#if I can get more hours at the pay I get as an adjunct I could move out sooner than I thought I would

[loveofmylouis]

.

[qqueenofhades]

Do you have any idea where all the money in education IS going? People talk about administrators, but their percentage of the overall budget seems lowish? Facilities are expensive, but often paid for with bequests, no? Where the hell is all the money going?

The same place it's going in every other capitalistic American enterprise: to senior executives, endowments, and other places that decidedly do not "trickle down" (because you know, it never does). See my many previous posts about how college costs skyrocketed starting in the 1980s and post-secondary higher education was transformed from something in which most of the costs were governmentally subsidized to something expected to be paid (at higher and higher levels) either privately out of the consumer's pocket or from thousands of dollars in student loans. Because you guessed it, Reaganomics.

I can tell you one place it absolutely is NOT going, i.e. salaries of faculty and staff, at least in the less capitalistically sexy fields of study. The university where I work never hurts for money in the business and law schools, but because I am in the humanities/education/history, yeah, our department's budget is not in great shape. Of course, yes, COVID hit the higher-education sector like crazy (as it did everywhere else) and universities haven't figured how to recover from that, but just as with the rest of America, it's a model that is designed to funnel the vast majority of profits, i.e. from skyrocketing student tuition rates and other increased fees, to the highly compensated senior leadership and very little to the academics who do the work that makes the place, you know, RUN.

This is a bugaboo for both me and every other academic I know, because (again, just as with the rest of capitalism) it doesn't HAVE to be this way. I shouldn't be trying to manage a department that has to rely heavily on adjunct faculty every quarter and doesn't have a sustainable long-term scheduling or research model, because we're so badly understaffed with core tenure-track faculty and they won't let us hire any more, while constantly cutting our budget and giving us laughable raises (mine, after getting sterling performance reviews across the board, was a whole... 72 extra cents an hour. I wish I was joking). There is money tied up in the institution and the establishment (and as noted, I work at a well-regarded and highly-ranked private university, so it's not a matter of not having enough), but the system distributes it in a way that is inequitable and results in enforced scarcity, especially in the humanities. It's not that there isn't money to pay us fairly, it's just that they have chosen not to, because they exist in the same capitalist system as the rest of the west.

This is why there have been strikes by graduate and early-career academics in both the UK and US (I have worked/studied/taught in both places, and they're both BAD for paying lower-level academics and even established-career academics), because they simply do not pay us enough to live on or build a career on (by a long shot, ESPECIALLY if you're the only person in your household and don't have shared expenses with a partner/roommate/several roommates). This is after most of us have several advanced degrees and the debt resulting from such. We get burned out, we can't make a living in this field, we leave, and it's hollowed out even further. So. Yeah.

[krinndnz]

SMBC: "Liberal Education"

Red shirt: People are always talking about the importance of a liberal education, but they can never tell you why it's important. They either give you vague talk about "well-roundedness" or the human spirit or they tell you that a philosophy degree will help you get a job.

Adjunct faculty: Yeah, those are bad arguments. This is very straightforward. Why do we want a liberal education? Because everyone in the modern university is living in its opposite, and it sucks.

Universities are run like businesses whose primary product is certificate generation. Among people who already have the certificate, the goal is grant acquisition while generating certificates for people who might one day secure more grants. The people who buy the certificates pay fortunes because they need the certificate to get a job. Thus, the university is serving a very pragmatic role in certification and job qualification, whose virtues are very easy to explain without any appeal to philosophy or aesthetics or vague ideas about "well-roundedness."

Most of the questions I answer for students are about how I grade and what information will be on a test. This is because they need good grades to get the certificate to get the job. I oblige because I know they need the certificate and so my bosses don't get mad. And if a student wants office hours just to talk about interesting things, I am annoyed because I need to spend my time grading papers so the other students can pass the class, get certificates, and get jobs.

So, you see we all know why we're doing what we're doing. No mystery, no fuzzy talk. No effete notions about the human spirit or whatever.

And it sucks.

Now, imagine a place: an old, dank pub. It's hard to get to, it's full of weirdos, most people don't even want go in, and you certainly don't get credentials for descending the stairs. The people who do go have met there for thousands of years purely for fellowship. They argue, they criticize, they praise, they blame, they sing sometimes and sometimes they cry, and sometimes they come to make friends or make enemies, but they are always and only there in earnest.

The sheer age of the pub and its continuous occupation means there are ongoing conversations, unbroken, going back to people who thought the sun was a chariot and rivers were alive, through people who described the motion of the planets and changed our what space is, down to one person in the corner right now, today, screaming over the crowd about proper poetry or complexity classes or whatever it is.

You can't tell me why the second place is superior without vague talk about the human spirit or a life well lived or "well-roundedness." But you know that the first place makes you tired while the second place would be so beloved that if it burned down you'd want to bury it and write its name on a stone.

The best argument for a liberal education is that it makes a place in the world that is less like the first place and more like the second place. Because whether you can go in the building or just look in the window or only read about it in old books, you know it's better.

------------------

This monologue lives rent-free in my head and I couldn't find it anywhere else both in plain text and accurately transcribed (the SMBC wiki has an auto-transcription, which I cleaned up to produce this).

[crazy-pages]

My Most Controversial Academic Opinion

The effect of tenure in practice is to eject controversial professors from academia, not to shelter them. I would even go so far as to call this its intended function.

Think about what tenure is, in practice.

Step 1: You enter academia. As a post-doc you are expected to work gratuitously more hours than your contract stipulates, for very little pay with no job security. If you challenge the authority of your PI, your career is dead.

Step 2: Maybe more post-doc work, but maybe you move on to adjuncting. You work gratuitously more hours than your contract stipulates, you get paid very little with no job security, and if you express a hint of controversial views you will be let go.

Step 3: The primary way up to tenure track is intensive networking with existing figures in the university, getting in close with the administration, and brutally overworking yourself without complaint. You definitely absolutely cannot complain during this period.

Step 4: Tenure track! Time to brutally overwork yourself for gratuitously more hours than your contract stipulates again, killing yourself dead to earn that tenure. You cannot risk anything controversial during this period, unless it is a very carefully cultivated controversial that benefits the university.

Step 5: You made it! After more than a decade of allowing your work contract to be violated left and right, of overwork, of minimal respect, of no job security, flattering everyone above you on the chain, and never saying anything controversial ... you can be controversial. In theory.

In theory.

Now, before anyone says anything, I am aware of specific examples of tenure being used to protect the right to pursue controversial research. But in aggregate. What are the odds that someone who made it through this system is going to be a controversial researcher?

What are the odds that this person is going to see a grad student being overworked or abused, and use their position of privilege to complain to the administration about it? Hell what power do they actually have to do so? Actually for that matter, speaking of abuse.

If a tenured professor actually professionally abuses their students, screaming at them, bullying them, violating their work contracts, what can be done about that? Because let me tell you, I have been on the receiving end of that. I got personally informed by the grad student dean that he had literally no power to influence my advisor's behavior. The only thing he could do was a nuclear option to permanently ban the advisor from taking on grad students in the future, which I was told would almost certainly result in career retaliation.

And that nuclear option would be reserved for more serious cases anyway, like direct sexual assault of a student (note the implied: that might not be enough to get the advisor fired, just lose grad student privileges). Now I wasn't doing any especially controversial research as a student, but what about those who want to? Because it sure seems like the current system gives a blank check for their abuse at the hands of established uncontroversial academics for over a decade of their career. I can't help but think that might have a cooling effect on interest in controversial research.

Maybe. Just a little, you know?

Tenure says that the only people who get protection for their research are the people who have proved their loyalty to the institution and their willingness to endure its worst. It gives protection to those who would abuse those who would shake the system up. It gives personal security, and yet no explicit power or incentive for those with tenure to protest the mistreatment of those in their field. It makes it so that the only way to get the power to be controversial is to prove you can be uncontroversial, or palatably controversial.

Maybe instead of defending tenure we can have academic unions instead.

