#i failed spanish in senior year ;(

[jesterwaves]

honestly feel like i totally scammed my high school into letting me graduate. i was a smart kid, but i barely made it. i dont really feel bad about it though, its funny.

[cinematicnomad]

this is incredibly random but my best friend just texted me something which reminded me that for a brief shining moment in our senior year there was a genuine concern that i wouldn't graduate on time bc of fucking P.E.

[lust4liyah]

just a lil sum sum bcus im having big thoughts about my man miguel.....

not proofread! contains; chubby! fem! reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation, bad spanish like really bad.

think about miguel o'hara who is just so so gentle with you, who always makes sure he’s never too rough with you when you try and play fight him when you get a bit too energetic at headquarters. you were always cheered on by gwen and jess, and miguel knows you get a big head from their encouragement, so he always feigns defeat. just to see you smile, but he'd never tell you that.

think about miguel o'hara who always goes easy on you when you challenge him to arm wrestle you. he always humors you, liking the determined look in your eye as you tell him, like you always do, that this time, you’ll really beat him. miguel knows full well his strength easily trumps yours, but your hands are just so much smaller than his. if he took these little challenges seriously, he could seriously hurt you! didn't you know how much smaller you were compared to him?

think about miguel o'hara who reluctantly has to scold you and threatens to separate you from hobie when you two are up to your shenanigans. maybe you two skipped another spider meeting, or maybe you two screwed around too much on a mission, miguel tells you he will physically take you and your close friend and put you on separate missions the next time this happens. you didn't believe him and told him you would be too heavy for miguel. miguel proves you wrong one day when he catches you and hobie messing around in on miguel's levitating platform, lifting you up in only one arm with a stupid smirk on his face as you yelled profanities at him.

think about miguel o'hara who carries you in his big arms after a long mission. you’re cuddled up against his chest, your spider suit was gone and you were only in the shorts and lacy tank top you always wore under your suit just in case. you were sleepy and lightheaded after all the tiring things you had to do, miguel couldn't just let you walk. miguel ignores the teasing from hobie and lyla when he held you close, focusing only on the way your soft skin feels against his hands. nobody notices the way he holds you closer against him on his lap, nobody notices the way he shudders when your plump body brushes against the sensitive spot in his tight suit.

think about miguel o'hara who lets you off easier than everyone else. you were a firecracker, a burning fire through the headquarters. your personality, though very kind and loving, was also sassy and bossy. a lot of the spiders always stop to stare in envy when you tell miguel how annoying he is when he sends you on a mission on your day off or when you tell him how stupid his theories are about the multiverse. had it been anyone else, miguel would have thrown them out the window of headquarters. but because it was you, miguel only sighed and rolled his eyes at your comments.

think about miguel o'hara who tries and fails to restrain himself when you try to argue with him. miles morales had just zipped his way back to his home universe and you were beyond livid with the way miguel handled the young boy. you cornered miguel in his platform, hair crazy from your mask and lips pouty from your frowns.

"are you out of your damn mind?! you could have seriously hurt him today or worse! you need to learn how to get your fucking anger in check!" you screamed at the man, an accusatory finger pointed at him.

miguel was huffing and puffing while you criticized him, his dark gaze piercing through you like a sword as he towered over you. you stared up at him, your doe eyes trying to keep eye contact even though you were clearly frightened. your back was pressed up against the desk and despite there being so much more space, miguel took a step closer to you.

you still kept talking.

"you think just 'cus you think you know so much 'bout the multiverse you can treat people that way? where the hell is your head at, miguel? the fuck is wrong with you―"

"crees que puedes decirme qué hacer?" he cuts you off. you let out a shaky breath at his words. miguel threw out all the protective regards he used to have for you. he had been so nice, letting you try and bully him around, being easier on you compared to the other spiders, and this is how you repay him? yelling at him for some idiot kid?

"you don't got any authority over me, niñita. who do you think you are trying to boss me around?" miguel's body was pressed against yours now. your heart was beating fast in your chest at the familiar nickname, he called you that every time he tried to make you feel small. "i... i'm not―"

"you think because i let you do what you want that you can talk to me like that? hm?" miguel pushes on as he leans down to get closer to your face. he sighs, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand. "i've spoiled you too much. sido demasiado amable con mi chica, now she thinks she can yell at me however she wants".

he dragged a hand down his face in frustration. "this is my fault, though, not yours. poor baby, you don't remember the rules 'cus you haven't had to follow them in so long". he lets out a sarcastic laugh.

"that changes today".

your eyes trailed away from miguel's, squeezing your thighs together. it's true, you weren't stupid. he was much nicer to you than everyone else. you were special! you knew you were at least to him, so why is he being so mean?

miguel's once soft and loving hand felt cold once he forced you to look at him, your chin in his hand and your head tilted up. "oye, don't look over there. i'm talking to you, aren't i?" a sick smile stretched on miguel's face. "look at me". he demanded.

think about miguel o'hara who has you on your back, your pants discarded and your chest heaving up and down as fat tears ran down your cheeks. miguel's arms were around your thighs, his hips snapping against yours in such mindblowing swiftness.

miguel growls as he pulls you into a deep kiss, slowing down his pace just a bit to thrust into your cunt harder, deeper. his cock touched the more sensitive parts of your pussy, making you squeal into the kiss. he let you go, his previous pace making a comeback.

"mi-miggy! slow down, please! 'm g'nna... oh shit!" you cry out. the way your cunt sucks and pulses around miguel's cock makes him groan. he feels amazing, you wouldn't tell him that though. he stretched your poor abused cunt so good, makes your juices get all over him.

a hand reaches up to your cheek, wiping away your tears. "want me to slow down? yeah?" he asks you rhetorically. he pushed his hips into you, pulling you down so he could get a deeper angle. your fingers brushed through his hair, tugging ever so slightly as you cried harder.

you brought him closer. "please, miggy, please slow down!"

"slow down?" he parroted you. he smirked, his hands digging into your soft rolls as he thrusts harder, grinding his hips into your clit. "you keep pullin' me in, mama. how could i slow down when this pretty pussy is cryin' for me like that?"

as if to emphasize, miguel gently let one of your thighs go and gave your clit a harsh slap. you let out an embarrassing yell while miguel groaned against your neck. "this is your lesson, niñita. es como aprendes. can't have such a small thing like you bossin' me around".

"miggy", you sobbed, your hands pawing at his chest, "bein' so mean. please, miggy. m'gnna cum! g'nna make a mess, please!" you babbled.

you could've cringed out how pathetic you sounded, but right now, you weren't focused on that. the hot feeling of miguel's cock sliding in and out your walls, the wet kisses miguel left on your neck, the feeling of his balls slapping against your ass, that was all you were focused on.

"deja de llorar, niñita. you see what happens when you try 'n' boss me around? a 'lil thing like you?" miguel laughed pressing a kiss just under your eye where tears were falling.

"been too nice to you, been too kind to this sweet cunt, huh, sweetheart? maybe you'll listen to me this way". a rough hand spanked the side of your ass, making you cry out.

you pulsed around miguel, his slap making you tense up. the feeling of his fingers against your skin made you feel like you were on fire. miguel panted, his cock beating into the creamy lips of your pussy.

"'member what you said, niñita? said that i'm a cocky asshole that wouldn't know how to handle you even if i tried? what happened to that? what happened to my loud girl? where'd she go?"

the recalling of your words to miguel when you first challenged him to an arm wrestle played in your head. you were so confident then.

couldn't handle me my ass!

"oh, i know where she went". a soft chuckle came from miguel's throat as he grabbed your cheeks and made you look him in the eyes. "she's right here! right in front of me, gettin' her holes filled by her boss' cock". miguel laughed in your face cruelly, drawls the stupid attractive sound out, and shoves his hips forward, his tip reaching your cervix at this point.

a small burst of confidence flowed through you as you gripped the wrist holding your face. "n-not my―"

"what? not your boss?" miguel finished the thought before you can get the words to leave your mouth. he laughed again, the sound making your cunt ache.

he toyed with your breasts, pulling a nipple in his mouth. he suckles on it for a moment, and at that moment you feel the sharp fangs of his you so loved to graze your nipple before he let it go with a 'pop!' coming from his mouth.

"not your boss, but you're letting me have ya' like this? when you know you're perfectly capable to get a one-up on me?" miguel raised an eyebrow at you, stopping his moving hips as soon as he hit the deepest part of your cunt. he bit his lip hard and stared down at you, his hands on both sides of your head.

"think you like getting treated like this. think this is exactly how 'm gonna teach you to be nice t'me". miguel left pushing his hips upwards, his cock hitting your cervix as your cried against his chest.

"maybe if i treat you like a whore 'stead of my little girl, you'll remember the rules".

(1.) niñita ― little girl

(2.) crees que puedes decirme qué hacer? ― do you think you can tell me what to do?

(3.) sido demasiado amable con mi chica ― been too nice to my girl

(4.) es como aprendes ― it's how you learn

(5.) deja de llorar ― stop crying

[jazminrhode1]

Hey babeee, can u do one where chris asks his crushhhh to prom? Love your writing please never stop bc I fucking love iiiit ;P

Better Late Than Never Chris Sturniolo x Reader One Shot

Summary: Chris confesses his feelings for you at prom.

Word Count: 1618 words

Chris always had a lot of bravado. He could have fooled you into thinking he didn’t give two fucks and that was a part of his charm - it also drove you fucking crazy. He wore chaos like an armour to hide his vulnerability but, every now and then you got to see the softer side of him.

You had met Chris is freshman year when you were paired together for a science project. You both failed because he did nothing, but he made you laugh the whole semester. 

From time to time, you would catch him looking your way and diverting his eyes when he saw that you noticed. He always sat next to you because he wanted to “copy your answers” but, as the years went on, you weren’t convinced.

When he was in a bad mood he would slump down in his seat and rest his head on your shoulder. When he was in a good mood, he would do whatever he could to make you laugh.

Your friends always thought that you and Chris would get together. They always talked about you both being high school sweethearts but, Chris never seemed to make a move. He seemed to always leave you hanging but, you never took it personally. You didn’t think it was intentional.

One afternoon in a freshman year math class, rumors were spreading around the school that you were dating some kid from the hockey team. The first thing that Chris said to you was “I fucking hate that kid.” You shrugged it off. You didn’t even know the guy but, it made you feel good that it made Chris jealous.

As you sat in the back of your English class or front row in Spanish, the teachers would ask repeatedly for you both to stop talking but, it never worked. Going into you senior year you felt like he knew everything about and you knew everything about him too.

Senior year felt different from the very first day. The cliques were changing, your group of friends got smaller and Chris started sitting with Nate.

You tried not to think too much of it, it’s not like the seat beside you was assigned to Chris but, you missed the jokes he made under his breath and the snacks that he snuck into class. Most of all, you missed him.

After 2 years you could finally admit to yourself that maybe you did like him… Really like him and maybe now he didn’t like you back.

The first semester came and went and you spent more time with Nick than you did with Chris. The gazes were few and far between and the jokes became crueler. Nick tried to convince you that it was because he had a crush on you but, you had a hard time believing that.

As your Senior Prom got closer and closer, you were beginning to think that no one would ask. A couple of your friends were going alone and you were happy to tag along. Who remembers their senior prom anyway? You, that’s who.

Matt has asked your friend Amelia and Nick was going with his latest fling - some boy called Jake from your home room. From what you’d heard, Chris hadn’t asked anyone nor was he planning to. He had announced one lunchtime that promposals were “stupid” and that prom itself was “fucking lame”. You didn’t know if he was trying to be the big man or if he actually believed what he was saying but, it made your heart sink a little.

After almost a year of not speaking more than 5 words to Chris at a time, he flagged you down in the hallway. Was he going to ask you to prom? Your heart started racing.

“Do you have those math notes?” he said casually.

Your heart dropped as you shook your heard. “Fuck” he responsed.

“Not you…” he clarified. “Oh yeah, I got that” you replied.

He stood there awkwardly for a second too long before he turned on his heels to walk away.

“Hey, are you not going to prom?” you blurted out, feeling stupid.

He turned back around slowed and leaned up against the locker. “I mean, I’ll probably go…” he started, “don’t wanna miss out on my James Bond moment.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He had a way about him that made you feel at ease. He was killing you. All you wanted was for him to pull out a poster in front of everyone in the hall and ask you to do your first and last senior prom.

“Well...” you started. “Did you wanna go?” he asked seemingly out of nowhere, “with me, I mean?”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks. “Oh. Yeah. Sure” you stammered. You could feel the goofiest smile spread across your face and tried your best to hide it. “Cool” was all he said before he walked away. 

On the day of the prom, Chris still hadn’t ‘promposed’ to you. You knew you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up but, you also knew that he knew how much that would have meant to you.

All of your friends were getting ready at your house blasting Taylor Swift as your mom helped everyone with their hair. You chose a light blue dress because you knew it was Chris’ favourite colour and found the perfect tie to match it.

As it got closer to 5 pm butterflies began to swarm in your stomach. This could be the start of something and you were not at all prepared for what that could be.

The doorbell rang 30 minutes later when the boys arrived. They had pulled up in a limo that was going to take you to the prom. Your friends rushed downstairs while you tried to tidy up a little. “Go have fun, sweetheart,” your Mom said as she admired you in your dress.

When you went downstairs, everyone had gone outside to take their pictures. Chris waiting for you, leaning against the balustrade. He turned around when he heard you coming down the stairs. He looked real fucking good in a tux. This was his James Bond moment.

His mouth hung open as he looked you up and down. You thought it was safe to assume that he liked your dress. As you stopped in front of him, you noticed that he was holding something behind his back.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly. “Hi,” he replied with a grin on his face.

He took a step back and pulled a cardboard sign out from behind him that read ‘BETTER LATE THAN NEVER… WILL YOU PLEASE GO TO THE PROM WITH ME?’ Very on brand for Christopher Sturniolo.

You couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you into a hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t do something more elaborate,” he said.

“This was perfect,” you laughed, “I didn’t need anything.” You meant that. You didn't need anything more than this but, your heart skipped a beat knowing that he did this for you. He did this because he knew it was important to you.

That reminded him that he has gotten you a corsage. He grabbed the corsage from the entry table and slid it onto your write.

“It matches the dress,” he observed. You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or congratulating himself. Probably the latter.

“Should we go outside?” you asked, keen to join the rest of the group.

“In a minute,” he said, checking to see no one was around.

You were confused. He had barely spoken to you for almost a year and now he wanted to have a conversation? Chaotic Chris was back at it again!

He folded his arms across his chest as he tried to figure out what he was going to say. You waited awkwardly hoping this moment would be over soon.

“Y/n…” he started. You waited... And waited.

“I don’t know how to say this…” he continued, “I think I’ve spent a lot of time confusing the heck out of myself and sending mixed signals and trying to figure out what’s going on in your heard… in my head…”

He was making no sense. He was driving a train of thought with no direction and you were beginning to think that he might never get to the point… Until he did.

“I have liked you since freshman year. I have spent years trying not to because you are one of my best friends and I don’t ever want to lose but, I really, really like you y/n and I just wanted you to know that” he said.

You were stunned. Shocked. He said everything that you wanted him to say and still, you didn’t know what to do. You hadn't planned for this part.

“It’s ok if you don’t…” before he could finish his sentence your lips were on his, your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist.

You were the first to pull away and gaze up into his eyes. “I hope that was ok” you asked.

His arms snaked around your waist as a smile spread across his face. He pulled you back in and planted another kiss on your lips. This time it felt like a couple reuniting after years and years apart. It felt natural and passionate and was more than you would have hoped it would be.

When you went out into the backyard hand in hand your best friends squealed in excitement. “Finally!” Nick said as he pulled you both into the picture.

