need to start working on the photo calendars that I give to my family every year for Christmas. Maybe I should do that this Saturday morning before my shift at Check City.

·      Oh. Time for my break. Yay! Coffee!

And…repeat. That. All of that. Over and over all day long – creative story thoughts, political thoughts, work thoughts, checking my phone three times an hour to review the latest posts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram to stay on top of all the latest news and current events that serve to fuel my new woke self. Texting friends and family about this and that. On and on and on...

Hhmmm. My new woke self.

The other day, as this new thought occurred to me, I mentally reviewed everything that’s happened to me this year, everything that I wrote about in that first blog episode. I also thought about my recent self-examination of my whole life up to this point, the stuff I covered in episodes 2 and 3 of this blog. Then I thought back over the last two weeks: the sudden and unexpected passing of Aaron; his memorial service that I made an emergency trip home to Idaho to attend; and, finally, this new, strange…’wokeness’, for lack of a better term, that I now find myself in.

I honestly don’t know how to precisely describe it. I’ve been trying all this week to come up with apt, specific words and/or phrases, and then, finally, I thought of something. I’m a huge fan of the reboot of “Battlestar: Galactica” that was done by Ronald D Moore on the SyFy channel in 2004. It’s been a few years since I last binged all 4 seasons of that terrific show, but I was thinking about it the other day as my mind wandered, and it suddenly occurred to me what this new ‘woke’ state that I’m in feels like: the Cylon sleeper agents (who looked and acted like real humans) that were suddenly awakened to their true nature.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. Yes, I know how that sounds, but let me explain. I really feel like that, somewhere deep in the core of my brain, a metaphorical ‘switch’ was flipped from ‘off’ to ‘on’ along about late August or early September of this year. The world around me did not change, but my perception of it – as well as my perception of my place in it – did fundamentally change. I realized this week that for pretty much all my life I’ve been coasting through it. Everything that I’ve done and accomplished took no real effort or sacrifice on my part. Everything after high school pretty much just happened naturally. I decided to join the Army on a whim. When that didn’t work out, I came back home and enrolled in college. I spent 4 ½ years doing what I loved – reading, writing, discussing reading and writing – and I came out with a Bachelor’s in English. Again, no real effort. I coasted through on my natural talents. The only real work was in the core classes that I needed for my degree, like math or biology. But those were few. And then, after college, instead of putting my degree to use, I just settled for a day job in retail and then, later, in an elementary school. And then, in 2012, on a whim, I quit my job and moved to Las Vegas. Once again, I found a cushy day job where I make really good money, and…then 2020 happened.

In other words, I’ve never been an active participant in my own life. I just kinda let everything happen and went with the flow. I even had this same attitude in high school and it drove my parents and teachers absolutely mad. I didn’t care about being valedictorian or captain of the sports teams or even being the best damn piano player this side of the Rockies. All that mattered was hanging out with my friends and making sure the VCR was set each week to record the newest episodes of “Star Trek: DS9” and “Star Trek: Voyager”. And, without consciously realizing it, that’s been my attitude for my whole damn life. I’ve never cared about the world beyond my own front door. If it didn’t affect my life directly, I never paid it any attention. That’s especially true for politics. No matter who sat in the White House, my life never changed. So I figured, why bother? I’m perfectly content to live a quiet, solitary existence, and the rest of the world can do its own thing.

Except that now I’m no longer content with my quiet, solitary existence. Something within me fundamentally changed this year, and there’s no going back.

I am awake. (But, unlike the Cylons, I’m not about to start murdering humans.) I’m certain that it was God’s hand that reached down to flip that invisible switch in my brain, but now that I have rejected my former sleeper state, I don’t know exactly what to do. For the last couple weeks, I have felt nervous; anxious; excited; jittery; like a live wire that’s been cut and is now flopping on the ground, shooting sparks and energy. I have to constantly resist the urge to grab total strangers off the street and shout at them to “Wake up!” The world around us is changing, and we can’t live as sleeper agents in our own lives. Everything that’s happened in 2020 is going to shape the future of this country and the lives of everyone in it, and no one can afford to not care and just keep living their quiet, solitary lives.

This is why I scream on social media about the stupid mask mandates, and the ‘lamestream’ media, and politics, and everything else that I’ve been ranting and raving about for nine months. And yes, I’m sure some of my friends think I’ve gone crazy, and more than a few have probably unfollowed me. I don’t mean to alienate folks, but I have to put this energy somewhere or I’ll go crazy.

One of biggest changes that I have noted is that I no longer have a desire to park in front of the TV in my time off. I still have a few regular shows that I watch each week, but my passion has turned to reading and podcasts. I renewed my Audible.com membership a few months ago, and I have started stockpiling audiobooks on various subjects: biographies of the Founding Fathers of America, non-fiction books on artificial intelligence and other new forms of technology, books on world history, western literature and Greek philosophy. (I recently began listening to a series of lectures from Boston University on Plato’s “Republic”). And, of course, the highlight of my week is a new episode of “Young Heretics” every Tuesday. (And no, it’s not just because of my crush on Spencer Klavan.) I also have started carving out an hour here and there each day to grab my laptop and write a few paragraphs of new stories or just jot notes for upcoming stories.

I really, honestly feel as if something is coming. I don’t know what, I don’t know when, but God woke me up for a reason. He’s got something planned for me, and I need to be ready for it. I’m pretty certain the world is not coming to an end anytime soon, and I’m sure 2021 will be a better year for our nation than 2020, no matter who’s sitting in the White House. And yes, Lord willing, this stupid “pandemic” will also be over sometime soon. For me, personally, 2020 was the year that changed me and got me ready for whatever is coming. A fire’s been lit under my ass, but I’m not sure where yet where I’m supposed to be jumping up and running to.

I am sure, however, that It’s time to be an active participant in my own life.

Hey mom and dad, I really do care now, and I really, truly want to do my best. I want only top grades and to be the captain of…something. It only took twenty-six? Twenty-seven years? But now I’m going to be that grade-A student that you and Mrs. Tutty and Mrs. Jones and Mr. Walker always knew I could be.

Better late than never, eh?