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Twenty Eight - Clock

Word Count: 1020 (Ezra made me do it)

Warnings: Angst, mention of blood, loss of arm, a cowboy makes an appearance?, the sads 😭

Notes: Between Ezra and Din I don’t know who I’m being more grabby hands with. Honeypot and beekeeper Ezra came back. 👀

Main Masterlist/ March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenges

Their code hasn’t been used for two years. They’ve been safe, been happy, been working together on their honey business. Ezra had been away to Southern California at a meeting about supplies. These meetings might take a week, maybe two but not two months. You were tempted to go down and look for him, but there was business here to keep track of and on week three he’s said he was fine, things were just taking a bit longer. There was a faint hitch to his voice, but it’s Ezra, your Ezra. It’s not the longest he’s been gone.

It’s at the start of month two that you panic, not really because of the time, though it’s still very much a concern. It’s then that you get a text from an unknown number:

Chronos bleeds the seconds and hours from the remains of my right adjunct. Time finds refuge in a pocket of space south of Odessa.

It’s a place you both know and somewhere Ezra would not be if he didn’t absolutely need to. You reply that you’ve received the message and that you should be down in two days time. You’d need to pack and see that things were as put away as you could manage.

Walking outside into the cool morning air of Spring still not giving way fully to the heat that’s to come with the sunrise, you close your eyes. The crisp scent of honey, grass and dew tickles your nostrils. It would be the last time you’d smell it for sometime. Your gut told you this.

Meeting Jack Daniels at the airport was a first. You’d heard mention of the man and that he’d gotten married recently. Never thought you’d meet him. He was polite and somehow added more ham onto his accent than Ezra did than a Texas barbecue. You felt safe as he drove you and your bags to the small shotgun house where he told you that fool was. Or maybe you were the fool for not going with him.

“Now, look here sugar. He ain’t quite the man you remember. Ez is a bit different. He’ll need to tell ya all about that. I imagine there will be a lot to discuss.” Is the only thing Daniels says before escorting you in the house and to the master bedroom in the back. It’s there that you open the door and see him. The new Ezra.

Being a man who never stayed in one place too long, he’d gotten complacent and comfortable. Hadn’t been expecting that prior business to catch up with him. Ezra had considered his debts paid. That had been, though it seemed a member of the group he’d bilked out of some money prior to paying it back held onto his principals. For ten years. Long before he met you and stopped studying the clocks so much. Time marched on and stood still with you by his side. He felt he was deep in his Honeypot’s spell, near impervious to any blemishes he may have had before.

The chickens had come home to roost or more accurately, plucked him from his concluded meeting in California and dragged him back to Texas. Demanding a pound of flesh for their trouble. Ezra refused, citing that he had already paid, though the members still felt the sting of losing some supposed face from his previous plans. That demon of a man gave the beekeeper a choice: flesh from him or flesh from your partner in North Dakota. Without hesitation and rather uncharacteristically, he offered himself. Surprising everyone, him most of all. The pain was excruciating, the bastards didn’t even take it cleanly and he had to call in a favor with Jack to get him to someone who could ensure he wouldn’t die.

He couldn’t just disappear from your life. Ezra must give you some sort of closure. He knows you can run the business yourself and will find good help. He just would like to see you once before you abandon him. Lying in this bed, he’s counted fifty-six hours since he sent you the message from the burner phone and fifty-one since you replied. He just hears the clicking of that damn clock overlooking his bed. The insulation is poor in this little house that Whiskey has squirreled away. It’s cool in the early mornings and nights, during the day his clothes arm damn near soaked.

What would you say when you saw him? Would you even speak to him? Curse? Cry? Berate him? Ezra tried to prop himself up on his left elbow but flops on the bed, landing on his side. “This would be a penance. To re-learn everything and to be without you. Two voids I cannot hope to fill. Time will never heal either of these. I thought I was Chronos or Apollo but I am broken much like Icarus.” The clicking of the clock continues - seconds swallowing his words.

He feels a hand on his face, wiping his tear away. Your weight dips the bed and he curls his body around your wide frame. “I’m here Ezra. You’re alive so there’s a start. I was worried you were going to be speaking from beyond the grave.” Leave it to you to make light of the situation, Keeva above he appreciates it. It might be the last time he hears it. “Don’t tell me now. Jack said we can stay here as long as we need. Just….let me be happy you’re alive. Please.”

“Alright Honeypot. I too need just your presence. Nothing else for now.” Rolling on his back, he looks up at you, a weak smile on his face. You’re heard what he said, that he’s sure he has two voids before you came in the room. You’ll do your best to make him believe he has none. And yes he’s going to need to re-learn quite a bit but you know he’ll be able to do it. He’s Ezra, your partner. You have faith in him from season to season, no matter how many minutes turn into hours, you’ll feel the same.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I abandoned academia about 7 years ago. I have an MA in history and was teaching adjunct classes for peanuts with no benefits or anything of the like and no guarantee of a job when the semester was done. One summer after the 2nd summer session ended I put in for a job in construction specifically dirt moving (building roads) due to needing the money and haven't looked back ever since. Im currently a heavy equipment operator and foreman. I make more money annually than a tenure track professor makes at the college I was at; the benefits are great with a 401k and health insurance; I still get 3 months off out of the year due to weather (in northern North America you can't do effective dirt work in the winter) and an added bonus of when I'm off the clock at 5:30 pm or during the weekends I'm off. There's no students or students parents to deal with after hours, no tests to grade, no papers to work on, no lectures to write, no faculty meetings or "mixers" etc... Maybe take some of the time between semesters to try something different, you never know you may find it works out to be something you enjoy more. If not I'm sure academia will still be there to go back to.

A lot of people tend to bring up the embarrassingly low pay of college professors as if this were a rhetorical slam dunk but generally people trying to be academics are well aware that it doesn't pay well and despite this poor payment there is still an amazing surplus of people who want to do academic work for the number of postings available (the low wages are therefore no mystery); I make more doing ____ isn't inherently compelling. I would make as much as a low-level draftsman as I can expect to make starting out at most colleges with a tenure track position.

I think if I wanted to chase money I would try to find something that would involve less time outdoors in the summer. I also don't think I would fit in well with the people who do that for a living, having done some blue collar work in the past I don't really want to live the Frasier-in-Cheers life of being reminded I'm a faggot for having a PhD and enjoying reading

In fact I went to academia in part to escape that. If I were the kind of person who was happy punching the clock for a decent wage I would still be doing that, but it bores me to death

It occurs to me however that the spirit in which this is written is less " do construction" than it is "there are other good things to do and what you might like may surprise you," which is a point well taken, but I do not think I have the luxury of too much experimentation at this point as I am in my mid-30s with much student loan debt and many dependents

I think my next thing kind of has to be my thing

famous last words

[athousandmorningss]

one of the uni's i teach at did a university-wide evaluation of faculty pay in order to readjust to national standards. full time faculty and adjunct faculty got a raise. adjunct faculty's raises are, of course, marginal. here's another thing they did: they broke the departments across the university into two groups. group a includes all of the departments that they've determined are "critical," while group b includes departments that are not "critical." all instructors teaching within the group a tier of the university are getting a bigger pay raise, meaning the cost per credit hour as increased. all instructors within tier b are being paid less, with the course per credit hour only marginally increasing.

as you can imagine, group a departments include all of the stem departments: math, nursing, science stuff

group a departments are all of the humanities courses: English, communication studies courses, second language acquisition classes, etc.

-

in a required meeting, the presenter of this information bullshitted us with saying "these changes do not indicate that we value some instructors or departments over others" to which a colleague responded, " Having two-sets of faculty pay definitely means that one set of instructors is valued more than another."

yeah. that part.

[sadgradgirlhours]

I think the kicker is that for whatever reason a lot of people don't see grad school as work?

I've always seen being a student as work and not separate from work. And being a grad student especially, it's not like regular going to school, it's more like an apprenticeship or an internship. You spend relatively little time in class, you spend most of the time being a scholar like anyone who already has their PhD.

And beyond that, you're also teaching or you're a gra or what have you.