Your Mom had always told you that ‘good things take time’ but, no amount of time could have prepared you for this.  

[bi-lavelent]

Lone wolf (Quinn fabray x fem-reader)

Warning: fluff, bullying, angst

My family was an immigrant family from Italy. My sister and me were the only American citizen in my family. We were also the only two who could speak English fluently. My dad was on a work visa from Germany and my mom was on a work visa from Italy.

I had always made it through school without being noticed. All I wanted to do was make it through the four years of high school. Living in Lima, Ohio is never easy. Especially when I didn’t have any friends. My home life wasn’t easy my family struggled a lot with money. We would live paycheck to paycheck. My mom had issues with what my father said was shopping. But it was really an addiction to drugs and drinking. I tried to never be a burden to anyone. I just tried making it out of high school which was never gonna happen I had several failed classes that I needed to catch up on and pass. I didn’t know if I would be making it out of fucking Lima Ohio. I didn’t even know if I wanted to graduate. There’s several jobs that don’t need me to graduate or my dad’s boss had dropped out of high school and made himself a million dollar business.

On the other hand my sister was a Cheerio. She was popular. She was dating a football player Matt Rutherford. She was friends with the unholy trinity although she was a year younger than them. They accepted her and treated her like a little sister. Her and Matt met last year when he was a freshman and she was an 8th grader. She was at cheerleading camp and performed at one of the games. She seemed to be the perfect kid straight A’s and just all together Straight. Unlike me who was a raging Lesbian loner with tattoos and piercings.

It was the first day of my senior year. As I got dressed in a leather crop top, a leather skirt and a heavy leather jacket. I ran across the hallway to wake up my sister. I sat on her bed and shook her.

“Hope! It’s time to wake up.” I told her

“Ugh… do I have too.” She pleaded

“Yes, come on we both are in the only two years of highschool that are good.” I replied “we have to leave in 30 minutes. I’m gonna run down the street to the convenient store and grab us some breakfast. Well you put your make up on.”

I ran down to the convenient store and picked us both up some donuts and got us some milk (choose whatever milk you like or change it if your lactose intolerant) I got myself a strawberry banana milk and my sister some chocolate. I went up to the counter to pay. I headed back to the car and went back home to grab my sister. She was already outside waiting for me. As I drove her to school we sang along to the radio. We had a twenty minute drive to school so we sang everything from AC/DCs Thunderstruck to Bon Jovi’s You give love a bad name. But as soon as we arrived at school she had me drop her off a block away so that she would not be seen with me. I drove into the senior lot almost hitting a couple of Jocks throwing kids into a dumpster.

I kept my head down all day like usual. Until I got cornered in the library by my Spanish teacher after school well I was studying. Well I was actually waiting for my sister. I was excepting that he wanted to talk to me about Spanish. But instead he showed me a video of me in middle school singing in my choir. He asked me if I would join his stupid glee club. I said no of course. Why would I join a stupid club let alone the glee club. I was walking out the school when I saw some kids in the choir room singing and what apparently they think is dancing. I stopped and stood there for a second before a girl with a really big smile waved at me. God I hated happy people I walked away and got in my car and drove a block away to pick my sister up.

“How was cheer practice?” I asked her

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t talk to losers like you.” She told me

“Okay, Lupa.” I said

“Verliererin”she said

(Translate) Lupa: Bitch (Italian)

Verliererin: Loser (German)

I got home and went to bed. There was no point in staying up the only thing that it would lead to is me getting yelled at but of course I still got yelled out.

Our mother came storming into my room at 1:00am screaming at me. “ (Nessuno ti amerà mai né si prenderà cura di te. Sei una puttana e una stronza, sei fortunato che lascio vivere a casa mia anche un frocio come te. So solo che sei facile da battere.) Nobody will ever love you or care about you. You’re a whore and a cunt you’re lucky I’m even letting a fag like you live in my home. I just know that you’re easy to beat.”

As she left my bedroom I heard her go upstairs and go to her room. I went upstairs and went out to my car I just went for a drive to see how far I could get. I didn’t stop driving til I got tired. At that point I had Passed the border I wasn’t sure what direction I was going in. But I had hit Michigan at some point a couple hours ago. It was way past the start of school but I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t get what my mom said out of my head. It hurt so much I knew that she didn’t like me but I did not think that she would say it to my face. I got a text from Matt saying that he had brought my sister to school.

I had stayed away for a couple days staying at a hotel. Well I was staying there one day I was exploring and I discovered that there was a good lesbian bar that was near by the hotel. I didn’t drink much but I met some people that were like me and it felt good for the first time in along time.

When I came back I drove into the senior lot I didn’t attend much of my classes I attended my history class and spent the rest of the time in the only place that I never get interrupted the auditorium. I don’t why but it was always the place that I felt the safest. I looked up when I heard talking I saw those group of kids from the choir room a football player. I think his name was Fish I have no clue I wasn’t paying attention when Matt introduced them to me and my sister. When they started singing I heard the happiness in their voice. It sounded like the really wanted to be there. I looked up to see Mr. Schue standing next to me also watching them. He said some shit I guess he was gonna leave (which wouldn’t be the worse thing) I don’t even think he knows Spanish.

Why was I so happy in that moment. Maybe it was cause I was seeing a group of kids who the world hadn’t damaged yet. Just having fun maybe I realized …

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 19

rated: t | wc: 1113 | prompt: Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” Steve gets sick of the kids constantly insulting his intelligence

The words were starting to really drain Steve. It was making him want to pull away, to isolate himself. To avoid the people he thought cared about him.

The thing is, he knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He'd never claimed to be a genius, to have anything on Dustin, or Robin, or Nancy when it came to intelligence, especially book smarts. His grades were never great, he passed and kept his grades at a level that allowed him to keep his place on the sports teams, but anything above a C on a report card was almost unheard of in any class other than PE. Then the whole college issue was a whole other beast, but he felt he should be allowed some grace there considering he'd been recovering from a severe concussion through the back half of his senior year. It took two weeks for him to return to school, and then was only attending for half days until winter break started.

But he wasn't stupid either. He'd managed to graduate on time despite the concussion in the last few months, only failing one class in the four years he was in high school, that being freshman Spanish. His memory when it came to something that interested him was second to none, able to recall baseball and basketball facts and statistics in an instant. He was good in the kitchen, able to remember recipes, and come up with new ones on the fly, always knowing what would work together, even being able to recreate recipes from something he'd eaten. His experience in first aid could probably rival that of an EMR, maybe even that of an EMT. He'd even taught himself how to fix things, he could do most of the repairs in the house that didn't involve electrics, and rarely needed anyone else to look at his car.

But it wasn't anything the kids were interested in, so they considered him stupid. They would throw jabs at Steve's intelligence because he'd failed to get into college, but then turn around and fawn over how smart Eddie was, him getting held back twice not mattering because he read Tolkein and played DnD. All of them execpt Lucas calling him a dumb jock any time he referenced a sports statistic or used a sports metaphor. He was half convinced they only called him dumb about that because they were projecting over not fully understanding what he was talking about. They acted like cooking wasn't a real skill, that he didn't have to do anything other than shove something in the oven and then put it on the table once it was done. Sometimes the boys, especially Mike, acted like it was women's work to be cooking, and that it was somehow demeaning to their masculinity to see Steve so at home in the kitchen. Any of his other skills were just treated as a given, as if they were something that everyone knew, even though the majority of the party wouldn't know where to start with treating even the most minor of injuries, or how to fix a leaky faucet, or how to troubleshoot what was making that noise in a car. Hell, he didn't think some of them would be able to change a light bulb or a tire even with direct step-by-step instruction.

It all exploded one day, the kids talking over each other about something Steve couldn't quite follow. Between the speed they were talking, how their voices blended together into an indistinguishable mumble and the topic just being something DnD related that Steve really wasn't interested in, it made it impossible for him to understand what they were talking about.

Lucas asked Steve's opinion on something as Dustin and Mike were starting to get heated in their disagreement. Steve asked for clarification, as he'd lost track of what, exactly, they were arguing about.

"Come on, this is why we don't ask Steve anything important. You know he's too dumb to understand." Mike sneered.

"You guys know that I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am, right?" Steve snapped, sick and tired of the way the kids would talk down to him, as if they perceived him as lesser.

"Sure you're not, Steve." Dustin replied, his tone condescending, as if he was speaking to a child much younger than him rather than a grown adult four years his senior.

"Just because I'm not some child prodigy genius doesn't make me stupid. I graduated on time with a head injury that made class really fucking difficult." Steve tried to keep his voice under control, but it was hard to keep his volume at a reasonable level.

"Anyone can graduate on time, it doesn't make them smart." Dustin said, still talking like he was explaining it to someone who had difficulty understanding anything.

"Munson didn't." Steve spat out. "And somehow you dipshits believe he's the smartest guy alive at times. He got held back twice, but apparently he's a genius because he plays that game you do."

"He's just smart in a different way."

"And I can't be?" Steve asked, his tone getting harsh. "Who figured out that the Russians were broadcasting their message from Starcourt? Or how about some stuff you guys don't understand? How do you put someone who's unconscious into the recovery position? How do you change the oil or a spark plug in a car? What is the correct way to prepare meat so there is no cross contamination?"

"Yeah, but none of that stuff is actually important." Mike replied.

"So you're telling me that DnD is more important than knowing how to take care of someone in a medical emergency? Or fixing a car? Or making sure you don't give someone food poisoning? I'm not stupid. But I know you guys will never see me as anything but stupid. As the dumb jock." Steve pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back his emotion. Not wanting to let it show how much it affected him.

"Steve, it's not like that. We didn't mean-" Dustin started, but Steve cut him off.

"No, it is like that. You genuinely think I'm stupid. Maybe I am. If I'm so stupid, I must be too dumb to be able to keep driving you everywhere, or to keep hosting your game whenever you want to use my house. But I guess you little geniuses are smart enough to figure that out." Steve turned and left the room. The kids could find their own way home, he was done letting them take advantage of his generosity when they wouldn't give him any respect.

[maribeilschmidt]

tercermundista argentlaia au

below the argentina tercer mundo au

Edit because i got more ideas and mai friend say I should stop thinking in spanish that im not making italy drunken if not almost dead

he goes to a public argentina school (in the interior of Argentina to make it worse 😊😊) Thats why he use that ugly uniform, ARE WE MAIDS OR SERVANTS OR WHATEVER, LITTERALY ALL PUBLIC UNIFORMS LOOKS LIKE THAT

He wanted to choose arts or social studies as a modality in 8th grade but he didnt pass all the assignments and there were no vacancies in arts n social studies, so he had to chose natural sciences/stem with the nerds (Germany n japan)

He almost had to repeat the year, but Germany taught him EVERYTHING by February, but the stupif idiot failed PE and he has to re-take the exam in June

On the first day (aka UPD in arg) of his senior year he got like 2 liters of alcohol on his blood, but he went to school to attend to see Germany and Japan as flag bearers

He will go drunken and say stupid things all day with Germany just wanting to shut up, prob fell asleep at last course and Germanay will take his home

If germany and italy were dating at that time that night italy would have cheated on him like more than 6 TIMES

Also his BRC would say he doesnt care abt cheating in Bariloche lmao

He wears pajamas and wears Crocs in the summer, it's surprising that no one has told him anything about his clothing

IN THE 7TH GRADE THEIR CLASS ANTHEM WAS THE MAROLIO COMMERCIAL, AND THEY SANG IT AT RECESS

Plz Germany wanted to go to a boys polytechnic school but They thought he would end up gay and there was no money so they sent him to a public school

[leftistfeminista]

In the aftermath of the coup against Evo Morales, former members of his government we held as political prisoners-

Lorgia Fuentes, tortured and chained by the Añez regime

Lorgia Fuentes, victim of the coup d'état, questioned this Tuesday that the former de facto president, Jeanine Áñez, asserts that her rights are violated, when she does not suffer torture and access to health is respected.  

Fuentes was tortured during the Áñez regime and chained to a hospital stretcher when she was in poor health. She was accused without evidence of having links with former authorities of the Evo Morales government, for which she was deprived of liberty at the Obrajes Women's Orientation Center in La Paz.

On that occasion, the Spanish journalist Alejandro Entrambasaguas joined the process against Fuentes to present alleged evidence to the Public Ministry and accuse her of illicit enrichment; However, he failed to prove what was reported and did not respond to calls to give informative statements on the case to date.

“I have suffered a cerebrovascular accident and four months later, on January 15, I was electrocuted by Mrs. Áñez's Government. On January 21, Entrambasaguas went out in search of me, but he did not find me; On January 25, Mrs. Áñez announced her intention to be a candidate for the Presidency and a few days later, as the press already knows, she arrested me, I went to jail, there was no mercy for me, there was no justice," she said in interview with Bolivia TV.

Fuentes assured that during the regime his family suffered harassment and that he even received warnings that his six-year-old son was going to be disappeared.

“No one is electrocuting Ms. Áñez like me, no one has her chained like I was; but, above all, Mrs. Áñez is not being deprived of what is the right to health, in addition to the fact that she was not sick, she does not have an underlying illness like I have had, a cerebrovascular infarction, which she had its immediate sequence or its second cerebrovascular infarction the day they electrocuted me, because they electrocuted me until I had convulsions,” Fuentes lamented.  

Lorgia Fuentes, who was prosecuted and detained in 2020 due to information disseminated by the Spanish journalist Alejandro Entrambasaguas, questioned the media's handling of her case at that time. She described the situation as “embarrassing media orgies.” 

In a text sent to this medium, Fuentes recalled that in February 2020, information was disseminated that Entrambasaguas had presented evidence against him to the Prosecutor's Office.

Then, Entrambasaguas stated that he had an audio recording in which it was heard that Lorgia Fuentes had installed a closed circuit of video surveillance cameras in a home, with which orgies of senior officials of Evo Morales' government had been recorded.

Fuentes considered what happened in February 2020 as a “sexist media show,” because she was also presented as the “alleged lover” of former minister Carlos Romero.

He questioned that the recordings referred to by the Spanish journalist had not been offered and that it had not been mentioned that Entrambasaguas left Bolivia that same day.

Fuentes considered that in that case there was “gigantic coverage forced from above in the Bolivian media, which with little self-esteem and shamefully lowering their eyes had to follow the flow of the tabloid licentiousness of expression.”

“The circus is gone. "Bolivia is slow, but little by little it is returning to normal relations, which, despite the internal political fights, still maintain certain values, limits and modesty," says the text signed by Fuentes.

“I was a political prisoner throughout the Áñez government. They set up a case using a supposedly investigative journalist, the Spaniard Alejandro Entrambasaguas, who has done terrorist work, linking me to contracts with the Chinese government and being a close friend of former minister Carlos Romero,” she recalled.At that time, the pseudo journalist Entrambasaguas acted with impunity in the country under the protection of Arturo Murillo, Minister of Government of the de facto regime, in order to incriminate former authorities linked to the Movement Towards Socialism (MAS).

In this particular case, she boasted of having conclusive evidence to prosecute Fuentes for the crime of illicit enrichment and of being Romero's alleged lover, documents that she never showed but that were used by the Prosecutor's Office to imprison her.

Chained to a hospital bed, she remained there for several days by direct order of former Minister Murillo before being transferred to the Obrajes prison.“I have been chained, apart from being chained I was tortured when I had to be fed with a tube, that is how I was treated all that time. Now I ask for justice, there are many who say it is revenge, it is not revenge, it is justice, because many families were affected and tortured by the Áñez government,” Fuentes demanded.

Rightwing media attempted to spread lies about the identity of the woman in chains, to which she responded to on Twitter in 2022.

A certain Hernán Terrazas lies, claiming that the photo of a chained woman "belongs to another country." Which one? Chávez's Venezuela? Communist Cuba? Or Evo's Bolivia? Nope, the photo is mine, from February 2020 during the presidency of a woman, @JeanineAnez. So, now was it a coup now?