Like I'm a full time grad student and a "part-time" adjunct, in that I'm contractually obligated to cap my teaching work at 20 hours and only being paid for 20hr/week. However! Teaching often necessitates going over that part-time cap and you're also taking your own classes and doing the work for those and working on your own research and your dissertation work.

So, what I'm saying and what I've realized is that basically being a grad student and adjunct is basically the same as being a non-grad student adjunct prof. Which is the same as being a tenure track prof except that you don't get paid that much and don't have as many departmental opportunities and you're far more limited in what you're allowed to teach lol.

Like, I went to community college and many of my teachers there were people with masters degrees en route to getting their PhDs, so literally the same position as me. I'm guessing that the pay is also pretty similar except that the community college profs might get a little more pay since they can teach multiple classes whereas I'm capped at one.

[jangofctts]

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea. 

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair. 

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week. 

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield. 

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him. 

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield. 

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you… 

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.      

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”   

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever. 

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality. 

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you. 

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

                          -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up. 

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.  

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting. 

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.” 

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help. 

Or maybe it’s penance. 

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting. 

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.” 

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.         

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar. 

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do. 

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in. 

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin. 

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow. 

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it. 

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter. 

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.              

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.” 

                            -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing. 

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.  

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder. 

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.” 

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more. 

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing— 

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide. 

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer. 

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.   

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat. 

What a way to go.    

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more. 

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you. 

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs. 

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject. 

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.   

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger. 

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.  

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch. 

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”   

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.  

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation. 

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious. 

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick. 

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh. 

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good. 

Cheeky bastard.  

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.    

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him. 

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears. 

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.” 

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease. 

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him. 

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking. 

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin. 

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.  

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam. 

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor. 

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear. 

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch. 

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?” 

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin.��“Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.” 

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

[deathspeaker]

I would like to point out that professors make garbage pay these days 75+% of professors are 'adjunct' professors. And most adjuncts get paid MINIMUM WAGE. And in some states that's the federal minimum wage. Which is 7.25$ an hour.

So there are 100% absolutely brilliant Ph.D.-holding people who 100% have to work a second job to be able to teach. So right now I have 0 doubt there are at least a good number of janitors out there who are actually professors.

They also don't get healthcare. I know, I dated an adjunct for a while. And due to how their work is he absolutely had to do work off the clock for his classes.

I had a friend who wanted to be a professor, she was on the right track, but then she realized she'd be making more money, and keeping her benefits, by giving up on her dream and just staying in the admin office. This was at the top school in Arizona BTW. Of which, has 3 fantastic universities, tuition and fees can range from 12k a year to 35k a year btw (spring and fall). That's per student (in-state vs. out-of-state).

So again, there are actual brilliant people who are currently working jobs that some (assholes) view as lesser or degrading.

America does NOT value its education system, from pre-k to post-grad.

I was debating pre- and post- smartphone existentialism with an older gentleman today and he stopped part way through and said “Why are you a security guard? Why aren’t you teaching this at some college somewhere?” And I didn’t know what to say so I went with “Well I used to make art but nobody pays an artist”

[bettsfic]

hi, i was reading your years in review and i noticed that you quit a job of many years to go your own way. i was wondering if you would mind talking about this decision/if you struggled with it? idk i've always told myself that i wouldn't let the idea of a "career" get in the way of what i want (e.g. writing) and that one day (shortly after 30?) i would just quit whatever job i had and go my own way, but as that deadline comes up i find it harder to imagine how i could just uproot myself...

yes, i very much did struggle with the decision to quit (what i thought was) my very stable and lucrative career in finance to get an MFA in creative writing. it’s a bit of a long story so i’m putting it under a cut.

warning for suicidality and sexual assault.

i used to believe i grew up poor, but it was the 90s so poverty looked very different. my dad didn’t work for a long time, and so we only had one income, and we lived in an apartment that was kind of a lowkey hoarder home. as a kid, all i knew was that i didn’t get to have toys, or my own space, and i wasn’t allowed to have friends over. the concept of an allowance was totally alien to me. but it also wasn’t like i ever went hungry. the food we had wasn’t particularly healthy but it was always there.

i didn’t really realize how much that instability affected me until much later, when i noticed other people hadn’t lived their entire lives aware of and obsessed with money. i used to compulsively count the change in my piggy bank and beg my mom to take it so she could pay her taxes (i didn’t know what taxes meant, i just assumed they were the reason we couldn’t afford nice things). 

my safe haven was always my grandparents’ house, which was clean and had semi-healthy food and the door was always open. my grandpa was a high school chemistry teacher. my grandma worked at a bank. growing up, i had no idea what she did at the bank, just that it sponsored all the fun things we did, like going to amusement parks and baseball games. my parents never took my sister and i on vacation, but every year, my grandma would drive us to visit our family in missouri, which, even though it only cost the gas to get there, seemed like a wild indulgence to me.

i started working at 16 so i could have my own money. by 17 i was working illegally full-time and getting paid under the table. then i bought my own car, and shortly after i turned 18 i got my own apartment. even though i could pay my bills, i was still terrified about money. i thought about it all the time. i checked my bank account multiple times a day. i was a cashier at a restaurant and i would often open my drawer and just stare at the money or count it when i was bored.

but i hated working at the restaurant, and one day i thought to myself, how can i keep the money part of this job but lose the food part? then i remembered my grandma’s career at the bank (from which by then she’d retired), and that afternoon i sat down and applied to be a teller at the very same bank. obviously the bank was very large and it wasn’t like my grandma was in management. she worked in ATM operations. nobody on my hiring committee knew who she was, and honestly i have no idea how i got the job.

i stayed a teller through college, working 25ish hours a week. it didn’t pay very well and i was still nervous about money, so i picked up a job altering bridal gowns on evenings and weekends, and also an admin job at my university. so i was working 60ish hours a week, plus going to school full-time and trying to keep up my 4.0. in retrospect, i can’t remember how necessary all this was. i know i was living in an apartment whose rent was higher than i could afford, and i lived with my boyfriend who was struggling to find a job. anyway, it was definitely the lowest time of my life, and i was so exhausted that every day i hoped something horrible would happen to me so i could be hospitalized and rest. 

then something horrible did happen. my dad died. and even though everyone in my life was telling me to please dear god take a break, i did not. 

i got promoted to business finance, which paid what seemed at the time to be an ungodly amount of money. i was still part-time and finishing up my undergrad degree. once i graduated, i got promoted to full-time. for the first couple years, i really did try to be a banker. i was good at my job only insofar as someone who is left-handed can write with their right hand if forced for long enough. it felt very much like i was in the wrong place, but by that point i had so much unchecked trauma that i had convinced myself the highest human ideal was misery and deprivation. i wish i was kidding. i was the definition of ascetic and martyred myself. i didn’t believe happiness existed. work was all that mattered to me.

then i bought a house. so at this point, i had student loans, a car loan, a mortgage, and credit card debt. after my dad’s death, my mom had to file for bankruptcy because of all the medical bills. she abandoned her house. by this point i was 23, single, in six figures of debt with no familial support net, but i was making decent money at the bank, so it wasn’t like i was drowning. in fact i was doing pretty well. the bank was a rock in my very turbulent life. i got a lot of vacation time that allowed me to travel a bit. i had insurance and a matching 401(k). it was really a decent job.

but the bank was also in many ways an abusive relationship. i don’t mean that metaphorically. i had bosses who manipulated me, insulted me, humiliated me in front of other people. i had one boss who went so far as to look at my checking account and ridicule my purchases. i didn’t have any idea what it meant to stand up for myself or say no. in fact i wasn’t allowed to say no. my job at the bank involved solving other people’s problems. i could never say “i can’t solve that problem.” i could only say “i’ll figure it out.”

i had convinced myself working at the bank was a stable career because it was boring and i hated it. but actually it wasn’t stable at all. after 2008, there were mass layoffs and restructures every year while the bank tried to recover from the recession. i worked for a sales team, and so my job was dependent entirely on whether or not the salespeople did their jobs well. if they didn’t make goal, they’d get fired. if they got fired, i’d get fired. 