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 19 - We Built This City

IN THIS CHAPTER: Finals week, a friendly invitation, and the Hellfire Class of 86' takes a bow [7.6k]

WARNINGS: vague foreshadowing, mentions of fantasy violence? they play dnd, it's not real (again, taking the liberty of making them play 5e because i wasn't about to learn advanced dnd for this when i already play 5e)

A/N: whew! didn't think i'd ever get to finish this one lol. huge HUGE shout out to @gutterratt, who not only is a wonderful friend i was hugging and sharing the same air with just a few days ago, but also my dm (the best dm in the world, don't @ me). this chapter would have been impossible without your guidance, knowledge, and support. thank you for teaching me to dm through eddie. also shout out to brian murphy and NADDPOD for the inspiration for this chapter! check them out on spotify if you like dnd podcasts, they deserve all the love they get. onto the update!

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

We just want to dance here Someone stole the stage They call us irresponsible Write us off the page

Wednesday, May 28th - 1986

Finals week in Hawkins High was going pretty well or terribly wrong depending on who you asked. On Monday, freshman Cindy Jackson had come out of her Geography classroom sobbing, claiming that she had flunked the entire test and her GPA was going to fall drastically below average. Dustin and Mike had simply stepped around her in the hallway and headed to the parking lot to get their bikes without sparing a single thought for her. Eddie couldn’t believe how calm he felt whenever he sat down at his desk and a new test was placed in front of him. By the time Wednesday lunch period was upon them, he had already taken four of his six final exams, Dottie had taken five of her nine, and band practice had been suspended so everyone could study for tomorrow’s new round of tests, or in Eddie’s case, put the finishing touches to their upcoming D&D Friday session.

So far, their plan to stick to each other and not walk around the school alone like sitting ducks for the bullies had been working. Dottie only shared one class with Andy Humphrey, and it seemed that her threat to rat him out to their teacher had worked because no one in the basketball team had bothered them since then. At least, not any more than the usual jeers and disgusted glances they so often directed to her friends in Hellfire. Eddie had been keeping a low profile for the past couple of months, his entire thought process having been claimed by his ever growing crush on a certain short curly-haired girl; his frequent tirades in the cafeteria had been reduced to only one loud proclamation in the hallways every couple of weeks, and to be completely honest, no one cared about him or his unconventional opinions so close to the end of the school year, so him suddenly turning into a wallflower hadn’t really been noteworthy to his peers. Everyone just simply assumed that he was stressed about failing senior year for the third time in a row and left him alone to his devices.

When the group compared schedules on Monday and saw that Dottie was going to be headed to the same lecture as Andy three times that week, it was quickly decided that Donny would be her guardian since his Italian lessons were at the same time she’d be taking AP Spanish in the classroom opposite of his. Dustin and Mike were to be inseparable, and when they had different schedules, Mike was supposed to shadow Nancy as much as he could while Dustin stuck to Jeff on their way to the east wing for their respective classes. Eddie watched over Dottie like a hawk during their shared free periods, going so far as to stand outside the girls’ bathroom while she went about her private business in case any idiot got strange ideas about cornering her in a place where she was supposed to be safe. Ms. Kelly had looked very surprised to see all six boys waiting for Dottie to come out of their latest check-in session; it was strange to see how subdued they had all gotten in recent months and she knew it had everything to do with the sunshine girl that happily linked arms with the freshmen, Dustin excitedly skipping alongside her down the hallway while Mike dragged his feet next to them in protest.

It was, perhaps, that false sense of security that had her approaching the basketball team’s table after students had begun trickling out of the cafeteria, surely headed to their last classes of the day. Donny was supposed to safeguard her on their way to her second AP Spanish class of the week, but he had asked her to please wait for him near the teachers while he excused himself to the bathroom and promptly left her alone. When Dottie realized Andy wasn’t seated at the jock-filled table but one Lucas Sinclair was, she quickly forgot about her friends’ insistent requests to “lay low” until the school year was over and headed towards him without a second thought entering her mind. She stopped right in front of the freshman who eyed her curiously, brows raised in an unspoken question.

“Hi! You’re Lucas, right?” Dottie said, smiling brightly.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Lucas.”

“Nice to meet you! Would you mind giving these to Erica for me, please?” she extended her closed fist towards him and he instinctively held his palm open for her. Two pieces of shiny plastic hit his skin softly; he recognized them as part of his old dice set, the one he assumed had been gathering dust tucked away in his bedroom. “I must have accidentally taken them with me a couple of weeks ago - I would give them to her myself but I won’t see her until Friday and it’d suck if she bought a new set because she thought she lost these.”

“Yeah, that would really suck,” he chuckled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat knowing his new friends were watching the uncommon interaction unfold. “I’ll give them to her for you, don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you so much! Here, for your troubles,” she gave him a pack of Smarties as payment in kind. “See you around!”

“Thanks,” he managed to mutter before she bolted out of the room and into the hallway in search of Donny.

Lucas stared at the candy bag in his hand next to one d20 and one d4 that had belonged to him a couple of months before. They were black with gold numbers that he’d repainted himself with one of Will’s thinnest brushes, trying his hardest to cover the tacky white underneath. He hadn’t opened his D&D box in a while, the hard plastic container hidden away underneath his bed and pushed all the way back until it touched the wall. He’d yell at Erica for touching and stealing his things, but that would have meant admitting that he still cared about the part of him he’d been trying so hard to deny lately and he couldn’t allow himself to fail like that. Lucas was tired of being the bigger man; let his former friends apologize to him for once. Though, as days went on, he was starting to realize that maybe they would never come back at all.

“How do you know that chick?” asked Chance, one of his seniors.

“I don’t,” Lucas replied quickly. “I don’t have classes with her.”

“She’s a senior,” Patrick said. “I’m with her in English. She always sits with that Munson freak.”

“What does she want with you? Who’s Erica?”

“Erica, she’s my little sister. She wanted to return some dice to her, I think they are in a club together, I don’t know,” Lucas said, but he did know. He’d noticed Dottie sitting at lunch with his club members, he’d seen her wearing the same Hellfire shirt he owned, he’d heard Erica talk about her to their Mom. Lucas Sinclair knew exactly who Dorothy Burke was.

“Isn’t your sister like… eight?” Chance laughed.

“Eleven,” the freshman corrected him, but that seemed to peak Jason Carver, the basketball team’s captain’s attention.

“Your little sister is hanging out with those… freaks?” Jason asked, eyebrows bunching together.

“They play board games together, it’s so dumb-”

“She shouldn’t be around them, she’s just a kid. Who knows what they could do to her if… They aren’t good people, they- they could hurt her,” the captain said, tone stern.

“She’ll be fine, they’re just a bunch of nerds-”

“Lucas,” Jason insisted. “You’re a good friend and a good teammate to us. I’m sure you’re a good son to your parents too, but you have to be good to her as well. That’s your duty as her older brother.”

“Yeah, I-” he quickly put away the dice and Smarties in his pocket and nodded. “You’re right, I’ll talk to her about it.”

“You make sure you do that, okay? Take care of her,” the senior said, patting his shoulder in a friendly way and getting up. “Come on, guys, let’s go to class.”

Lucas walked behind his teammates until he reached his classroom and unassumingly disappeared from the group. He took his seat at the back and noticed Mike and Dustin sitting at the front, bickering with one another as usual. Bitterly, he recalled switching seats with the girl who now sat next to Dustin after Spring Break. Jason wasn’t being mean with his warning, he knew that. His captain had siblings too, he knew what being a big brother meant and he extended that same level of protectiveness towards his friends and younger members of the team. Lucas felt grateful that Jason, the current King of Hawkins High, was so willing to look out for not only him, but Erica too, if only because she was related to him. But when Mike snorted loudly at something Dustin had said, he couldn’t help but think that there weren’t people on Earth he would trust more to take care of Erica when he couldn’t watch her than Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson. And perhaps Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley too, but they didn’t have to know that, lest their egos got even bigger than they already were.

Friday, May 30th - 1986

The last day of finals week came towards them at neck breaking speed, causing Eddie and Dottie to stick to each other like velcro during the final three hours of the day. During third period, he’d had his Latin exam and she sat with him during every available second prior to it quizzing him on his vocab. After that, they both had had their Calc final, where they sat side by side suffering through it all together. He’d finished before her and quickly returned to his seat, noticing how her nerves seemed to be heightened every time someone got up and was granted permission to head to the cafeteria early. He slipped one of his rings off and slid it across the table until it bumped with her eraser; she smiled, thankful, and put it on her index finger to twirl with her left thumb while she concentrated on the numbers in front of her. After that came lunch and everyone was positively buzzing. Most of the student body had already finished all their exams and there was a sense of freedom in the air, a shared joy that couldn’t enter Dottie’s brain yet as she frantically reviewed her AP Spanish notes for her ninth final exam of the week. One look at her tired, wet eyes after someone had shouted a little bit too loud, and Eddie pulled her out of the room and into the back of his van where she could finally breathe and concentrate on reading her own writing before the bell rang.

After exams were finally over, Eddie headed to the woods to wait for Chrissy who had asked him if she could buy a rather unusual amount of weed considering her casual habits, and Dottie seeked refuge in The Weekly Streak’s newsroom until it was time for Hellfire to begin. She was helping Fred put together a mockup for a story he wanted to present to Nancy the next week when the editor-in-chief herself asked her if she wanted to go to the bathroom. Dottie, being well-versed in girl language, accepted without complaint and followed the blue-eyed girl into the nearest bathroom where she immediately began washing her hands in an attempt to hide the fact that she was so very much nervous about whatever she was about to say.

“Nance? Is everything okay?” Dottie asked, eyeing her carefully.

“Yeah- yes, everything’s okay. I just… I wanted you to know since you were the one that said I should just go for it so… I called Jonathan.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised that she was getting an update on the topic at all.

“We talked and he says he understands that I’m upset. We didn’t break up but we’re going to take a break, officially this time,” Nancy shut off the water tap and stepped to the side to wipe her hands dry with coarse paper towels.

“Well, how do you feel about that?”

“Good, I think. He says he has a job now, and he’ll go full-time for the summer after graduation so he might be able to save up some money to come see me,” she smiled, hope swimming behind her eyes.

“That’s great, Nancy!” Dottie said, giving a big hug to her friend. Nancy went stiff at first but after a second, she breathed out and hugged her back. “I’m so proud of you, I know that was probably a really hard conversation for you both.”

“It was but… I feel better now. I want to trust him again, and we agree that maybe this will help us get there.”

“So you’re still off the market then? Asking for a friend that’s totally not Fred,” Dottie joked, and Nancy let out a girly giggle that surprised the both of them.

“Off the market, and out of his league,” the editor-in-chief said, playfully stern.

“Oh my god, Nance!” she let out a loud snort that sent Nancy into a fit.

It felt good to laugh like this, to shoulder a silly burden together, to foster a new friendship and be vulnerable with one another. Growing up hadn’t been easy for either girl in wildly different ways, but the summer of ‘86 was right ahead of them and promised greener pastures if one could get the courage to take the first step outside. Nancy hadn’t let herself have a friend for so long. It had been easy with Jonathan - shared trauma bonds you like nothing else in the world after all - but it was undeniable that a part of her had died that day when Barb went missing. Even though Dottie wasn’t Barb, Nancy could feel like Nancy again right that moment, in that bathroom, hiding from their nosy journalist-aspiring colleagues and the junior that kept following her around like a lovesick puppy. She felt herself breathe a little bit easier almost a full year after the nightmare that still woke her up in the middle of night, prompting her to double check the guns she had stashed in the topmost part of her closet so her little sister Holly could never find them by accident.

The door to the bathroom opened and a group of cheerleaders came in, fussing over their makeup and hair before practice began. They were chatting excitedly about an upcoming party, and Nancy and Dottie moved aside to let them get access to the mirrors. They were about to leave when another girl pushed the door open in a frenzy; a slightly out of breath Chrissy Cunningham ran inside in haste.

“Where were you?!” shouted Melissa, rounding on her as soon as the door had slammed itself shut.

“I got held up by a teacher, calm down,” Chrissy lied seamlessly, but her glossy eyes were a dead giveaway to anyone that had spent any significant amount of time with the elder Hellfire members. “What are we talking about?”

“Your boyfriend’s party. What are you gonna wear?” Kathleen asked, putting away her lip gloss.

“Are we allowed to go?” Libby asked, eyes hopeful. Standing next to her was another junior tumbler, Valerie, who was downright pouting at their captain.

“Of course you are!” Chrissy said, taking full advantage of the fact that Jason would never complain about her inviting her younger cheerleader friends if she pouted at him a little. “Everyone is invited. Are you two coming too?”

It took a few milliseconds for Dottie to register that Chrissy was talking to Nancy and her, and she only realized because Nancy quickly put on a friendly smile and shook her head, a quick excuse on her lips.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I already told my Mom I would babysit my sister. It’s their date night and I’d hate it if they had to cancel,” she said, and Dottie knew she was lying because her eyebrows bunched upwards in the very familiar way they bunched whenever she lied to other people in the school’s newspaper about how great their ideas were.

“Aw, they still go on dates, that’s so cute,” Valerie said, ever the romantic.

“What about you, Dot? Are you coming?” Chrissy asked, ignoring the way her friends looked at her like she was inviting a rabid dog inside for dinner.

“Uh, I- I wasn’t aware there was gonna be a party.”

“It’s tomorrow night at my boyfriend’s house but I’m organizing it so it’s honestly my party,” she giggled, and Dottie swore she’d heard Gareth make that same sound whenever he was high. “We’re saying goodbye to senior year! I just told Eddie you were all invited, you should totally come.”

“You did what?” Melissa asked and Kathleen scoffed.

“It’s our last senior year party. All seniors can come,” Chrissy said in a tone that left no questions to be asked before she turned back to Dottie. “It’s gonna be really fun, we can probably convince Jason to let us play Queen at some point! Please think about it at least? For me?”

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll think about it. For you,” Dottie smiled, and Chrissy grinned.

“We should go now,” Nancy said, interrupting the awkward tension. “Lots of newspaper club things to do.”

“Oh, sure! We’ll see you around!”

Nancy guided Dottie out with a hand on her elbow; Chrissy and Valerie were the only ones that waved them goodbye. Just before the door closed, Melissa snarled “You invited the freaks? What’s wrong with you?” but they never heard what Chrissy replied. They made their way back to the newspaper club’s room in silence, each of them deep in their own thoughts. Nancy realized that she hadn’t been to a party since she’d broken up with Steve, her ex before she’d started dating Jonathan. Had it really been that long? It seemed like it had been ages since the last time Nancy tried to act like she was a normal teenager, like she didn’t need to keep a light on while she slept, scared of the shadows in the corner of her own bedroom. Like she didn’t have sleeping pills issued by a military doctor that she refused to take hidden inside a pair of old sneakers. Nancy would never be the same Nancy she was before November 8th, 1983, but she had to try.

“We should go,” she said, Dottie’s head snapping up from the papers in front of her. “To Chrissy’s party.”

“You wanna go?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“O-okay! I can ask my Dad to take us if you want,” Dottie offered.

“I drive, I can pick you up if you want.”

“Sure, if that’s better for you. Thank you!” the brown eyed girl smiled. “I actually haven’t been to any parties since senior year began.”

“We better make this one count then,” Nancy said, and went back to work with a timid but happy expression on her face.

Dottie tried really hard not to grin, but the thought of not only being invited to her first high school party in Hawkins, but also going with her newest friend and possibly her Hellfire gang made her impossibly giddy. Senior year had certainly sucked royal ass when it began, but it was definitely ending with a bang, not a whimper.

As Eddie ticked final after final on his list, he had allowed himself to think that he would be DMing his last session as the leader of the Hellfire Club that Friday. He had carefully crafted an emotional ending to the adventure they were currently on, and hoped his players would be on board to having a less action packed meeting than usual. They were, after all, not only saying goodbye to him as a leader, but also Jeff, Gareth, Donny, and Dottie. When classes started again in September, Mike and Dustin would be sophomores and the club would be in their hands, new sheep ready to be recruited walking down the hallways of Hawkins High.

The session had started, as usual, with a recap of the previous session's shenanigans. After finding out that their dead mutual friend Orfuel wasn’t, in fact, dead but instead trapped within Shadowfell, the party quickly realized what their next move was: to embark on a journey towards the Forest of Moonstone where Jeff’s character Tharivol had grown up and lived in, all in search for guidance and help of his elders. Orfuel’s partner in crime and girlfriend, Dedlock, had sacrificed him to Mask, the Lord of the Shadows, and was being kept in his divine realm inside Shadowfell - a castle known as the Shadow Keep. Dedlock wanted to rise above the ranks in the church of Mask, and this worthy act of manipulation was going to give her entry into the Circle of the Gray Ribbon, which is where his most loyal priests belonged.

The table was buzzing in excitement as they traveled through Eddie’s carefully crafted world in what would be their last time exploring it. They took their time on their way over to Moonstone, Eddie forcing them into lengthy conversations around a campfire, sharing stories about Orfuel and how they’d become such good friends with him that they were all willing to cross planes of existence to get him back in their lives. They attuned weapons and readied spells, and got a long rest in before the final challenge of the campaign finally arrived. Upon arrival to the Forest of Moonstone, they immediately seeked an audience with the druid that had taught Tharivol everything he knew. The slender elf advised them against their plan; they simply weren’t powerful enough to face the dangers of Shadowfell at this point in time. Instead, he proposed a different alternative.

The next steps were quite easy. They would wait until the new moon, which was, coincidentally, that same night. They’d hold a ritual to open a portal between the planes and bring back Orfuel from the terrible place he had been banished to. The eldest, most powerful cleric from the Circle, a halfling cleric named Portia, would guide them through the ritual, and they’d all have to contribute, each in their own time whenever Eddie prompted them to act. Between conversations and preparations, it was getting late, and so Eddie proposed a little bathroom break before the ritual began, which the boys accepted gratefully, cans of soda littering the table. Dottie inched her chair towards him, voice low like she was about to tell him a secret.

“So,” she began.

“So,” he said, curiosity piqued.

“I talked to Chrissy today and she invited me to a party.”

“Did she now?”

“Nancy and I are going.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t know you were interested in that.”

“I’m not but Nancy asked me to and I dunno, it could be fun. Our last senior year party,” Dottie said in a dramatic tone. “You’re going too, right? Chrissy said she invited you and the guys.”

“She did, but I-” he scratched his neck. “I’m gonna be honest with you, darling, I don’t really like those parties very much. I go to them, I sell a few ounces, and then we go to Jeff’s for a movie night.”

“But Chrissy wants us there, she said that all seniors should go. Please, Ed?” she pleaded, eyes rounded with weaponized innocence. “I like hanging out with Nancy but I’d feel so much better about going if I knew you were gonna be there too.”

Eddie sighed. I am so whipped for her and she knows it, he thought before turning to their other friends who were refilling the snack bowls while the freshmen got more sodas.

“Gentlemen!” he called, making Gareth, Jeff, and Donny look at him. “Princess here has a request.”

“What’s up?” Donny asked, sliding into his seat next to hers.

“Nancy and I are going to Chrissy’s party tomorrow night. I want you guys to go with us too,” she said, and the boys instantly laughed.

“Dot, we can’t go to Jason Carver’s house,” Gareth said between chuckles. “He hates us.”

“And also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one invites the freaks to parties,” Jeff added.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. The party is at Carver’s house, yes, but-” Eddie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of scrap paper with girly writing on it. “-Chrissy Cunningham is planning it. We got an invite this time, fellow weirdos.”

“Chrissy invited you to her party?” Gareth asked in disbelief.

“I believe she invited us all.”

“She did,” Dottie said. “She told me she told Eddie to tell you we were all invited.”

“Those are too many uses of the verb to tell in one sentence,” Donny said, poking fun at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. Chrissy Cunningham, the Uncrowned Queen of Hawkins High, invited all of us to her party? And you’re actually going? With Nancy Wheeler of all people?” Gareth’s eyes were wide open.

“How much of a discount have you been giving her?” Jeff joked, implying something less illegal than simply selling her weed, but also dirtier was going on between them.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie threw a ball of paper at his head. “She’s a friend, and she invited Dottie too. In person, not through me.”

“Yeah, Nancy and I ran into her in the bathroom and she told us to come.”

“What is it with girls and bathrooms?” Gareth looked at Donny, the only other one at the table who had sisters. He shrugged in response.

“So? Are we all going? If it sucks we can leave, but I just thought it’d be fun to, y’know, do something different for once,” Dottie said with a hopeful smile.

“Okay, I’m in,” Donny announced.

“Dude!” Jeff and Gareth looked at him like he had betrayed them.

“Oh, come on! It’s now or never, we’re never gonna see these assholes again after graduation. And you know those rich kids always have so much beer at their parties. Are you really gonna say no to free booze?”

“Okay, when you put it like that…,” Gareth conceded. “I’ll go if we all go.”

“Ditto,” said Jeff.

“Guess we’re going to Jason Carver’s house tomorrow night, boys,” Eddie said, reluctantly.

“It’s gonna be awesome, you’ll see,” said Dottie, right as Dustin, Mike, and Erica rejoined the group and settled for the next part of the adventure.

“If everyone’s ready,” Dustin looked around the table at his friends after a lengthy discussion. “-we go to the clearing.”

“You come into the clearing right before midnight and you see everyone sitting on the grass, making a big circle around a huge oak tree. This is where Tharivol’s Circle prays to Silvanus, The Oak Father, the God of Wild Nature. You can feel energy underneath your feet, coming up your legs and into your chest as you approach everyone else. This place is sacred, and the people here are willing to help you rescue your innocent friend. Do not take their kindness for granted,” Eddie narrated, solemn voice ringing through the tension in the room. “Portia is standing next to the base of the tree in beautiful, shiny robes, her long silver hair blowing in the breeze. She beckons you to come closer.”

“We go to her,” Erica said, firmly.

“The old halfling lady instructs you to sit at her feet where the tree’s roots come out of the dirt. She looks at her Circle and begins her speech,” Eddie held his head high as he embodied Portia with a mystic drawl. “Children of Silvanus. We are gathered here tonight to help our very own Tharivol and his allies restore order and balance to where chaos and injustice has spread. Pray with us. Let Silvanus help them return a lost friend home,” in his normal voice, Eddie continued. “Portia turns around and with her staff, she draws a line into the earth where the portal will appear, if, and only if you succeed.”

“Hang on, Portia is opening a portal?” Jeff said, holding in a chuckle.

“Portia the Portal Lady,” Dustin muttered, and Mike next to him snorted loudly.

“You’re killing the fuckin’ mood,” Gareth complained, kicking Jeff who sat opposite him.

“Moving on, please,” Erica rolled her eyes and motioned at Eddie to continue. He bowed his head in acknowledgement and carried on with his narration.

“Portia starts praying loudly in a language you don’t quite understand. At first, you think she might be praying in Elven but you quickly realize she’s praying in Sylvan, the language of the fey,” Eddie said, tense silence falling over the room once again. “Tharivol,” he looked at Jeff. “You recognize a few words and it sounds like she’s requesting access to a kingdom, to a place called Shadowfell. She’s asking the Raven Queen for help in rectifying a wrong that has happened within her realm. I want you all to tell me what you do to help Portia during the ritual.”

“What’s everyone else doing?” asked Jeff.

“They are still sitting in a circle while they pray.”

“I’m gonna pray to Silvanus too then.”

“Go ahead. Let me hear what you say to him.”

“Oh, Silvanus, God of Wild Nature, Old Father Tree,” Jeff began, in character as Tharivol with his head bowed, eyes closed and hands clasped above the table. “Orfuel saved my life once. Let me return the favor. Let me repay the kindness he showed me by righting what is wrong in his name. Let him come home to us. Let him live long and prosper.”

“Damn,” said Gareth under his breath. It was showtime at the Hellfire Club, and everyone was taking it seriously.

“I’m gonna pray to Moradin for assistance,” Erica said as Boldhild. “I’m gonna invoke my Oath, and say: Fight the Greater Evil. No Mercy for the Wicked. By Any Means Necessary. Retribution. I honor these values today, and tomorrow. In your name, Moradin, the All-Father.”

“I’ll pray too,” Dottie joined them as Holly. “I’m going to lay down my quarterstaff, my symbol of Lathander touching the earth, and I’m gonna call out to him for help like they did.”

“You can do better than that, darling,” Eddie crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them. “Show me how you commune with your god.”

“O-okay,” she said, attributing her nerves to the expectation of performing an impromptu prayer in front of everyone and definitely not because of the sultry voice Eddie was talking to her with. She bowed her head and began praying. “Lathander, I come to you as a child of the light to ask you for aid in a time of need. My siblings in arms are asking Silvanus and Moradin to come together and help, but I fear their calls might go unanswered. Morninglord, I beg of you, take pity on us. Take pity on Orfuel, who has been banished to the plane of shadows. Take pity on those who cannot walk in your light like we do every new dawn, and please let us be joyous when the morning comes.”

There was the sense in the room that this wasn’t just a regular end of a campaign. They could feel it in the way Eddie had guided the session so far: minimal combat, heavy on the roleplay, distinctively interested in character growth. He was gearing up to something, and from the looks of it, it was going to be something big. With the understanding of a party that trusts their DM to bring a satisfying story to life, they gave themselves to him freely and wholeheartedly. This wasn’t just the end of an adventure. This was the end of Eddie’s reign as the leader of the Hellfire Club and he deserved a proper farewell.

“I-,” said Mike, gearing up to join his friends in the ritual as Mozikith. “I don’t think I can pray to Asmodeus for help, I mean… Doesn’t really feel right. So I’m gonna give Silvanus an offering instead.”

“What kind of offering do you wish to give him?” asked Eddie.

“Uh, a blood offering? My own blood.”

“No!” cried Jeff. “Offerings to Silvanus can’t be blood sacrifices. You have to destroy something made out of wood or wooden materials and bury it.”

“Okay, well, uh- Do I even own something made out of wood?” Mike wondered aloud as he looked down at his inventory notes.

“You have your staff,” Dustin suggested in a sheepish tone.

“Can… Can I break my staff and still keep my arcane stone?” he looked at his DM.

“I’ll allow it but you can’t cast spells simply holding the stone. You either get a new staff or do something with it, like put it inside a locket,” warned Eddie.

“It’s fine. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” Mike reasoned. “I’m gonna break my staff in two and bury it under where the portal is supposed to be created.”

“Me too,” said Gareth, making Despair join the sacrifice. “I’m gonna add my javelins to his pile.”

“How many?”

“All four of them.”

“Very well,” Eddie smiled. “Anyone else has something they’d like to add?”

“I want to offer something to the Raven Queen in exchange for her to let us through,” said Dustin as Seebo.

“Oh?”

“She collects trinkets, right?”

“That she does, Seebo. What do you have to offer to her?” Eddie leaned forward. “It has to be something interesting, remember, she doesn’t exactly care too much about cheap junk.”

“I want to offer her my father’s ring.”

A few sharp gasps could be heard as Dustin held Eddie’s eyes as if he was challenging him to say no. Everyone at the table knew what that ring meant to Dustin’s character. The heavy brass ring was all he had to remember his parents by after a war had left him and his ten younger siblings as orphans, begging on the streets for a small mercy until Orfuel taught him to run petty scams and pickpocket. At first he’d been reluctant but he had ten mouths to feed and couldn’t afford to pity those who had so much more than he did. Dustin placed a tacky ring he’d gotten at a yard sale in the middle of the table. Trust him to always keep props on his body for D&D related purposes.

“Okay, I’ll take it. Let’s see if she does too,” Eddie accepted his token.

“I’ll offer her a memory,” added Donny as Odorr. “I know she collects those too.”

“Which memory are you offering to the Raven Queen, dearest Odorr?”

“I want to give to her the night I burned down my village. That’s why I was a hermit until Orfuel found me,” he turned to the table to explain. “I was exiled as a kid because I couldn’t control my Wild Magic and set a barn on fire. It spread to the rest of the village so they said I was a danger and casted me out.”

“Shit,” Erica said, impressed that he’d kept his origin secret for so long. “Did you kill someone or what?”

“No, but I hurt a lot of people. It’s in the past now.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Dottie told him sincerely. Odorr had been her first friend on the campaign, and she cared for him like he was a real person. Donny squeezed her hand as a thank you.

“Okay, are we ready to proceed? Good. Since everyone has played their part in the ritual, I’ll explain how this is going to work,” Eddie brought them back to the game. “I’m gonna ask Tharivol to make an Arcana check, with advantage. To that you’re gonna add 1d6 of Inspiration for each member of your party, so that’s 6d6.”

“Can I roll Religion instead of Arcana? Since I’m praying to Silvanus,” Jeff bargained.

“Sure. Roll in front of everyone.”

Jeff grabbed 2d20 and breathed deeply, calming his nerves. He shook the dice in his hands, letting them fall to the tabletop, the two green and gold flecked pieces of plastic glinting in the moody lighting Eddie had set for the evening.

“18 and 19,” he announced.

“I’m guessing we’re starting with 19. Mozikith, if you will,” Eddie prompted Mike to start the inspiration dice rolls.

“Wait!” Dottie interrupted. “I want to cast Guidance on Tharivol.”

“Remind me again what that does, princess?”

“You touch one willing creature. Once before the spell ends, the target can roll a d4 and add the number rolled to one ability check of its choice. It can roll the die before or after making the ability check. The spell then ends,” she read with a smile. “You told me the other day that I always use the same two cantrips so I’m using a new one today.”

“I need to stop teaching you things if you’re gonna use them against me,” Eddie grumbled, but deep down was proud that she listened to his advice so intently. “Fine, Tharivol, add a d4.”

“Thank you,” Jeff said to Dottie and rolled. “2.”

“We’re at 21. Mozikith, please.”

“Shit,” Mike said. “That’s a 2.”

“We’re at 23. Seebo, your turn.”

“Fuck. Sorry guys, that’s gonna be a one,” Dustin mumbled angrily.

“Tough start. We’re at 24. Boldhild?”

“Four!” Erica cheered.

“We go up to 28! Despair, you go.”

“Please, please, please,” Gareth whispered. “SIX!”

“34! Odorr’s turn now.”

“Fuck yeah! That’s a six!” Donny punched the air excitedly. Everyone started becoming antsy but hopeful.

“We’re at 38. Holly, please.”

“Four?” Dottie said, timidly.

“That brings us to 42. Everyone in the clearing starts humming as Portia continues praying. Seebo, the ring in your hand begins burning until you can’t stand the heat anymore and drop it. It sinks into the earth beneath you as a gash appears where the line in the dirt was drawn,” Eddie began describing, his players waiting with bated breaths for confirmation of their success. “Tharivol, you feel a surge of magic from deep inside you, like a gentle warmth crawling up from your feet all the way up and into your chest. You see the oak tree begins glowing in the moonlight.”

“Holy shit,” Jeff said.

“The ground beneath you begins to shake and suddenly, Odorr, you feel a piercing pain in your head, like a needle pushing right in the middle of your forehead between your tiny horns. You fall to your knees in agony and see that the gash begins opening more, revealing fog on the other side.

“It’s working!” Dustin cried, and Mike shushed him immediately.