i started trying to date again and was sexually assaulted. after that i really struggled at work because i was dissociating a lot and couldn’t focus. my team, despite my having worked there for years, instead of being concerned for me decided to start complaining about me to my boss. finally i had to tell a coworker what happened and that i wasn’t doing very well. my team started being a little nicer to me but ultimately they didn’t care about me, they cared about how effective i was at my job. my boss didn’t want to fire me, so instead i was pushed onto another team.

that move came with a raise. then that team was dismantled and i was pushed onto another team. that was a demotion, but i got to keep my raise from the previous move. by then, i was working from home, and even though i was more comfortable i was also very isolated and miserable. my “fulfillment through deprivation” attitude was destroying me. i wasn’t eating well or taking care of myself. i was isolated and lonely. i still didn’t believe happiness was real and i constantly thought about killing myself. 

but i had started writing fanfiction, and even though i didn’t think i was any good at it, i was beginning to see a way out. i was beginning to learn how to dream, and want things, and give myself the things i wanted. i just couldn’t imagine leaving the bank, or selling my house, or moving out of my hometown. all of that seemed impossible to me.

then i had to go to a business conference where my team had a retirement party for one of my coworkers. she’d done what i was doing for 45 years. by that point i was at the 9 year mark. i’d spent my entire adult life at the bank. and i realized: the bank benefited from my fear and passivity, and nothing in my life was going to change unless i was willing to make sacrifices. 

but i still wasn’t entirely convinced. and then came the day i had to physically hold onto my desk to keep me from killing myself. i didn’t end up trying it, because i had another realization: this was a life or death situation now. if i kept working at the bank, i knew i would die. i knew eventually i would get low enough to do it. i didn’t actually want to die; i wanted an escape and didn’t know what else to do. suddenly i was off the hook. my options were not “financial stability or imminent poverty” but “live or die.” 

those were the big epiphanies i had, but the process of actually leaving the bank was a slow one. i wrote a bit about it here. i got into an MFA program basically by telling myself repeatedly i would figure out the money stuff later. when it came time to quit the bank, my boss convinced me to stay on working part-time, with the assumption i would move back to full-time once i’d graduated. i agreed to it, because just trying to quit was enough to convince me i could, and that better things were ahead of me. for a year and a half, i stayed on working two days a week while doing my MFA, which involved both coursework and teaching, and it felt a bit like it did during undergrad, having too many jobs and no time to breathe or think or feel anything.

between my first and second year, i had a looooong overdue mental breakdown. there were a lot of causes, but one of them was spreading myself too thin. shortly after, i quit for good. by then it didn’t feel like a big deal at all, i was so far removed from the work and my team and so focused on my degree. one day i turned on my work laptop and the next day i didn’t. i shipped it back to HQ and it was over.

then i graduated from the MFA and suddenly had to face the consequences of this life i’d chosen. my school kept me on as an adjunct, but it felt like being a ghost. i no longer had the community of my cohort. i had no health insurance. i was given my teaching schedule and a contract to sign, that’s it. there was no guarantee i would be getting classes the following semester, and after a year, that was what happened. i remember sitting in my favorite coffee shop trying not to cry when i got the email that said the department had nothing for me to teach the following semester.

i really wasn’t the same after the breakdown. i went from “i can do anything i put my mind to no matter how hard it is or how much it hurts” to “i have to step carefully, and treat myself gently.” i hadn’t fully realized that yet, though, so i tried to get a Real Job. i got the first and only job i applied to, because i am bad at nearly everything but somehow i’m exceptional in interviews. it wasn’t a bank but it offered the same sort of benefits package. it was a full-time salaried position at a non-profit. if i had found it earlier, i think it would have been my dream job. it was the kind of work you throw yourself into because you care so much about doing good. 

i lasted a month. during the first week something happened that triggered me in a way i’m very rarely triggered. i realized i needed disability accommodations, but i needed to go to a doctor to get an assessment and i had to be on the team 60 days in order to get insurance. i thought i could white-knuckle it, and i could, sort of, but every minute i was at work, it felt like i was forced away from the thing i should have been doing. i was constantly trying to write a few paragraphs here and there on my phone when no one was looking. i had to find excuses to take breaks and go to my car and breathe. at one point i told a volunteer i was an english instructor, and she looked at me very confused, and i realized i’d said it in present tense, like it was part of who i was and not a job i did for a while. then finally, my breaking point was an after-hours function. when i left i saw a field full of fireflies and thought about how, if i’d just stayed home, i could have sat outside and enjoyed them all evening, not just a glance at them on the way to my car. i liked the job but it was making me miss all the things i’d learned to love about being alive.

i quit the next day. i’d sold my house by then (which was its own feat) and moved in with my grandma, which hadn’t been a possibility until my grandpa passed away the previous spring. i paid off my car. i figured out finally that i would probably never be able to work full-time again unless it was teaching, and that the downside to this life would be accepting fear and instability, only being able to look ahead one semester at a time. staying open to the opportunities that arise. being a little selfish. 

i wrote a bit more about the financial realities of the writing life here. i can’t tell you what you should do, because the path i took definitely isn’t the path for everyone, but i do believe we all owe it to ourselves to pursue our best and happiest lives, because we only get one, and there’s no reason not to live it the way you want to. 

[twentyghosts]

My Science Boyfriends Mundane AU Masterlist

I have had some folks kindly ask if I plan to write another mundane AU after finishing Never A Breath You Can Afford To Waste, and the answer is: yeah, probably, eventually? Every time I finish writing one of these things I figure it will probably be my last, because how much more could I possibly have to say about the topic of: “What if these characters we know as superheroes were in love but didn’t have to literally save the world and could just have a normal job or whatever?” 

And then every time, a small mouse inside my brain whispers some new idea to me and I end up writing another one. But, in the meantime, here are all the ones I’ve written (since I think it can be hard to dig them out of my AO3 page since there are so many one-shots between the longer stories.)

These all have Bruce Banner/Tony Stark as the primary ship. Perhaps you will enjoy them while I wait for the small mouse inside my brain to start whispering, “Science Boyfriends, but hear me out, what if this time they’re insurance adjusters?” Or whatever. Check the AO3 links for full tags/warnings for each one.

Never A Breath You Can Afford To Waste (professor AU, 102K words) (featuring several lovely illustrations!) After abruptly trying to close down Stark Industries' weapons division, Tony Stark has been ousted as CEO by the company's board of directors and is attempting to cool his heels and rehabilitate his image with a cushy one-year appointment as a guest lecturer in engineering at Shield University. Dr. Bruce Banner also has a one-year appointment at Shield, but his is a lowly adjunct instructor position that doesn't pay enough to meet the high cost of living in Southern California. Bruce is trying desperately to keep anyone from finding out he's living in his car, while Tony is desperately trying to ask Bruce out and can't figure out why he won't accept. But when Bruce gets pneumonia, things change. Bruce has to trust Tony with his secret, Tony has to play nursemaid, and they both have to learn how to take care of each other—and still get their final grades turned in on time.

By Any Other Name (high school student AU/flower shop AU, 12K words) Bruce Banner has a hard enough time keeping his head above water between all of his afterschool jobs and the demanding coursework at Shield Academy, the prestigious boarding school he attends on scholarship. He doesn't have time to spearhead a Valentine's Day flower sale fundraiser, and he definitely doesn't have time to date Tony Stark, no matter what his best friend Nat and her girlfriend Pepper keep telling him.