“Holly, you see your Lathander holy symbols begin to shine. First, it’s the one attached to your staff. Then, your armlet. It feels warm, like sunshine seeping into your skin on a cool day. The gash keeps opening and opening until it becomes a shadowy circle right in front of you. The pain in Odorr’s head stops,” Eddie said theatrically, making a pause for dramatic effect. “The DC you had to beat… was 40.”

“WE DID IT!” Erica screeched, and everyone began yelling at the same time.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you piece of shit!” Donny yelled.

“Fuck, that was close,” moaned Dustin, bracing himself against the table, tension finally leaving his body.

“Congratulations, adventurers. You’ve just opened a portal to Shadowfell,” Eddie laughed, throwing his head back.

“Do we go in now? How does this work?” Dottie asked, wanting to continue the story.

“You have to speak the name of a creature and they’ll be sucked in through the portal towards your plane.”

“What was Orfuel’s last name?” Gareth looked at Jeff.

“Evensorrow,” said Mike.

“We call for Orfuel Evensorrow to come back to the material plane,” Jeff said, back in action.

“You see a shadow moving behind the fog, it seems like it’s fighting back the tendrils. Call out to him again, all of you,” Eddie instructed.

“Orfuel! Orfuel!” everyone began chanting. “Orfuel, it’s us! Stop fighting back!”

“The creature becomes prone when it hears your voices and lets itself be dragged into the material plane. A dirty human man lays at your feet, gasping for air after the shadowy vines retreat. Portia loses strength and the portal closes itself, severing the connection to Shadowfell.”

“I catch her before she falls,” Mike said quickly.

“Thank you, dearie,” Eddie said in a pitiful voice that belonged to an old frail lady. He continued in his normal voice. “Portia is okay, she just needs to rest.”

“We go to help Orfuel then,” Gareth looked at his friends, who nodded in agreement.

“Orfuel is a shell of the man you all used to know. His hair is long and matted, his beard is graying at the edges. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks like he hasn’t had a drink of water in days. He tries to speak, but his voice doesn’t come out.”

“I give him my water bottle,” Erica said.

“He drinks half of your waterskin in a rush and now that he feels better he looks at everyone surrounding him with fearful eyes,” Eddie began trembling, like it took a toll on his body to even utter a single syllable. “He’s coming. We have to- we have to hide. He’s coming.”

“Mask’s coming?” Donny asked.

“Mask’s just a pawn,” Eddie scoffed. “Orcus is coming.”

“Who’s Orcus?” Dottie looked around the table.

“The Lord of the Undead,” Dustin said, wary. “He’s the master of the undead that live in The Abyss. He wants to exterminate all life on every plane of existence until only his undead soldiers remain.”

“Wait, what do you mean Orcus is coming?” Erica asked Eddie, but really, it was Boldhild asking Orfuel.

“Mask knows Orcus hates the Raven Queen, so they made a deal. Mask kills the Raven Queen, and he becomes the keeper of Shadowfell for Orcus. Dedlock gave me up as a sacrifice to grow Mask’s power.”

“Shit. What do we do now?” Donny asked everyone else in the room.

“We fight back,” Dustin said, like it was obvious. “First we go for Dedlock and the Circle of the Gray Ribbon. Then we go for Mask.”

“And then…,” Mike mused. “We go into The Abyss.”

“And that’s where we’ll end our session,” Eddie said, and everyone groaned in protest.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“You said this session was the last one!”

“That’s such a non-ending, what is wrong with you?”

Eddie laughed and looked at his friends who kept begging him for more. More stories, more adventures, more guidance. They weren’t asking for entertainment. They were looking for more friendship. He moved to lower down his DM screen and hauled his prop box onto the table. Everyone stared at him curiously, wondering what trick he was gonna pull out of his metaphorical hat next. He simply reached in and grabbed two pins, putting them on the table: one said Chapter Leader, and the other said Dungeon Master. He’d had the first one for three years, and the second one for longer. He looked up at his club members with shiny eyes, and Dottie thought he’d never looked more at peace than in that moment.

“As you all know, my beloved sheep, I’m hoping I finally get to graduate this year. I don’t know if I am just yet, but in any case, this is my last session as Hellfire’s very own DM and leader. There’s more story to tell in this campaign, but I won’t be doing it here, on this throne, in this props room that always smells a little bit like glue,” he smiled when everyone huffed in agreement. “We’re going to take a break from this adventure until Dustin comes back from his nerd camp for geniuses-”

“Hey!” Dustin protested, but he looked proudly at Eddie while he did it.

“If you still want to find out what happens next after all that, I’ll be more than pleased to keep the action going outside of school grounds. But! A king shouldn’t rule over their kingdom forever, and it’s time for me to pass the crown onto the next generation. Wheeler, Henderson, please,” he motioned to the side. The freshmen followed him a few steps away from the table where Eddie dropped to one knee and bowed regally. “Michael Wheeler, you are Hellfire’s new Dungeon Master. I trust that the tales you tell will always be as grand as Mike the Magnificent was under my reign.”

“Woah,” Mike said when Eddie presented the Dungeon Master pin to him. “Eddie, this is- thanks, man.”

“Dustin Henderson,” Eddie continued, looking into the hopeful eyes of the kid he so very much admired. “The crown is too heavy for one man to wear alone, so I am choosing you to be the next Chapter Leader of the Hellfire Club. May you be as brave as Dustin the Daring was when he was under my wing.”

“I-” Dustin managed to get out before he launched himself across the floor and tackled Eddie into a tight hug.

“I won’t disappoint you, Eddie, I swear to god-”

But there was no need for him to promise anything, because Eddie knew that Hellfire was in safe hands with the two boys that had gone from looking at him like he was their Lord and Savior to simply calling him a friend. And as Eddie said goodbye to his time in high school, he was so grateful that even if he hadn’t learned a single thing valuable within those walls, he had come out of it with a group of people that he could always count on when life got too rough to handle on his own.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

[dedalvs]

hi im working on my senior thesis in spanish and was wondering if you or someone in the notes could answer a question for me

im planning on creating some kind of explanation for the various uses of 'se' (as a reflexive pronoun, middle voice marker, impersonal subject marker, passive marker) and im not sure if i should just jump into it or if i should use some descriptive framework (the problem there being that i can only really think of generative grammar and i have 0 experience with that)

my other option is to look at it from a historical point of view (double major in classics so my latin is excellent) but i'm not sure about how much i'd actually accomplish in terms of novel-idea-making there

tldr; what are some alternatives to transformational-generative grammar or just doing a diachronic study

This is a good question, and I'll give this a bit of a signal boost. You might consider taking a look at what @spanishskulduggery has done over the years. They have a number of posts about phenomena in Spanish including the various uses of se. Transformational grammar doesn't really explain anything, so it won't be useful for anyone outside a syntactician. It's like if you're hanging off a cliff asking for help and someone comes to you and says, "You're hanging because at an earlier stage of development, your chi dharma failed to elevate to your karma node, because its features were already checked before spellout." Then they calmly walk away with a supreme sense of satisfaction.

Now, if you're asking how to do something new, there's no answer to that, I think, because either I or someone else comes up with some brand new whizbang explanation, which would be useless, since it isn't yours, or we'll come up with nothing, leaving you in roughly the same spot.

Also, I think this question is now old because I kind of stopped looking at my asks and I feel like 70 years passed and I left the endless cycle of death and rebirth, reached nirvana, dug it, wanted something new, and so voluntarily entered the cycle of death and rebirth again, lived, opened a woodworking shop, had a fairly good run of it, sold the business, walked the earth for a decade or so, then opened a juice collective where I fronted an alt-folk-funk band called the BanCrerrys. We had a couple of hits, but Cindy and MP started dating, wanted to take things in a new creative direction, and I just wasn't up for the arguments, so I bailed, and now they're known as the FruiTee-ish'n Scholarship Service, and they do both music and pottery jams. I, meanwhile, hung up by banjo and returned to my old life as a Tumblorg, where I returned to find this ask, and now I feel like I'm staring up at it from the bottom of a koi pond, thinking things like, "Linguistics...? Papers...?"

In other words, sorry I couldn't be of more help.

[disregardcanon]

okay so i came up with some yellowjackets headcanons about what year of school they're in and the electives they take

Okay so yellowjackets class headcanons 

Seniors-

Jackie- French, medium level choir, and a poetry class that Shauna made her sign up for 

Shauna- Latin, an elective literature class, and the poetry class 

Lottie- French, orchestra where she plays violin, and a visual art class 

Natalie- she only gets one elective because she failed a couple of classes and has to retake them. She’s in a current events class that she heard the teacher doesn’t pay attention to 

Mari- a foods class, Spanish so that she can coast by (she pretends that she doesn’t speak it at home and has gotten away with it so far) and then wood shop 

Tai- Latin, civics and then debate. She and Shauna are, of course, in the same Latin class 

Travis- if he could, he wouldn’t take any electives because he thinks they’re dumb. He’s in accounting because his mom thought he’d not hate it (and he? Doesn’t? crazy.) foods with Mari because he heard it was an easy A (it was not) and then an extra geography class because he liked the teacher last year

Juniors 

Laura Lee- jazz band as the pianist, an extra history class, and German

Van- film studies, the same fuck off current events class as Nat, and then she doesn’t have another class because she doesn’t need the credit to graduate and she needs the hours at work. 

Misty- Misty’s a junior because she skipped a grade. TECHNICALLY she should be a sophomore. She’s got a teacher’s aid hour with Coach Martinez where she mainly does equipment manager stuff, a volunteering class, and psychology. 

Melissa and Gen are both juniors but I don’t have enough thoughts on them to give them classes. 

Sophomores 

Akilah- physics, advanced Spanish, and a FACS class. 

Crystal- Theater, show choir, and marching band where she plays trombone. Coach has warned her she’ll have to give up marching band if she wants to make varsity next year.

Javi's in 7th grade and I think he's in like. a star wars club but doesn't get to choose any electives

[sentimentalslut]

Hello! Just a quick question: how did you realise you want to be an attorney (not a law enthusiast or someone interested in pursuing it as a profession, simply a senior in highschool who is a little lost in life)?

hi! first of all — it’s normal to not know what you want to do at your age. your life is gonna take a ton of twists and turns and you’ll look back on this time in the future and be so glad you didn’t have everything figured out.

the short answer is that I realized I actually wanted to be an attorney uh. my third year of law school.

the long answer is this:

i went into college wanting to be a doctor. i was a biology major for the first two years of undergrad. i transferred schools after freshman year. i changed from pre-med to pre-nursing. i failed chemistry three times. my third year of undergrad i changed to a Spanish degree because it was the only thing i had enough credits in to still graduate in four years. i knew i’d probably wind up a teacher, which i wasn’t crazy about, but it was a job, and id be helping people — which was why i wanted to be a doctor in the first place. i took the lsat Junior year at my mothers insistence. “just in case”.

my junior year of college I worked as an assistant manager at a Jamba Juice. it blew — i’d get in at 5 to open the store at 6, then work until my class at noon. on my early morning commute id listen to the news. at the time, the stories about ICE’s family separation policy were just coming out. i was horrified. I wanted to do something.

i took a job as an assistant at an immigration law firm that summer. it was a lot of translation and research at minimum wage. but i got to watch my boss work. and her work was incredible. her clients were incredible. i wanted to be like her. to help people.

i worked my ass off to pull up my grades. i got into law school. i went right after undergrad.

one semester in, i called my father sobbing. i knew it wasn’t right for me. for the first time in my life i felt stupid. there was no way i’d make it through three years of this shit. and even if I somehow managed to graduate, i was going to be a terrible lawyer.

my dad is a doctor. he loves his job. he loves his patients. from what im told, he’s great at what he does.

when I finally managed a coherent sentence, i asked him when he knew that his career was right for him. when he knew he actually wanted to be a doctor. he paused, and then he laughed, and he said, with total sincerity: “my third year of residency.”

for some reason, that made me hang in there. maybe it shouldn’t have. for the first two years of my three year program, I HATED being a lawyer. it was miserable. i hated the people i went to school with, hated the values they had.

i took an internship position the summer after second year at a family law firm, drafting briefs and motions. my third year i worked as a student attorney for the school’s immigration legal aid clinic, representing clients in their deportation proceedings. for the first time, i liked what I was doing. it made sense. it felt right. THAT was when I knew I wanted to be an attorney. when i actually got a chance to do it. not before.

[tipofmylingua]

Hello.

I’m Crys, a 21 year old language and culture nerd. Lover of all things anthropological. I’m finally committing to my language studies once more and making this to keep myself accountable.

Some background on my language experience:

My first exposure to studying a language was Latin at age 11. I took a Cambridge Latin course for 2.5 months over the summer and loved it. Shoutout Caecilius.

In between my first and second formal language education experiences, I tried to teach myself Korean — and failed miserably

Spanish for 4 years (7th-10th grade)

9 month abroad in Italy 11th grade that ended up being 6 months because of Covid

senior year independent study in Portuguese

a semester of Arabic in college (i didn’t really focus in school because of mental health issues so I barely count this)

I was an [cultural] anthropology major when I started college and now in my second year I am officially a political science major! Where my language journey takes me is a mystery, but Arabic may be up next semester. :)

Anyway, I’m starting back slowly with just Portuguese right now as that’s the language holding my interest the most at the moment.

Wish me luck 🫡

[lyssismagical]

we'll all be here forever

tw mention for dying/death, not quite suicidal ideation or purposeful self-harm but not taking care of yourself; panic attacks, small emetophobia, lotsa fighting and swearing

(pls pls pls be so nice and gentle I haven't written anything in like 3 years and idk if this fandom is even alive anymore but I found a WIP and had the inspiration to finish it)

read on ao3

The decline began when his principal mentioned, in passing, that Peter’s applications would look bare compared to a lot of applicants with his lack of extra-curriculars. Sure, he had Academic Decathlon and a Tony Stark Internship, but otherwise, that space of his college applications was empty.

So, he took the initiative in his Senior year to join a few extra clubs to bulk up his application. He started a campaign for student class president, joined the robotics club, and got on the football team. As well as all that, he started tutoring during his lunch hours both for volunteer hours and as an addition to his applications.

He needed to get into MIT. He didn’t think he could deal with any disappointment from anybody around him. Tony’s been talking about Peter’s future at SI after graduating MIT, May’s already preparing to sell the apartment and buy herself a smaller condo when he moves out, Ben always said Peter had to go to a school that challenged him like MIT would.

He wouldn’t let them down.

So he continued to squish his schedule as tight as he possibly could. AP classes, homework, four extra-curriculars, tutoring, Spider-Man, and the internship started leaving no time for himself. Sleeping at night started getting cut shorter and shorter, and he could barely make time to talk to his friends or May.

Tony notices first because he’s always been a genius and way too observant for his own good, so when Peter slides into his seat in the lab, dragging a hand through his hair, and tossing a couple textbooks in front of him, Tony almost immediately grabs his shoulder and stops him.

“You okay, kid? You look a little rough?” Tony says, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. One hand cups Peter’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

“Just been busy.” Peter looks towards his homework. English, physics, biology, spanish, chemistry, history, the academic decathlon practice he’s supposed to go over, the speech he’s supposed to have done for the next debate for student class president.

Tony frowns, making his forehead crease. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, kid. This doesn’t just look like regular high school stress.”

“High school student slash superhero is more accurate.”

His watch continues ticking, the conversation wasting all of his precious time.

He needs to get his homework done during lab time so he can squeeze in some Spider-Manning before May gets home from her shift.

“Still,” Tony says petulantly. He crosses his arms and frowns at the work. “You can’t, I don’t know, take a break from all this shit?”

If Peter takes a break, he’ll have double as much to do the next day on top of football practice after school and robotics club after that. But he can’t say that or Tony would force him to drop some of his extra-curriculars.

“Pepper would kill you if she found out you were being a bad influence on me,” Peter says, but when it doesn’t get the reaction he wanted, he frowns and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Mister Stark, just a little tired. Don’t worry, the weekend’s coming up soon.”

Tony sighs overdramatically and moves back to his lab bench.

Peter purposefully fails to mention that he’s got a football game early morning on Saturday, enough time to squish in some patrolling before he has an Academic Decathlon meet at Ned’s house all afternoon, and enough homework to last him all night. And on Sunday, he has to finish his speech for the debate, he promised May he’d pick up his slack with chores, and he’s tutoring a freshman in math all afternoon.

He fails to mention that for him, the weekend doesn’t mean relaxation or a break from the stress of the week, it just means catch-up from everything he failed to do during the week and a time to pick up his slack.

* There’s something so fundamentally wrong about being beyond exhausted and yet, when given the chance, unable to get any real rest.

Peter’s brain is always moving too fast, always caught in the To Do List’s and the ideas of failure and disappointment if he doesn’t complete every task. Everything he could’ve done that day but hadn’t, all the things he did but could’ve done better, all the things that were pushed to the backburner with all the things he had to complete.

His eyes are closed and his breaths are even, room dark around him and quiet except for the TV that plays almost silently in the background. He’s comfortable and vaguely floating, not enough to be considered asleep but nowhere near conscious either.

Math homework sits only half complete on the coffee table, his academic decathlon cue cards are mixed with his debate notes on the floor, his history textbook is left open on the opposite couch.

He should’ve done more. He should be trying harder. He should be doing better.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much work he puts into everything he does, it’ll never be enough.

He can’t sleep, he got a B- on his last pop quiz in chemistry, Coach Wilson shouts at him every practice for his clumsy feet and his slow pace during warmups, Tony’s been staring at him with the same worried expression every time he goes over for lab days.

Even Flash has been worried about Peter.

“You okay, Parker?” Flash had sounded at least partially concerned before quickly tacking on, “Because I get your spot on Acadeca if you’re slacking.”

But it had been weeks since Flash had been mean to Peter, he hadn’t been tripping Peter in the hallways or spitting cruel words at him in class.

If Flash is being nice to Peter, that means there’s really a problem.

May slips into the living room, meaning it’s already three am, when she leaves for her occasional morning shifts at the hospital. She lifts the quilt off the back of the couch to drape over him.

“Have a good day at work,” Peter slurs, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Have a good day at school, honey.” She leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “And thank you for helping out this weekend with chores. I’m really proud of you, you know that? And I’m really proud of you for your football game. I’ll see you tonight?”

Peter has to think for too long, scanning through his mental to do list. “Got football practice and then robotics till seven. And I said I’d walk MJ home first so I’ll only be home at nine or ten.”

“Michelle’s the opposite direction of here from school, isn’t she?”

“Mm,” Peter replies intelligently, the perfect image of a genius student planning on applying to MIT.

May kisses his forehead again. He knows she’s worried about him, he knows she wants to tell him to stop, or at least slow down, that he needs to take care of himself. But it’s not the time nor place for an argument like that. “Well, I’ll be asleep by the time you get back, but I’ll leave your dinner in the microwave. You’re too good, Peter.”

Peter barely manages to utter a goodbye and an I love you before his mouth stops working again, content to pretend to sleep for another two hours before he’s off to pick up MJ before school. She lives in a shadier part of town and she mentioned, quiet and more honest about herself than she normally is, that she gets nervous walking to school and back because of some people who have been trying to get her attention.

Without hesitation, Peter had offered to walk to and from school from now on. To keep her safe and comfortable. He is a superhero after all.

Just because that adds an extra hour and a half to his already hour-long trek to Midtown, doesn’t mean anything. He’s okay with waking up at five in the morning to get to school, and he’s okay with only making it home late after practices. If it means MJ’s safe, he’ll give up another chunk of his sleeping time for her.

MJ talks idly about academic decathlon for the majority of the long walk to school.

She keeps a hand firmly on his upper arm, as though scared he may keel over if she isn’t careful. Her eyes rarely leave his face, even if he barely offers any facial expressions let alone any words of wisdom. Easily, though, he answers every one of her decathlon practice questions from memory, proving that the sleeplessness and the stress hasn’t totally messed up his intelligence.

Or so he thinks.

He’s about to leave his history class when his teacher stops him.

She’s a nice woman who doesn’t assign a crazy amount of homework, no more than his other classes do, and she’s generally lenient with marking assignments. He wracks his head for any reason why she would stop him. He’s pretty positive he handed in his history assignment about one of the presidents at the end of the previous week, and he remembers being pretty confident in his answers to the pop quiz.

“Sit down for a second,” Miss Christie says, gesturing to the chair beside her desk. She has the decency to look sympathetic and confused when she tells him, “Your grades have dropped drastically since midterm, Peter.”

“What?” His brain’s moving a bit too slow through the sludge of his to do lists.

At midterm, he managed an eighty-eight on his test which brought his overall grade up to an eighty-five. Not his best grade, but certainly nowhere near worrying. He was just going to make sure to ace the exam, and he was sure he’d get a ninety out of the class.

“Your grade has gone from nearly a ninety down to barely passing, Peter,” Miss Christie explains, pulling open his file on the computer. “I normally wouldn’t worry too much about a sixty-five, it’s not too abnormal for lower grades in a history class for a STEM school, but this is concerning coming from a bright student like you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Miss Christie frowns, turning her monitor towards him and zooming into his grades. It shows all his assignments he’s submitted, all his grades slipping towards mid-fifties and lower. His pop quiz he only managed a thirty percent on.

“At this school, as you know, if you don’t make a sixty or higher for your final grade, you fail the class.”

Peter’s whole world feels like it’s crashing down around him.

“Now, I know how much potential you have, Peter, but I’ve taken a peek at the last assignment you submitted, and at this rate, you won’t be passing the class unless you put more effort in.”

More effort.

He doesn’t know where he has the time for more effort anywhere.

May’s going to kill him.

He might as well throw his MIT application down the drain if he fails history.

“I, uh, it’s just- Between my classes and my extra-curriculars and the internship, I just- I don’t have the time for much,” Peter admits. He’s not quite sure why he’s alright admitting his struggles to his history teacher and not to people like Tony or Ned or May, but the words fall from his tired mouth before he can stop them.

Miss Christie smiles like she understands his struggle. “I can give you another week to finish your last history project and I’ll assign an extra-credit assignment to get your grade up a little more, if that’s what you’d like. If all goes well with those two projects, future assignments, and your exam, I think you could pull off an eighty, Peter. Hope’s not lost.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her he doesn’t have time for two more big projects this week.

Football practices are longer because they have another game on Sunday, Academic Decathlon is getting harder because they have sectionals coming up, robotics club has a tournament in a few weeks so they need to put extra work into completing their robots, student class president debates are in a few days and then voting is coming up, he agreed to take on a project from the real Stark interns who need his help with their prototype, not to mention his actual homework.

“I just- Miss Christie, I need a good grade for college applications and I- My schedule is already as packed as possible, is there anyway I can get an extension-”

“I can’t start making exceptions for students, Peter. I’m already being generous by giving you more time for the first project.”

Peter swallows thickly, suddenly feeling very nauseas and dizzy. “Of course, Miss Christie. Thank you.”

He barely lets her finish giving her spiel on hard work equals good results before he races down the hallway towards the bathroom.

*

“You can’t tell May or Tony about this,” he begs, slumping against the wall, trying desperately to stop crying.

“Peter, this isn’t okay,” Ned says. His eyes are too wide and he looks shakier than Peter feels. He’s got a wad of damp paper towel and gently pats the sweat from Peter’s forehead.

MJ’s leaning against the sinks despite it being a boy’s bathroom. “Are you sick? Catch a stomach bug?”

“Panic attack.”

Apparently, that’s not the right answer because Ned cups Peter’s cheek and tips his head up, patting away his sweat and tears more insistently.

“I’m late for- for-” Peter’s vision swims as he stares at the watch, unable to comprehend the ticking hands or match it to his mental to do list.

“Tutoring. It’s lunch,” MJ supplies. She steps into the already-cramped stall and slides to the floor beside Peter. “Don’t worry, Flash is taking over for you. That kid already knows all she needs to know, though. She doesn’t really need Flash’s help.”

“We can’t hide this from May or Tony. You need help, Peter.” Ned finally gives up with the paper towel but his eyes are just as wide as he grabs Peter’s hand, hanging on to him.

Peter shrugs, eyeing MJ carefully before he lets his head fall on her shoulder. He closes his eyes, shutting himself off from further argument.

Nothing’s right.

The three friends are cramped together in a bathroom stall because Peter can’t hold himself together, because no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be enough.

He doesn’t say any of that, all the words getting clogged in his chest where all his self-loathing and pain sits. Instead, he murmurs a soft apology and lets his eyes fall shut.

Eventually, they have to drag themselves off the bathroom floor for class.

Ned rambles about how Peter should see the school nurse and go home for the rest of the day, and Peter makes up excuses about how he’s fine just a little stressed, how he’ll make sure to take the night easy and get some good rest and be back to normal by the next morning.

Even MJ tries to convince him to sit out of chemistry, even though Peter’s grade has dropped in that class too, even just to lie down in the nurse’s office for an hour.

But Peter throws on the most convincing smile he can muster and shakes his head, promising them that he’s fine.

And they trust him enough to take his word for it.

Maybe that’s a mistake.

*

May’s asleep by the time he gets home, so he grabs some money from his secret stash he’s been saving from some of the paid tutoring he’s been doing and grabs himself a few energy drinks from the bodega a block away.

And then he sets himself up at his desk with all the work he has to do laid out in front of him.

He was in for another long night.

*

It’s not like he has the option to stop.

It’s not that simple, it’s never been. Failing, at this point, would be the worst thing he’s ever done. The list of people he’d be letting down is too long, too many, he can’t do that. He can’t let down his loved ones like Tony and May, Ben, Mary and Richard, Pepper and the Avengers, his teachers, his friends, himself. He can’t do that.

Everything is resting on this.

May won’t be able to move out of the city, she’ll have to continue taking care of him when he’s unable to move, she’ll have to keep working to take care of him, she’ll have to keep worrying about him every night he goes out patrolling. He’ll continue dragging her down.

Tony and Pepper won’t be able to retire.

He’s heard them talking about that dream they have. The cabin, far away from everyone and everything, maybe a child down the line, a child of their own, not just some orphan kid they got saddled with. The garden, the lake, the pet, the baby, the ability to give up all the things tethering them down. Peter’s meant to take over SI when he graduates MIT. There’s never been an If with them. Like they couldn’t even imagine a world where Peter couldn’t do it.

Letting them down now?

He’d lose his second family. He’d lose Tony and Pepper, he’d lose his ties to the Avengers. How could he be Tony Stark’s prodigy if he couldn’t even get into MIT?

He has to work harder.

He has to do more.

He has to be better.

 He has to.

*

MJ puts a hand on his knee in English class, everything between now and then is a confusing blur, but he’s suddenly grounded.

“You’ve been shaking all class,” she says. Her eyes are wide and worried, and she doesn’t take her hand off his leg. “When was the last time you slept?”

He takes another sip from his water bottle, filled with an energy drink. It makes his knee bounce under MJ’s hand. He tries to shake away how cloudy his mind is, trying to focus on what the teacher’s droning on about.

“Hey,” MJ says, elbowing him to get his attention. “If you don’t sleep at night, you’re never going to be able to focus.”

“I slept fine,” he snaps, pushing her hand off his leg.

The teacher’s talking about Shakespeare, going over the play they were asked to read earlier on. He knows it like the back of his hand, so it doesn’t matter that he zoned out for most of class.

“Don’t be a dick when I’m just trying to help.”

He shakes his head again, one hand lifting to tug at his hair, pain clearing a little bit of the fog.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds panicked, even to his own ears. He’s been fucking everything up, everywhere he goes, but he can’t lose his friends, he can’t fuck this up.

“It’s fine, dude, just…” She looks towards the teacher, who hasn’t seemed to notice their distraction, and slides her notebook across to him. She’s drawn a few sketches of him, all of which picture him with dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up every which way, and movement lines around his legs and fingers. There are some notes on Shakespeare between the sketches and some absent thoughts in the margins.

Peter doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m worried, okay?” she says so genuine that it hurts his chest. She reaches out to touch his leg again, seeming to understand how much the small gesture helps. “I know you’re stressed about college applications, but you’re falling apart, and I don’t know how much longer I can just watch you do that to yourself.”

“I have to get into MIT.”

“You have Tony Stark willing to write you a letter of recommendation, all this other stuff, football and student council, it’s not necessary. All it’s doing is destroying you.”

Peter’s voice drops to below a whisper. “I don’t want a stupid accident to be the reason I get in.”

“Accident?”

“Spider-Man! I can’t have… It’s unfair. I’ll spend my whole life wondering if it was just a fluke.”

“How is that a fluke?”

“I wandered off on a field trip and got bit by an experiment. I should be dead. It’s a complete fluke that I am who I am.”

“It’s not a fluke that Tony’s kept you around,” she argues. Her nails are digging into his leg a little, pressing the fabric of his jeans into his skin. Her voice almost raises, but she catches herself and glances back towards the teacher before whispering, “For a genius, you’re acting really fucking stupid.”

Peter takes a shuddering breath. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not. You’re killing yourself for no good reason.”

“MJ, Peter, your attention please,” the teacher says. They both apologize quickly, and MJ sends him a look that says this isn’t over.

*

MJ practically drags him by the ear to the nearest bathroom once class is let out.

“You know I’ve got super strength, right?” he says, though he doesn’t even think he could access it through his exhaustion anyway, not that he’d try. He’d let MJ drag him wherever she pleases.

MJ lets him go when they’re safely inside the single-person bathroom and leans back against the sink, staring him down.

“If you’re going to reprimand me, can we get it over with? I’ve got things to do, Em.”

“We’re waiting for Ned. He’s on his way.”

Peter rolls his eyes and huffs out a sigh. “So this isn’t a reprimand, it’s an intervention?”

“You should be grateful it’s only going to be me and Ned. I could’ve pulled some strings and had Stark and May yell at you too.”

Peter winces. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t if you stop acting like an idiot.”

There’s a knock on the door, a rhythmic sound, and MJ opens it to let Ned in. Ned’s face is flushed and his eyes are a little too wide, and anger sparks in Peter’s chest, setting off a red-hot forest fire through his body.

“Did Flash say something to you?”

Ned only gets like this, red-faced and wringing hands, when someone insults him.

“It’s fine, Peter,” Ned says quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! I’m going to kill him. What did he say?”

MJ puts a hand on his shoulder, almost like she’s ready to hold him in place, like he’ll shake out of his own skin. “Easy tiger. Getting in a fight with Flash is the last thing you need to be worrying about.”

Peter looks to Ned who already seems to have calmed down at least a little. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, dude. I’m fine. Flash is always going to be Flash. It’s really okay… What’s important is you right now. What’s going on with you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I have to get into MIT.”

MJ rolls her eyes and pulls away from him. She smells like vanilla and it makes him dizzy. “He thinks the whole Spider-Man and Tony Stark internship is an unfair advantage he shouldn’t be able to use in order to get in.”

Ned’s jaw drops open and he looks absolutely flabbergasted at the idea. “That’s insane! Do you really think that?”

“As I told MJ, I wandered on a field trip and suddenly I have things that most people could only dream of having. It’s not fair that Tony Stark can write me a letter because I wandered on a field trip. I can’t use Spider-Man like I’m better than everyone else because I wandered on a field trip. It’s not fair.”