Snow Falls, Love Rises (Hallmark Channel holiday movie AU, 35K words) Tony Stark's ambitious new plan to convert all of his factories to manufacture solar panels and other green energy technologies causes some concern in the small town of Snow Falls, Ohio: the home of the StarKids toy factory. Despite the toy factory's popularity, the town's Green Party mayor, Bruce Banner, actually supports the solar panel initiative. However, Bruce's deputy mayor Darcy Lewis goes behind his back to invite Tony to be the grand marshal of the town's annual Winter Joy Toy Parade, in an attempt to convince Tony to preserve the toy factory. Tony accepts, secretly hoping to use the event as an opportunity to reconnect with Bruce. Unbeknownst to the citizens of Snow Falls, Bruce and Tony haven't spoken to each other since their boarding school romance came to an abrupt end. Can their love be rekindled, or is it as dead as a string of vintage Christmas tree lights?

Is This Heaven? No, It’s Brooklyn (Good Omens fusion AU, 60K words) cowritten with @godlessondheimite After supervising the wrong child for 11 years, Crowley and Aziraphale discover that the Antichrist is actually in Brooklyn, and they have one month to avert the Apocalypse. Although they still need to figure out a few minor details (like how to stop him, and what name he's using), they book an Airbnb and head across the pond. Meanwhile, Bruce Banner, the last living descendant of Agnes Nutter, is also figuring things out, like how can he best answer his curious mentee, Adam Young’s, many questions about the planet? Why couldn't his ancestor's prophecies have been less nice and more coherent? What role will Stark Industries play in causing the end of the world? If he took down his Airbnb listing months ago, how did two strange Englishmen rent it out? And is he really destined to live the rest of his life with the asshole who plowed him over with a Bentley? The combined forces of science, religion, and coincidences--plus the hyper-competent Pepper Potts--might just be enough to avert the Apocalypse and give everyone a happy ending.

Snap Decisions (high school academic decathlon coach AU, 52K words) High school physics teacher Bruce Banner is feeling adrift after he returns from two years in the Peace Corps and takes a new job as the coach of Infinite Horizons Academy's academic decathlon team. Their rival team, Midtown School of Science and Technology, also acquires a new coach when stressed-out CEO Tony Stark finds himself in need of some community service hours. Despite their schools' rivalry, the two coaches become friendly with one another. When New York's power-hungry Schools Chancellor Thanos abruptly closes half of the city's public schools, the two teams are forced to merge. As things begin to crumble around them, Bruce and Tony get a little help from their students in their struggle to save their schools--and each other.

Sorry If You’re Starstruck (Hollywood AU, 60K words) While recovering from an on-set injury (and the resultant problem with painkillers), billionaire playboy genius filmmaker Tony Stark sets his eyes on his next project--an adaptation of the Gamma Garcia books, a widely beloved young adult sci-fi series. The books' notoriously reclusive author, Bruce Banner, rejects all film offers, but he reluctantly accepts Tony's friendship. Their bond deepens into something more, even as personal and professional setbacks threaten their chance at a Hollywood happy ending. 

Judging By The Cover (Library AU, 22K words) (featuring very cool collaged illustrations by @allofthefeelings for @wipbigbang!) Bruce Banner is a generally mild-mannered reference librarian at Malibu Public Library, but he loses his cool when local billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark proposes revitalizing the library's technology, at the cost of its collection of print books. Bruce tries his best to persuade Tony to preserve the library, but accidentally ends up dating him. Despite moral support from his friends and coworkers Darcy, Jane, and Natasha, Bruce isn't quite sure if he's cut out to share his life with Tony Stark on either a personal or professional level. Will children's librarian Thor's malevolent brother Loki ruin the summer reading club? Will the paparazzi ever leave Bruce and Tony alone--and more importantly, will Bruce and Tony ever see eye to eye on the subject of e-readers? And when is everyone going to stop asking Bruce for Fifty Shades of Grey?

[justthehiddleswrites]

Nice Shirt | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: After two years of being in a relationship with Tom, you start to question whether you are putting your own dreams aside for this relationship. You make a hard choice but is it the right one?

Warnings: Implied Smut, Drinking, Bit of Angst

-

2016

Tom couldn’t sleep after comic-com panels. The adrenaline pumped through him, and he couldn’t sleep for hours. He tried to convince Chris Hemsworth to go to the bar with him, but he begged off.

“You can talk to your wife any time. But how often do you get to bar hop in Philadelphia?”

“Nah, mate.” Chris responded. “I am absolutely wiped. But go have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Chris clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Ehehehe.” Tom chuckled. “Of course. Brother.”

The two men parted with a hug, and Tom headed for his car.

“James…” Tom asked his driver. “Do you know any good bars?”

The man smiled in the rearview mirror. “How good?”

“The best.”

“I know just the place.”

-

You weren’t sure how you ended up at Frankford Hall, but here you were, beer in one hand, ping pong paddle in the other.

“Whoo!” you hooted as you beat the young frat guy on the other side of the table. “That’s how it’s done!”

Someone tugged on the back of your shirt, you spun wide, sloshing your beer. You weren’t drunk yet, but the buzz was flowing.

“JESS!!” you screamed. “You made it!”

You pulled your best friend into the tightest hug. She mumbled something against your chest.

“What?”

“I said…” Jess pushed off of you. “… we need to get some food into you.”

“Excellent idea.”

You linked arms and headed inside to order some food.

-

Tom reminded himself to thank James for the excellent suggestion. He never would have picked a biergarten for the night but with ping pong and authentic food. It hit the spot after a long day of photographs and signing photos.

“Hey!” a voice beside him cut through the din of the bar.

“Pardon?” Tom answered, turning to find you standing there.

“Nice shirt, Paul!”

“The name’s Tom.”

Your head ducked as you burst out into laughter.

“I was calling you Paul Bunyan. You know, the lumberjack. Plaid shirt.”

Tom glanced down, forgetting he had thrown on his well worn red plaid shirt.

“Oh, right. Eheheheh.” Tom gave a nervous chuckle.

The waiter plopped a plate in front of Tom. Bratwurst. Tom licked his lips and took a big bite, bits of sauerkraut falling to the plate.

“I like a man who can handle his sausage.” you flirted.

The waiter delivered your and Jess’s appetizers, laying the plates in front of you. Tom eyed your food while taking a big swig of beer.

“I like a woman with a big appetite.” Tom countered, turning on his stool to give you a once over.

“Good to know.” You licked your thumb after popping a bit of pretzel in your mouth. “How are you with a paddle?”

Tom choked on his beer. “I beg your pardon?”

You lifted your chin to the outside.

“Ping pong. What did you think?” You returned the favor of allowing your gaze to slide up and down his long lean body, lingering on some places more than others.

“No comment. Let me finish this beer and I will meet you out there.”

You grabbed your plates and headed outside.

“It is about time. I worried you got lost in there.” Jess grumbled as you shoved her food at her.

“Jess! You will never guess who I just ran into in there!”

-

Two Years Later

“What on earth are you doing?” Tom questioned as he viewed drawers opened and the closet door thrown ajar.

“Packing, Tom.” you sighed as you folded up shirts, deciding which ones to pack and which ones to leave behind. “That is what one does when getting ready to travel.”

“I thought we decided you weren’t going to take that job.” Tom sat down on the bed, jostling your suitcase.

Your hands gripped the once folded shirts.

“No, you talked to me for two hours about all the reasons why I shouldn’t move back to the States and then you changed the subject every time I tried to bring it back up again. But there was never any ‘we’ in this decision, Tom. I’m going.”

“Why?” Tom’s voice cracked. “I thought we… you were happy living with me here in London.”

You sighed as you shoved a couple pairs of boots into the suitcase. “I was.” Tom smiled a slight smile. “But I realized if I stayed here, all I would ever be is your girlfriend.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence.” Tom mumbled.

“For me, it would be. I have dreams and goals of my own and no matter how hard I try, it would always be overshadowed by you. Or worse, pitied or given special treatment because of you.” You shoved the last of your clothes and pushed the lid down and struggled to zip the case closed.

Tom fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

“We could have talked about all this before you booked your flight. We can still talk about it, delay your flight.” His voice grew shrill. “We can make this work. Just don’t leave. Not like this.”

His hand slid over to grab yours. You sat down beside him, giving his hand a brief squeeze before extracting your fingers from his grip.

“My lectures start tomorrow.” A horn beeped. “That’s my taxi.”