“Just because it was an accident that it happened doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve the benefits that come from it,” Ned says. “You could’ve gotten those powers and done nothing. Nobody is making you use your abilities for good. You save people’s lives, you do everything you can to keep Queens and Midtown safe. You spend hours everyday getting knives or worse pointed at you to keep those people safe. And it’s just some fluke? I don’t think so.”

Peter shakes his head, shutting his eyes when he feels tears burn at them. “It’s not that simple. I’m Spider-Man, but Spider-Man isn’t me. Spider-Man isn’t some poor kid from Queens who has one and a half friends and can’t keep his grade up in History. Spider-Man isn’t some teenager who dumpster dives and reads graphic novels. Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker. And because Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker, anything that Spider-Man has can’t be mine. The acclaim, the ties to the Avengers, the internship, those all belong to Spider-Man, not me.”

Neither of them seem to have an answer for him.

Ned’s looking at him like Peter’s a stranger, confused and uncertain.

MJ’s looking at him like she finally realizes he can’t be helped. He’s too far down to be fixed by a simple pep talk in the bathroom.

“It’s not fair for me to use Spider-Man or Mister Stark as leverage for university. So, in order to get in, I have to beef up my application. I need extra curriculars, good grades, AP classes, I need this stuff in order to get into MIT. I can’t stop.”

Ned shakes his head. His eyes are misty and his face is still red. “Sure, okay, but if you stack up your day to be full of extra curriculars and homework, you have to drop Spider-Man patrols and internship nights and tutoring for the money, you can’t do everything.”

“I have to do everything. I’m still Spider-Man, even if Spider-Man isn’t me. I have a responsibility to this city, to try as hard as I can to keep people safe. And I have a responsibility to Mister Stark to be a protegee, to be his heir, so that he can finally retire, both from Stark Industries and from Iron Man. I have a responsibility to May to make her proud. I have a responsibility to my parents, to Ben, to do something great like MIT. I have a responsibility to May to get scholarships so I don’t rely on her for money she doesn’t have. I… I don’t have a choice. I can’t just give up.”

“You’re going to kill yourself!” MJ says, voice loud, and Peter’s head pounds.

“I’m going to get in and I’m going to graduate and then I can stop. It’s only six months. I can survive six months of this.”

“At this rate, you’ll be dead in a week.” She sounds so angry, so upset with him, and god it hurts to feel like despite all the effort he’s put in, he’s still managing to let people down. “Do you have any idea what sleep deprivation does to a person? Especially someone who enjoys swinging around hundreds of feet in the sky and fighting people with guns.”

Peter looks to Ned, tries to see if maybe his best friend will understand, will, at the very least, take a different approach, but Ned just stares back, eyes wet and jaw clenched.

Peter’s breaths have gone shaky, chest aching with the lack of oxygen. “I can’t just stop, Em.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” she grounds out. “This ends now.”

“I can’t stop,” he repeats, tears blurring his vision. He falls back against the wall, head thumping against the bricks.  “I can’t. It’ll look worse now if I was on the football team for two months before abruptly dropping out. Same for robotics or student council. Even if it’s for the betterment of my grades, it’ll still look bad on my application. I can’t stop seeing Mister Stark, he’ll know something’s up, he’ll try and convince me to stop working so hard, he’ll try and use his power to prove that I can get in even if I fail all my classes this term and that’s not fair. I can’t stop.”

MJ shakes her head. She’s made up her mind on this, and when MJ makes up her mind there’s no turning her around. “Then stop Spider-Manning. If you let yourself rest at night instead of swinging around Queens in spandex, maybe you could actually do everything else without falling apart.”

“If Spider-Man disappears, people will die. And it’ll be on me.”

“You can’t save everyone!” she shouts. Her fist hits the edge of the sink with an echoing thud. “And if you die, you won’t be able to save anyone.”

He can’t help but flinch, trying to shake his head, come up with anything, find an argument that makes sense, but he comes up blank, just failure ringing through his head.

“I can’t stop,” he repeats like it’ll make a difference.

Ned finally speaks up, “I’ll call May. I’ll tell her what you’ve been doing, how you’re failing history. How little sleep you’ve been getting. I’ll tell her.”

“And what’s she going to do,” Peter challenges. “Tie me to my bed? Force me to sleep? Take away the suit? Ground me? She’d have to invest in vibranium locks if she really wanted to keep me from going out.”

“You’re really going to fight all of us?” MJ says, disbelief and anger darkening her voice.

“I have to do this.”

“Well, I’m not going to stand by and watch.” She shakes her head at him, mouth set in a deep frown, and then she walks out of the bathroom and his life.

He looks at Ned, silently pleading for him to understand, and Ned stares back with wet eyes for a moment before turning away as well.

He’s left alone in that bathroom, ears ringing and head spinning and tears sliding down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw, lungs aching.

*

Is it possible to do this without his two best friends at his side? He isn’t sure but he’s convinced himself that there’s no going back now. The only way he’ll get them back is if he stops, and that’s not an option.

So it’ll just be him against the world. He can handle that. He has before.

It’ll all be worth it when he gets that shiny acceptance letter.

*

“Kid.”

Tony says it in a way that Peter instantly knows what’s happening. He’s sitting at the dining room table when Peter gets to the tower for Lab Night, hands crossed on the table, shoulders tight, mouth set in a firm line.

“I don’t need another fucking intervention.” He doesn’t know where the anger came from, seeping through the tired cracks. He’s pretty sure he’s never sworn at Tony before. He’s not surprised that MJ and Ned ratted on him, he knew they would after their fight in the bathroom, he just hoped Tony wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

Tony shakes his head, gesturing towards the pulled-out chair beside him, Peter doesn’t move from the hallway, just drops his backpack on the floor. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to lecture me, I’m going to pass. I have shit to do.” He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. There’s no filter left. All that’s left is hardened sharp edges and dark rings beneath his eyes and the ghost of who he was shaking its head at him.

“Peter-” Tony never calls him that, so Peter knows it’s serious. “-Please just come sit and we can talk about this. It’s not a lecture or- or an intervention, I just… I’m worried.”

He crosses his arms tight, curling into himself a little. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, kid, and I’m sorry I let it slide for too long, I should’ve said something sooner, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“I’m fine,” Peter grounds out again. “And I have shit to do.”

Tony stands slowly, hands open and fingers spread like Peter’s a feral animal. “You’re working yourself to the bone. You’re going to get hurt.”

Peter stays quiet, staring Tony down. The older hero takes a step closer and Peter steps back, keeping space between them.

“I’ve looked at Karen’s reports, kid-”

“You’re still spying on me?”

“I’m checking in.”

“I should’ve disabled those stupid protocols months ago.”

Tony doesn’t meet Peter’s fire with fire, though, he just looks… aged. He looks more exhausted than Peter feels, wrinkles set deeper than Peter remembers, streaks of grey in his hair standing out in the moonlight. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’m fine, okay? I haven’t been to medical in weeks.”

“You’ve been averaging two hours of sleep a night. Do you know what that’ll do to your reflexes? Your fighting abilities?”

“How many fucking times do I have to say I’m fine?” Peter’s voice has raised a little, not much but it still feels like it echoes off the walls of the dark hallway, it rattles inside his head.

Tony sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re working too hard. You’re not sleeping, you’re drinking an obscene amount of caffeine, you’re not eating enough, you’re stressed, you’re lashing out. You know who you sound like?”

“Exactly. Who are you to judge?”

“I’ve learned from those mistakes, Pete. And I don’t want you to make them too. You’re going to get yourself killed patrolling or have a caffeine overdose or hurt yourself in the lab or burn bridges or turn to something worse than caffeine to get you through the day.”

“I’m not you!” Peter snaps. He can feel tears in his throat, voice threatening to break, hands shaking so he curls them into fists and stuffs them in his pockets. “I’m fine, okay? I can handle it.”

Tony shakes his head again, people have been doing that a lot lately when they talk to him. “I spoke to your principal, Peter.”

He flinches, taking another step back into the dark hallway. His breaths are coming too quick and a headache is beginning to form behind his eyes and Tony’s eyes are following him, tracking every movement that cements his points, and he looks so fucking sympathetic, so hurt.

“I’m going to fix it, okay? I have a few more days to perfect that history assignment and I’ll get the grade up by finals. It’s going to be fine. I can fix it.”

“It’s not just history, Peter.” Tony keeps saying his name and Peter hates how it’s grounding him to the conversation, stopping his swirling to-do lists in their place to hear Tony’s words. “It’s history and it’s chemistry and it’s calculus and it’s gym and your football coach says-”

“I can fix it!” Peter pleads, voice trembling. “I just need to try harder, I just need to put more effort in, I just- I just need to do more.”

Peter’s starting to feel claustrophobic in the hallway, images of Toomes and dust and darkness seeping into his eyesight.

“There’s nothing more you can give,” Tony says, gentle despite tearing down Peter’s world with just his words. “There’s not enough time in the world.”

“Fuck you,” Peter spits, he takes another step back. He points a shaking finger at Tony. “Fuck you. And fuck Ned for telling you. And fuck Coach for thinking I’m not good enough. And fuck MJ for switching me to an alternate. And fuck Miss Christie for not giving me a chance. And- and fuck Oscorp for making that fucking spider and putting these responsibilities on me. And fuck for parents for putting this pressure on me. And- And-”

“Kid.” And he sounds so genuine and pained and soft. And Peter fucking hates him.

“This, all of this, is your fucking fault. Yours, and May’s, and my parents, and Pepper’s, and Ben’s, and Ned’s. It’s on you.”

Tony, for his credit, just sighs softly and nods. “I know what it’s like to be under that kind of pressure. To have people make it seem like their future for you is the only one that matters, that you have these insane expectations to live up to and what you do will never be enough. But, kid, we’re all proud of you already. You don’t have to go to MIT for us to be proud. I can’t speak for your parents or for your uncle, but me and May and Pepper, we’d be proud if you went to community college. Hell, we’d be proud if you didn’t go to college at all. You don’t need MIT to have our approval, Peter. And we certainly don’t want you to kill yourself trying to get there.”

Peter shakes his head, tears beginning to curl down his cheeks, no doubt bright red already. “What about your future? I’ve heard you talk about it. You and Pepper and that- a kid, a kid who’s actually yours, retiring, giving up Iron Man and Stark Industries. You can’t do that if I go to a fucking community college.”

“We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” he shouts, unable to stop himself, voice wavering. He clenches his teeth so hard that his head starts to pound. “I can’t let everyone down.”

“And I’m not going to lose you, Peter.”

“I can do it!”

“Kid.” He sounds so pained, strained, desperate. “You’re going to go out patrolling on zero sleep, hopped up on too much caffeine, and you’re not going to be able to dodge that bullet. I’m going to get the red alert that you’re hurt and I’m going to be the one to find you bleeding out in some shoddy alley. And I’m not going to be able to save you. I’m going to have to hold you as you die. I’m going to have to show up at May’s door at an unforgivable hour and give her the news. Is that really what you want?”

There are images of that night in his peripherals. The black of the gun, the grey of Ben’s jacket, the red on the pavement, the gold of the police officer’s badge, the red on his hands, the brown of the apartment complex, the red on his jeans, the green of their apartment door, the brown of May’s hair, the red of her eyes, the red on his sweater, the red on his shoes.

“It’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can do it!” He’s crying, choked back sobs making his whole body tremble. “Why doesn’t anybody think I can do it? I have to- I can’t stop-”

Tony shakes his head again and again. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to stand anymore, pressing his back into the wall and sliding down it, knees pulling up to his chest. He curls into himself, as tight as he can, suddenly sobbing loudly into his knees.

“I can’t let everybody down. I can’t stop. I can’t give up,” he chokes out, pushing his hands into his hair and tugging until pain clouds his vision as much as his tears.

“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, kid,” Tony says. “But I promised myself I wouldn’t let you become me. I swore after-” His voice breaks, guilt rushing into it. “After Toomes, that I wouldn’t make another mistake with you. So I can’t, I can’t let you do this.”

And Peter, he feels so small, so broken, so lost. “Are you going to take the suit?”

“If that’s what it takes to stop you from patrolling on no sleep, then yes, I have to.”

He bites his lip to stop the noise of despair from escaping him, metallic blood filling his mouth. He grabs his backpack from where he left it when all this started and throws it at Tony, too much superstrength behind his throw when it hits Tony in the chest with a solid noise.

“I wouldn’t have to if you dropped those extra-curriculars, Peter, or let me help with homework, or stopped tutoring or something. If I thought you could still be safe out there.” And he does sound genuinely guilty.

“Leave me alone.” He means to say it angrily, means to shout it from deep in his lungs, means to make it hurt, means to throw it like a dagger, but it just comes out small, weak, childish.

“Kid-”

“Please,” he says, looking up from his knees to meet Tony’s empathy with red eyes and wet eyelashes and a hoarse voice, to meet him with emptiness. “Leave me alone.”

Tony swallows loud enough for Peter to hear even through the rushing in his ears and then nods slowly. “Okay, kid. You know where to find me. And just so you know, I’m not doing this to be malicious. Everything I do is for you.”

“Go away.”

And he’s left alone. MJ, Ned, and now Tony. Gone.

He cries until he has nothing left to give. And then he curls up on the hardwood floor and cries some more.

*

When he wakes, there’s a blanket covering his body and a pillow underneath his head in the hallway, and a glass of water sits nearby. His head throbs something wicked and his back aches, but it’s probably the most sleep he’s gotten all week.

He drinks some water and then slowly rises to his feet, joints cracking at every move. He keeps the blanket tucked around his shoulders, hanging off him like a cape, and shuffles towards the kitchen.

See, he knows he’s in the wrong. He’s known since before MJ confronted him that what he was doing to himself was fucked up. He knows that this isn’t good or healthy or right, that he’s pushing everyone away like he wants to be killed and forgotten. He knows that Tony had every right to be pissed after yesterday. He knows that he hurt his friends and his family. He just doesn’t know how to stop anymore, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost and he feels small, he wants his mom to run her fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be okay.

Instead, he puts on a pot of coffee.

He makes two cups, too much sugar in one and just a little milk in the other, and takes them down to the lab.

He hesitates just outside the glass doors. He knows Tony didn’t sleep last night. He knows Tony has every right to hate him. He knows Tony probably broke down the second he left Peter alone. He knows Tony probably had footage of him sleeping open all night. And Peter doesn’t know if he can fix this.

Tony looks up like he knows Peter’s there. His eyes are red-rimmed, a little wild from caffeine consumption, and his hair sticks up in every direction like he ran his hand through it a hundred times.

Peter walks into the lab cautiously, slowly, like he’s the one approaching a feral animal this time. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all, he just sets the coffee down in front of Tony and then backs off a few feet.

They stare at each other for a few moments.

“Hey, kid,” Tony finally says, looking like he might cry at any moment, Peter feels the same, on the edge of a precipice.

Peter’s hands are shaking so badly that his coffee is spilling. He sets it down on the lab bench, knowing it’ll make a ring and guilt rising just a little higher.

“Hi,” he squeaks, swallowing again and again. He doesn’t let himself clench his hands into fists, just lets them shake.

Tony takes a long sip of coffee, Peter watches every movement he makes like he’s scared Tony will lash out at him, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and it could happen at any second.

“Kid,” Tony says again. But he doesn’t follow it up with any words of wisdom.

The apologies ball up in his throat, getting stuck, and his breathing starts to struggle around them.

Tony’s expression softens, shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s okay.”

And Peter’s the one to start shaking his head fervently now. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s okay,” Tony repeats gently, always so gentle like Peter’s made of fucking glass. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Peter feels panicked, trapped, scared. He feels like he’s dying. Like the past weeks of pushing himself beyond what he’s capable of have finally caught up to him. All the caffeine, the sleepless nights, the stress, the fights, the anger, the nightmares, the headaches, the visions, the pressure, it all just caves in at once.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I don’t want to die,” Peter chokes out. Because Tony was right, if he continued like this, he was going to die before he was able to make it to MIT, no ifs ands or buts. He would die. Even without the suit, he would die.