Tom bolted to standing. “You can’t possibly be leaving now! Let me drive you to the airport. Something!”

You stood too. You rose on your toes. Your hands rubbed across the stubble on his chin and cheeks. Tom’s eyes squeezed closed at your touch and tears streamed down to your fingertips. You pressed your lips to his and sighed. Tom gripped your sweater like his life depended on it. The sound of the taxi honking again interrupted your embrace.

You squeezed his shoulders hard. “I need to go. I will call you when I land.”

Tom nodded. He grabbed your suitcase and carried it to the door. You reached for it, but he held on.

“Please reconsider. I love you.” Tom pleaded.

“I love you too. But I love me more.” You kissed his cheek. “I’ll call from Philly. Take care of yourself.”

Tom bit his lip in hopes to stifle his anguish. He released his grip on the handle as he nodded at you. You kissed his cheek and stepped out the door. He stood at the threshold until you waved from the backseat of the cab.

Tom gave a tight smile and a small wave until you disappeared into view. Once the door clicked behind him, Tom crumpled to the floor, his legs ceasing to function. Bobby trotted over to check on him, and Tom burrowed his head into Bobby’s soft fur.

He sat there for 30 minutes until his phone rang. He sent it to voicemail. It rang again. This time he turned the phone off and chucked across the foyer. He dragged himself to the couch where he lay until there was a knock at the door.

He jumped to his feet and ran to the door, hoping you had changed your mind.

“I’m so glad you—” he exclaimed as he flung the door open.

“Glad to see you too, mate. Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Luke responded as a disheveled Tom met him at the door. “What the hell happened!?”

Tom’s face fell. “She’s gone.” he croaked out as he fell against Luke.

Luke stood bewildered as he walked Tom back into his house and hoped to unravel just what had Tom in such a state.

-

Three Weeks Later

It was Tom’s first time leaving the house since you left. Luke made sure he had groceries and cleared his calendar of what few things were on it.

Tom had been planning a surprise vacation with you. Which Luke had to cancel. And now Tom sat in a corner booth of his favorite restaurant waiting for Benedict to arrive.

“Shall I get you something to drink?” The waiter asked as Tom ignored the menu.

“A pint. And keep them coming.” he grumbled, not bothering to take off his sunglasses.

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision giving your current emotional state?” Ben’s voice questioned as the waiter walked away.

“Why the fuck not? I am in mourning.”

“It’s been three weeks, Tom. You can not continue on like this. Your liver will never make it.”

“Want to bet?”

“Your GP would agree with me. Nice shirt, by the way. You’ve got a real brooding lumberjack vibe going on.”

Tom glanced down at the red plaid and tears welled in his eyes.

“That’s what she said the night we met.” Tom’s voice cracked.

Ben’s face softened at the wreck of Tom. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know. I never wear the shirt any more. But I haven’t been doing laundry as much.”

“Or showering either.” Benedict takes an exaggerated sniff.

“Not helping, mate.” Tom shot daggers across the table.

“How can I help? I assume that is why I am here. Since you are not taking any calls.”

“I broke my phone chucking it across the room. Haven’t bothered to replace it.”

Ben pressed his hands flat. “You might want to get on that. Perhaps she is trying to call you. I was under the impression you were smarter than this.” He shook his head at Tom.

Tom perked up. “I hadn’t thought about that. Do you think she has reached out?”

“Well, you won’t know until you talk to her.” Tom’s eyes sparkled and sat up straighter. “There’s the Tom Hiddleston I know.” Ben smiled.

“Thank you, Ben. You are a loyal friend.”

“I’m your best friend. And I only want you to be happy. And as payment for my expert relationship advice, you are paying for lunch.”

“With pleasure.” Tom smiled for the first time in weeks.

-

Tom’s mood was short lived. He stopped by the store and replaced his phone. He listened to your voicemail from that day you left. And then nothing. Not a text, not a call. Radio silence.

“Hello, darling. It’s Tom. Sorry I haven’t called sooner. A bit of an accident with my phone. I would very much like to talk to you. To hear your voice. Call me, please. Any time, day or night.”

He sighed as he left the message and stared at the phone for the rest of the night. It didn’t ring.

-

Two Months Later

It was three months since you moved to Philadelphia and began your adjunct position at Penn. You only gained some semblance of normal in the past few days.

“And that is it for today.” You addressed the class. “See you on Thursday.”

The auditorium emptied quickly as students rushed to either their next lecture or something else to do. With a huff, you heaved your bag onto your shoulder and headed to your office on campus.

“Hello?” you answered your phone.

“Any word?” Jess’s voice asked on the other end.

“I told you. He doesn’t have this new number, and I lost his when my phone took a swim in the toilet.”

“Then email him.”

“If he wanted to talk, he would have called those first few days. He has moved on.”

“You are a stubborn ass. You just don’t want to reach out first and have to admit you made a mistake. That you still love him and still want him.”

“That’s not true. He’s busy. He has projects. He probably isn’t even in London right now.” you lied to yourself. You hated when Jess was right.

“Bullshit. You’re scared. Fine, don’t do anything and throw away the best thing that ever happened in your life.”

“Hey! This job is the best thing that happened to me. It moved me closer to you.”

“I would give up our weekly lunches to see you happy. Are you happy?”

You sat down silent at your desk. She was happy, she thought, right? That was the whole point of this. The move was meant to help her reach her goals. Everything felt hollow instead of empowering.

“Yeah, yeah.” you lied to Jess. “Of course, I’m happy. That was the whole point.”

“Still calling bullshit. Remember Jason is coming to pick you up for lunch tomorrow because I have that client meeting.”

“Thank you for reminding me. Bye Jess.”

“Talk to Tom.” she blurted out before you ended the call.

You laid your head on your desk and sighed.

-

The next morning dragged on. You loved teaching communication, but today your heart was somewhere else. Jess’s words weighed you down like an anchor.

“And what percentage of communication is communicated nonverbally?” you asked the class.

You scanned the room to find someone to call on. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied a red plaid shirt. Just like the one Tom wore at Frankford Hall years ago.

“Ah…” you lost your train of thought. You glanced again but couldn’t find the shirt again. “… yes?” you pointed at someone in the third row.

You spent the rest of the lecture searching the room for the owner of the shirt, but he had disappeared. You convinced yourself you imagined the entire thing.

“Let’s end class early. Enjoy it because it won’t happen again.” you announced.

The class cheered as they packed up for the day. You waited until the hall was empty just to double check for Tom.

“You are losing it.” you mumbled to yourself.

-

Tom convinced Luke he was ready to work again. Starting with some radio appearances in New York. Luke wasn’t convinced Tom didn’t have a hidden agenda.

“Are you sure you aren’t planning on taking a day trip to Philly to find her?”

Tom scoffed. “It’s over, Luke.”

Luke glanced at Tom askance but complied with the request. “Fine, but I don’t want to see a single story unrelated to these interviews in the papers.”

“Cross my heart.” Tom made an exaggerated “x” on his chest.

“I’ve heard that before.” Luke groused as he made the plans.

When Tom received his itinerary, he was grateful Luke left an entire day empty.

“You know me too well, mate.” Tom commented as he saw the handwritten note at the bottom:

Here is a good car rental company. It is just under two hours to Philly. Be safe and tell her you love her.

- Luke

Tom wasted no time to call the car company.

When he arrived on campus, it didn’t take him long to find your office. It was locked.

“Excuse me, do you know when the professor will return?” he asked a passing student.

“She is lecturing in Ames Hall. It's just down the corridor.”

“Thank you.” Tom took off.

He snuck into the back to the crowded lecture hall and listened in for a bit. He swore you glimpsed him. His stomach growled as he skipped breakfast to get on the road and he ducked out of the hall to get a quick snack.

As he headed back, he spied you outside your office. His heart leaped into his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes in joy.

He stepped forward but stopped as a man approached you, and you threw your arms around him.

“Fuck!” Tom cursed as the two of you walked away. He collapsed on a nearby bench, uncertain where to go from here.