And he didn’t think it would bother him so much, the idea of dying, but with the work he’s put towards his future, is also the dreams of what could be. That future he’s planned for himself could be so exciting, so fulfilling, if he made it there.

“It’s going to be okay, bud. We’re going to figure it out.”

Peter doesn’t cry, he doesn’t think he has a single tear left in him, but his shoulders wrack with pain regardless. He reaches out for Tony with what strength he has when the whole world is caving in on him. And Tony moves quickly, standing and coming around the bench, wrapping Peter up in his arms, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders, burdening some of the pressure with him.

“I can’t give up,” Peter says, words muffled in Tony’s sweater.

“You don’t have to give up, buddy, but we have to make some changes.”

“I need MIT. I need Boston. I need scholarships. I need the grades and the extra-curriculars and the money, I need Spider-Man. How- How?”

Tony holds him up when his knees threaten to give out, cradles the back of his neck, a good pressure that alleviates a little bit of the pressure behind his eyes. “MJ told me how you feel. That what Spider-Man has doesn’t belong to you. That I, what we have, belongs to Spider-Man and not you, but you’re my kid, Peter Parker is, not Spider-Man.”

“We wouldn’t have met without the spider. We wouldn’t know each other. I wouldn’t have this internship, I wouldn’t have a spot in your life. Even if you like me for me and not my alter-ego, it still is because of him.”

“Even so, I wouldn’t have kept you around if I didn’t like you, kiddo. I wouldn’t have offered an internship, I wouldn’t have bought back this tower to stay nearby, I wouldn’t have wine nights with your aunt, I wouldn’t have movie nights with you, I wouldn’t go to your decathlon meets, I wouldn’t be handing over my company, I wouldn’t be planning out a room for you in my cabin, if it weren’t for you.”

“You are?”

“You’re my kid, Peter.”

“So it wouldn’t be wrong for me to use the internship on my application,” Peter says quietly, less of a question. “It wouldn’t be wrong for you to write me a letter of recommendation.”

“I have one written already. Had it written since you were fifteen.”

Peter breathes in the smell of metal and day-old cologne and coffee, and finally feels like his lungs accept the oxygen for the first time in what feels like forever. Tony will make it all okay.

*

“Hey… I’m sorry for what happened the other day,” he says, listening to the tinny sound of silence as he leaves a message on MJ’s phone. “I really am. I know you were just trying to help, I was just too far gone to accept it. I’m- I’m going to stop, relax, slow down. You were right, of course you were. I don’t know a time when you weren’t right. I’m dropping football and robotics and tutoring. I can’t do it all and Spider-Man. I’m taking a couple days off, a ‘mental health long weekend’ Tony’s calling it. If you… Maybe you’d think about coming by? I know you have no reason to forgive me, but- I just- I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. And thank you. Thank you for trying to help me, thank you for being a friend, thank you for putting up with me these past months, thank you for telling Mister Stark, thank you for everything. Alright, well… bye, MJ.”

*

May comes by that night. She cries when Tony tells her how bad it got, how little sleep Peter was getting, how much he was pushing himself. She cries and gathers Peter up in her arms like he’s still five-years-old.

“Peter, baby,” she says into his hair. And that’s all it takes for him to cry too. And she keeps saying it, “Peter, baby, I should’ve known, I should’ve seen it. I’ve been working too much and I…”

“I just wanted to make Ben proud,” he cries into her scrubs.

“Ben would be so proud of you, baby, so goddamn proud. You don’t need to do anything more than be you for him to be proud. I’m so sorry we ever made you think otherwise. He loved you so much and he just saw so much potential in you, we all do, that’s why- We never wanted to put you under so much pressure, just wanted to make sure you knew you could do anything you set your mind to.”

*

MJ and Ned come by. They exchange their apologies, even MJ says she’s sorry for being so angry that day.

They spend the day playing video games and talking and eating.

Peter feels like the balance has been restored in the universe.

*

When he finally applies to MIT as well as plenty of back-up schools, he doesn’t freak out. He thinks that it’ll be okay, whatever happens. If he has to do a lap year, so be it, if he goes to a college in Boston or New York for a year before reapplying, it’ll be okay.

His grades have steadily increased since The Intervention, and his caffeine intake has steadily declined. He hangs out with his friends more regularly, spends time with May, has relaxed nights with Tony instead of cramming them full of studying. He gets back his spot on the Academic Decathlon team and splits his responsibilities as student class president with his vice president.

Tony pats him on the shoulder and presses a kiss to his forehead when he hits the final submit button on his final application. He murmurs a quiet admission of pride into Peter’s hair.

Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.

*

MJ gets early acceptance to Harvard. Peter’s never seen her smile that wide before.

*

Ned gets accepted to MIT a few weeks later. He brings the letter to Peter’s apartment and says that they should wait until Peter gets his, but Peter shakes his head and tells him to open it now. Ned’s hands shake badly as he opens the letter. There’s a long moment of silence as Ned reads and Peter waits.

And then, “I got accepted.”

Ned doesn’t sound as happy as he should, sounds nervous even as he looks up at Peter.

“Dude!” Peter exclaims, jumping up from his seat. He grabs the letter from Ned’s hands and reads the congratulations. He throws his arms around Ned. “Holy shit!”

Ned hugs him tight but when they pull away, he still looks small. “You’re not… upset? I mean, if you don’t get it, I can wait to start, defer until next year-”

“Are you kidding?” Peter says, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “I’m so proud of you, dude. I’m so excited for you. You deserve it, man.”

And Ned finally smiles. “I can’t believe it.”

Peter pulls him into another hug.

*

Peter doesn’t hear anything for weeks.

There are a few nights where his anxiety gets the best of him. Sometimes, he heads over to Tony’s lab, knowing he’ll be up even at the odd hours. Sometimes, he swings over to MJ’s, lands on her fire escape and taps on her window. She’s always there to soothe his worries. She doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that he’ll get accepted, neither does May or Tony or Ned. But, worse case scenario, it’ll all work out. Nobody’s going to be upset or mad if he doesn’t go to MIT in the fall.

*

And then he gets it.

He’s studying at the dining room table with Ned and MJ, preparing for midterms in March, when May comes home from work with the mail. And sitting among them is the letter he was waiting for.

MIT.

“You ready?” MJ asks. She puts her hand over his on the letter.

“No matter what it says, it’ll be okay,” Ned reminds him. “No matter what.”

Tears burn his eyes all of a sudden. He puts the letter down on the table, unopened, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. They have a future planned out, the three of them. An apartment in Boston, road trips together back to New York whenever they can, MJ wants to get a cat. May’s had her two-week notice letter ready on the coffee table. Tony’s already started blueprints for that cabin he’ll build. He knows he keeps saying everything will be okay if he doesn’t get in, but…

“It will be,” MJ says like she knows what he was thinking. “You can still come to Boston with us if you don’t get in. Your future doesn’t rest on what this letter says.”

Peter believes her, that it’ll be okay, but slides the letter to her, silently asking her to do the honors, he can’t do it himself.

She nods and picks it up. She gives him one last reassuring smile before opening the envelope.

“Dear Peter Parker,” MJ reads.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

Sorry about your uni related stress!

I would love to see your take on "rebellious teenager who’s failing all their classes is assigned a studious tutor" for rebelcaptain.

I'm effectively burned out on high school AUs after "A Little Hope", as it turns out, but I tried my best!

.

“I am hardly failing all my classes, Baze, don’t be so dramatic.”

The school counsellor throws her a pointed look. “I am the least dramatic person in this building, Miss Erso. And I never said you were failing all your classes. But you are well on your way to failing Art History –“

“Can you blame me? It’s the most boring thing on earth.”

“- Draven informs me you’re on shaky ground in World History as well. Actually, he says to remind you that classes are every Tuesday at ten. He worries you’ve forgotten.“

Jyn sighs and rolls her eyes. “Look, fine. Tell him I’ll ‘apply’ myself. That’s the term, right?”

“I’m also to let you know that you could fail AP Spanish,” Baze Malbus goes on flatly, ignoring her olive branch.

Shit. Looks like she miscalculated on just how little the old crone cares about her job in her last year before retirement.

“Jyn, I know you’re not stupid,” Baze says with a sigh. Now he is using her first name. That’s a bad sign.

“I know you’ve had a very difficult time this past year. But most of your teachers are already cutting you slack –“ Jyn scoffs, but Baze goes on before she can argue, “ – and I can’t smooth things over for you from here to graduation, alright? And I shouldn’t have to. We both know you could pass these classes in your sleep if you wanted to.” He adjusts his stack of notes with a sigh. “Ms Spinelli will let you pass in return for an additional twenty-minute presentation in class, and Draven said you will scrape by if you manage a B in the final two tests. Regular attendance is also non-negotiable,” Baze adds drily, and Jyn rolls her eyes again. She didn’t even skip his class that often. The man had such a stick up his ass.

“But Ms Lopez insists on an oral exam at the end of term, no getting out of that one, kid. And if you don’t ace the last physics test, Krennic is going to fail you.”

“Oh, come on, he’s got it in for me! There’s no way to make it past a C in his class!”

“Yes, there is. By giving the correct answers on the test.”

“But –“

“No. I will put you in contact with a senior who is willing to tutor you, and then the ball is in your court.”

Jyn scoffs. “I am not getting tutored –“

“Jyn, either you agree to sit down with this kid twice a week, or I’m mailing all those reports to your father.”

She glowers at the counsellor. “That’s not fair, Baze.”

“It’s very fair. We had a deal. You follow my advice and I keep this kind of thing between us as long as I can. So now I’m telling you to get a tutor.”

He doesn’t so much as bristle under her glare, so after a moment, she resigns herself to her fate with a heartfelt sigh. “Okay, fine. Who is it?”

.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” Jyn groans and prods at her potatoes with her fork.

“You’re getting tutored by the guy you threw up on at Han’s? Twice? And he agreed to that?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s thrilled,” she says, spearing a mealy potato with decidedly too much vigour, and shoots her friend a withering look. “And also, the second time was his car. Not him.”

“Well, in that case…” Bodhi is still grinning. “How much is he getting for it?”

Jyn grimaces. “A twenty an hour. And my dignity.”

Her friend shrugs, the grin softening into something a little more serious. “Come on, it could be worse. He seems… nice –“

Jyn makes what was meant to be a derisive scoff but comes out like a hysterical little giggle. Nice. Sure. A lot of descriptors come to mind with Leia’s eternal academic rival and dark horse of the student union. Some she wouldn’t admit under torture (soft hair or beautiful eyes, to name a few), most are more along the theme of stick up his ass – nice definitely isn’t the first.

(He was nice, at that party. Nice enough, anyway, not to yell at her when she barfed in his car, or on his shoes. So basically saintlike. And he drove her home, even though nobody had asked him to. That was probably nice.)

But she is way too embarrassed about the whole thing to let herself remember anything about Leia’s birthday party, and anyway, he’s still insufferably studious and he used to play tennis with Leia and he’s doing triathlon and he’s an editor on the student newspaper and she’s pretty sure he did Model UN.

She’s pretty sure even Cassian Andor isn’t hot enough to make up for that.

And he’s going to be a nightmare as a tutor, if his sweatshop of a local news section is any indication.

.

To Jyn's immense shock, it turns out he isn’t. And it turns out that is worse.

Jyn was perfectly prepared to sit through some condescending lectures for a few weeks, stew in quiet resentment and roll her eyes at him when his back was turned. That would have made the embarrassment of that repressed memory of his hand on the back of her head when he helped her into the car pretty much bearable. And she would have caught up on her classes all by her lonesome afterwards, and have the satisfaction of knowing he hadn’t helped her at all.

She was not prepared for liking it.

He decided that they can kill two birds with one stone if they go through the World History curriculum in Spanish. It’s hard, but she always liked a challenge (a little too much, according to Bodhi and Baze), and Cassian is exactly as demanding as she thought he would be. Except… that kind of makes it fun. He’s ruthless when he wants to be, but in a way that tells her he thinks she’s holding out on him. It’s trust, weirdly – he just always assumes she’s up to the task, that he can push just a little further. And he seems to enjoy doing that, somewhere behind his quiet, reserved manner. He’s even – as much as she hates to admit it – funny, in the same underhand way.

It's… unfortunately attractive. She’d love to blame it on the language (he does have a nice voice), but she finds herself trying stupidly hard to impress him, just to catch that intrigued glint in his eyes again.

He even makes being good at physics look hot, a thought that makes Jyn want to sink through the floor whenever she catches herself thinking it. Which she has four times so far this afternoon. (Seriously, a guy being able to do complex math in his head shouldn’t be this hot. Right?)

This isn’t the type of embarrassing she’d expected from this whole tutoring thing.

.

.

bonus outtake:

“Oh, hey, by the way, I’m… I’m really sorry. About, you know. Vomiting on your shoes at Han’s that one time.”

“Oh, don’t –“

“No, really, I’m sorry! It was disgusting.”

“A bit. Yeah.”

“A bit?”

“Honestly, the car seat was worse,” he says with a shrug.

“Oh my God –“

“It’s fine, Jyn, it… Really. It was… my own fault.”

“Me getting drunk and puking in your car was your fault how, exactly?”

Another shrug. “Well… if I had worked up the courage to talk to you when you were sober, I guess I wouldn’t have got puked on, right?”

Pick an AU and get a one-shot (at some point in the future!)

[fabiochampioraro]

Some comments on the first world cup of the season. We can only start with her: WOW Lewinska! Race held like a veteran, despite some minimal uncertainty he comes up with some great scores! 33.200 for hoop, Pigniczki did two very good exercises! The 2008 team was certainly very nervous, but overall super interesting gymnasts! Rin Keys, despite some flaws, seems to me to be a really good prospect and an excellent heir to Griskenas! Taniyeva is very nervous, it seems to me that she feels all the pressure of the Olympic qualification: some errors typical of hers, the hoop she perfectly caught after the final throw but off the platform. Bad day for the Germans, with one oob each: Simakova made a big mess with ball, while with hoop, despite the errors, she still had a good score. Kolosov, on the other hand, recovers with a good ball, after the error at the hoop on the maneskins: in this regard, but if half the lyrics of the song have to be censored because they are swear words, wasn't it better to choose other music?

Tugolokova doesn't disappoint either and takes home two clean exercises. Highs and very lows for the Brazilians, better for the French, Chinese, Spanish and Nikolchenko...we are still waiting for explanations about it, but I doubt they will arrive. Milena started well with the ball, then completely failed in the second half of the exercise, some inaccuracies with hoop got her a 30 sharp. I'm still not much into Sofia's program this year, she had some mistakes in execution.

As soon as she finds some stability, Krasnobaeva will steal everyone's show. After a ball fouled for nonsense, she pulls out a masterful hoop and takes home the best score of the day, the only one above 35. I'm happy to see Brezalieva much more stable instead: like Taniyeva, she also has a great love for doing a lot of elements on the line of the carpet, but for today she came out the winner. Harnasko was very imprecise outside of both finals and i'm glad, Munits (she grew so much as a senior!) and Atamanov definitely did their part in terms of scores, i think i have to rewatch their routines to feel if i love them. Like Taniyeva, I also see Lytra under a lot of pressure, in her case perhaps because she knows that if Lewinska competes like this, she has very little chance for Paris. For once the jury was quite good. it seems to me that those who made mistakes paid and those who did well, even if unexpectedly, got excellent scores (the South Korean Sohn Jiin got an excellent 30,850 with hoop, for example). Brezalieva, Atamanov, Raffaeli and Piniczki are the only ones to enter both finals.