-

It was later in the day when Jason dropped off back at campus.

“Call him.” both Jason and Jess pleaded.

“Leave it be, you two. We have both moved on.”

“Is that why you swear you saw him in class today? Or that you haven’t even thought about dating since you got here?” Jess added.

“Goodbye you two.” You slammed the door and headed to pick up your things before heading home.

You noticed someone slumped over on a nearby bench. You stepped closer and noticed the red plaid shirt from earlier.

“Are you okay?” you inquired. “Tom?!”

Tom unfolded himself from the bench.

“Tom, it’s you! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in London?” Tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“I needed to see you. To talk to you. To explain why I didn’t call.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m listening.”

“I was so upset, I threw my phone and broke it. I left you a message but didn’t hear from you. I figured you might have moved on, but I was willing to take a chance. But I see I was right.”

“How long have you been sitting there? Are you talking about Jason?” You hooked your thumb behind you.

Tom sighed heavily. “So that’s his name.” He took your hands and held them tight. “I should have fought harder. I should have listened more. I am so sorry that you ever felt you couldn’t pursue your dreams with me by your side.” His thumbs ran across your knuckles.

You spied the tears falling down his cheeks. You opened your mouth to speak, but Tom cut you off.

“I want you to be happy. Whether that is with me or not. But above all, I want you to be happy. And if that means I never see you again, then so be it. But know I love you. I will always love you.”

“Tom—”

“Have a wonderful life.” Tom leaned forward and pressed his lips to your cheeks. “Give me a call if you are ever in London.”

Tom turned on his heel and walked away.

“WAIT!!!” you screamed, and he stopped and turned to face you. You ran to meet him. “Did you mean it?”

“Every word. I have never lied to you.”

“Jason…” Tom turned his head away at the name. You grabbed his chin to have him face you. “… is Jess’s long-term boyfriend. He picked me up to meet her for lunch.”

Tom’s eyes widened as the words sunk in. “So…”

Your lips curled into a smile and your hands snaked up his torso, gripping the front of his shirt. “Nice shirt, Paul.”

Tom smiled back. “The name’s Tom.”

“Well, Tom. I think we should carry on this conversation in my office.” You tugged him along. “I think your shirt would look amazing on my floor.”

Tom smiled as you shut the door. “I only want to make you happy.”

[corpse--diem]

Snick Snack Paddy Whack | Ben & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell​ & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin pays a visit to an old high school acquaintance. Some crushes die hard. So do snicker-snackers. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Morgan’s classroom was empty when she arrived, save for the few students that lingered after her afternoon lecture. Her things were still at the desk, meaning her undead friend was here somewhere, likely having stepped out for a few minutes. “You don’t know where Professor Beck went, by any chance?” Erin asked one of the girls who was leaving as she lingered in the doorway.

“I think she mentioned something about grabbing some materials from the library?” The student shrugged, nothing but nonplussed in her demeanor.

Perfect. Not that she didn’t want to see her friend but it was just enough time to slip out unnoticed. Erin nodded her thanks and set the tupperware container and note on her desk. She hadn’t planned on staying long regardless but she wasn’t about to use Morgan without at least leaving a brainy treat behind as quiet thanks (even if she didn’t know it). “Can you tell me where Professor Campbell’s classroom is?”

The young woman’s directions led her down a short walk through the campus. It was hard to tell if class was clearing out or just starting by the thin trickle of students moving in and out of the room but Erin’s eyes could only focus on one thing. Ben Campbell. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, knees weak and tongue heavy in her mouth while her brain struggled to catch up around her. This was dumb. Without much more than her job to occupy her these days, her free time was abundant and curiosity (and other things) had led her to this doorway. This was about as far as her planning had gotten her. When she realized she’d been standing in the doorway far too long, watching some of the last few students reluctantly leave themselves, she cleared her throat and slapped on what she prayed was a less awkward smile. “Ben? Ben Campbell? Is that you?”

“Alright, that about wraps it up for today. Excellent discussion, I highly recommend bringing some of the topics we discussed into your essays. Remember, drafts are due in a week and a half. Have a good one.” Ben said with a nod and a smile. A few of his more studious pupils remained and he answered their questions patiently, but as he glanced around the lecture hall, he realized there was an unexpected guest in the back of the room. A woman, somewhat familiar-- he couldn’t quite place her. As he dismissed the last few curious students, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pressed dress pants and smiled, “That I am. And,” As he neared her, Ben realized just why she looked familiar. Erin. Nichols. Of the failed funeral home. They’d been talking recently, after he’d returned from his brief break off social media. “Erin! It’s good to see you. What brings you to campus?” He asked, intrigued.

He remembered her? Erin’s expression perked up, even if she hated that she realized Ben Campbell simply acknowledging her had that effect on her. “It’s good to see you too,” she grinned, taking a few bold steps into the room. When was the last time she’d seen him properly? It was a small town, and on the occasion they inevitably bumped into one another or cast a glance at community gatherings. She became painfully aware she’d never been alone in a room with him until just now. “I was just visiting Morgan--Morgan Beck. She’s a good friend of mine. I was on my way back to work before I remembered you guys taught in the same department.” She cringed internally at herself for the thousandth time. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to pop by and say hi, if you weren’t busy.” She stiffened and glanced around at the emptying lecture hall. “You’re not busy, I hope?”

Pulling his glasses free, Ben listened to her as he tucked them back into the soft case and blinked as though the transition was a bit of a strain on his eyes. But, it was a gesture, just as most of what he did was. He didn’t need glasses, there wasn’t even a prescription on the lenses. It just helped him look the part. And that was what he was doing, after all. Playing the part. At the mention of Morgan Beck, Ben kept his expression neutral, though inside a hint of irritation boiled up. Bitchy fucking Beck. That woman was such a pain. “Ah, yes! Yes, she’s an adjunct with the department, but we’ve interacted at meetings and such. Wonderful woman, excellent teacher from what I’ve heard.” Well suited for all of those budding future writers/baristas, he thought privately. “How did you know I taught for the department, though? I don’t remember mentioning what courses I taught.” He asked, though as he watched the way she seemed to brighten up and look at him, he had a feeling he knew the answer. “Oh no, not at all. This was my last class of the day.”

Erin stared longer than what was probably socially acceptable as Ben made a small show of removing his glasses. Part of her wondered if it was intentional, and another part of her would normally be rolling her eyes, but the part of her brain that had reverted back to 2003 really didn’t care. “Oh yeah, she’s brilliant. Just don’t ask too many questions if you don’t have an hour to spare,” Erin teased lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes flitting anxiously from Ben to different areas of the room. Fuck. She really should have thought this through a little more. She could plot the demise of an evil crime lord but she couldn’t fucking figure out how to talk to Benjamin Campbell. It was quiet for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety clawing at the walls of her mind or actually scratching, but she moved on without much though. “I just… guessed,” she fumbled for a moment, shrugging nonchalantly. “Morgan said you worked with her so I figured you were all somewhere in the same realm.” She took a long breath and found her feet moving more confidently towards Ben. “Oh, good,” she smiled again, tilting her head. “So that means I can bother you for as long as I’d like now, right?”

Watching the way she looked from him to the room and back to him, Ben couldn’t help but smile. Oh, she must have been one of those girls in high school. He didn’t remember her much, but through a little bit of browsing on Facebook and the town’s messageboard system, he’d been able to pick up on some things. He hadn’t been lying when he mentioned that he had gone to basketball games-- he had, mostly because it had been a good place to build a good rapport with some of his classmates, get them to trust him, that sort of thing. But, he hadn’t remembered her much. She was just another face in the crowd. But, it seemed she had been one of the girls who’d been rather smitten by him and had managed to escape him before graduation. With a laugh, he nodded, “I can understand that. Get me started on Roman architecture and I can do the exact same thing.” He replied, though it pained him to even draw the most minute comparison between himself and Beck. “Well, what a lucky guess for me.” Ben said with a grin as she approached him. “By all means, bother away.” He said as he retrieved his attache case from where it sat by the lectern.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back to Erin, a flicker of motion flashed in the corner of his eye. Ben frowned, his forehead creasing as he stared at a spot in the wall of the lecture hall. He could have sworn that-- “Did you happen to see something over there?” Ben asked, pointing to the spot where he could see something moving inside the wall.

God, with everything in her, Erin prayed she didn’t look nearly as aloof as she felt right now. This trip had probably been a mistake. She should’ve waited around for Morgan to return, chat with her friend over the deviled cow brain eggs she’d made her, and went on her way rather than feed the flame to some schoolgirl crush she had over twenty years ago. She had way too much time on her hands lately, and the shy, excited grin that followed his words did nothing but prove any of that right. “Lucky for the both of us, honestly,” she agreed with a tilt of her head. She’d just rested against the side of a nearby table when his attention perked forward. God damn it. Her eyes eventually moved from the concentrated look on his face to the source of the scratching. She heard it. Saw it too, when the paint cracked along the spot of the wall. “What the--” she started, standing at alert now. “I see that, yeah,” she answered, wondering if this was a sign she should’ve just. Stayed. Home. Despite her better instincts, she was moving towards it, curiosity peaked. The scratching and rustling grew louder and louder. Something--many somethings--were rushing through the wall. The wall groaned and creaked as she timidly approached it, gesturing with a hand for him to follow. “Shit, it sounds like you have a whole herd living here. You might want to call some--” A furry brown spot whizzed by her feet and she yelped, startling backwards with little grace. “Oh fuck no. Nope. This was--I gotta go.”

As Ben continued to stare at the wall with confusion, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on here. He prided himself in knowing this university-- this town even-- like the back of his hand. It was his domain, how dare something infringe upon his space. “A herd?” He asked. For a moment, he opened his mouth to correct her. A herd was a term typically used for large, four legged creatures; this was more like a pack or perhaps a mischief. But, before he could, the aforementioned mischief made itself known by hurtling out of a crack in the wall. First one, then another, and another. Until there was suddenly a crumbling, gaping hole in the plaster. “What in the--” Ben said, jumping back with a start. He held his case tightly in his hand and smacked at one of the furry brown animals that skittered towards him. The tiny ratlike thing bounced off the side of his leather bag and hit the wall, though at least a dozen more poured out of the ever-widening gap. “Oh my Lord.” He muttered as he watched his lecture hall begin to fill with a mass of furry, squeaking rodents. “Yes, running-- running seems wise.” He said before stumbling backwards. As he moved, one of the panels in the floor gave way underneath his shoe and Ben let out a loud curse. “What are these things?”

The thunderous sound of what looked like hundreds of tiny, skittering creatures pouring into the lecture hall overwhelmed the room. Erin wanted to say rats but they didn’t fit the typical description. Rats didn’t have horns. They swarmed by her feet, despite how quickly she was trying to get away, and she found out after her high heels cracked underneath her, these things also had strong, quick teeth. Her heels were gnawed to ribbons and she abandoned the shoes completely, grumbling curses in her panic. “Are you okay?” she shouted above the noise, watching him struggle on her way towards the door. The impact of whatever the hell these things were was clear as every wooden thing they touched started to give way. The door to the lecture hall opened. The early, unsuspecting student’s eyes were glued to his phone until one of the rodents dropped from the ceiling, sending him flying back out of the room. Her jaw set tightly as they rushed by her feet, the little pricks of sharp teeth nipping at her ankles. She jumped up onto one of the metal legged tables circling the room, using what was left of her shoe to push the creatures back. It took about one swift, hard smack but they met bloody ends as easily as they came. She looked back at the stairs, the floors completely covered in a mass of moving fur, then at the desks leading back up towards the door. “Looks like we’re climbing,” she glanced back at him, squashing another one as it came towards her, blood squirting out from under her shoe from all sides.

Waving his case back and forth around him, Ben grimaced as blood splattered across the polished leather. He could handle blood on his suit, that wasn’t a problem. But this was Italian leather. Glancing up at Erin, he saw that she was handling herself just as well as he was. Other than the fact she didn’t have her foot stuck halfway through the floor. With a grunt, Ben lashed out with his case, clearing a small patch of floor for him to pull himself up. As he did so, he could feel teeth latching onto his legs, his hands, his arms. “Vermin!” He spat, shaking them off as he hurried towards the door. “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” He said over the chittering, squeaking sounds around them. When his Lord Hrvsht’ooooor rose to the earth, Ben would have to make a note of these particular nuisances. At Erin’s words, he caught her meaning. “So it would seem.” He said before jumping up on top of the desk. Blood and matted fur covered the soles of his shoes as he did his best to climb after her, his arms and legs stinging from the bite marks. “Awful, vile little cretins.” He muttered as they hurried up towards the exit. So close, but so, so far.

Erin probably should have helped him out of the hole but with no shoes and nothing really to protect herself, handsome or not, the guy was one his own. Thankfully he took her cue and followed behind her, and as she used his to steady herself, she internally grumbled about dressing up as she hiked her dress up and leapt from one row of desks to another. Whatever these things were, they weren’t rats. They weren’t anything anyone was going to find in a textbook somewhere in this university. Just another White Crest brand of things that shouldn’t exist but do, huh? As far as she could tell, these things weren’t trying to kill them. Nibbling nuisances for sure but by the sheer amount of them, they’d have been gnawed down to the bone by now if that was the case. She hoped, anyway. But there it was--the exit. The door was cracked open, enough to allow a small trickle of them to slip out and into the hallways, but it had kept them mostly inside. A river of rodents flowed through the aisle between them. The final barrier between them and their way out. She groaned loudly. “Of fucking course.” She glanced down at Ben’s shoes, tattered and bloodstained, grabbing onto his very muscular arm and pulled what was left of her heels back onto her feet. “I’m going to be sending the university a strongly worded letter after this, I hope you know,” she tried to joke but much of the humor in her laugh was pure annoyance. She raised a brow. “We’ll jump on 3?”

Jumping from desk to desk, Ben left a trail of blood and fur behind him as he continued to stomp and smack at the vicious little creatures that seemed to be hell-bent on eating their way through the room. Kicking another out of the way, he watched as the horned rat creature careened through the air and back into the writhing swarm. As he and Erin converged on the last desk, he held still for her to catch hold of his arm. Irritating, honestly, the way she was clinging to him, but he didn’t think there was anything for it. “You know, I’d be happy to sign off on that. Give some credence,” He paused, smacking another rat creature away, “what with being faculty and all.” With a nod, Ben counted, “One, two, three.” With that, he leaped forward and made a mad dash towards the door, pulling Erin along with him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Erin nodded with a huff. Most of her attention was fixed on what path to take when they hit 3. There wasn’t a good answer there. She’d never seen an infestation like this--there was more horned rodents than carpet visible, and when they leapt, floor and bone alike crunched beneath their feet, blood splashing up at their ankles. But they’d done it--they were spilling out into the hallway and Erin slammed her shoulder up against the door with some effort, the final shrieks of those rat-like creatures meeting their end as the door shut on them. Futile, probably. They had burrowed through walls and floors alike. A door wouldn’t stop them, but it kept some distance between her and them temporarily. She didn’t stop moving, even as her lungs heaved for breath, broken shoes clacking down the empty hallway. A few still scurried by their feet, scaring off unsuspecting students and faculty. Glancing back only to see if Ben was following her, swiping at her arms and legs as if they were still crawling along her skin. “Still in one piece?” she asked, noticing his once polished demeanor was a little more moth-bitten bargain bin chic than before. Not that she had much room to talk. She shook her head, stopping only when they’d put some distance between them and the lecture hall. “What the fuck were those things?”

As soon as they were in the hallway, Ben fumbled with his key and locked the door in a futile effort to keep those things at bay. He knew it wouldn’t help, they’d emerged from the walls, for goodness sake. But it was better than having the plague of furry, ravenous beasts coming after them. Erin was already running down the hallway and he ran to catch up with her, blood squelching under his shoes and his curly hair falling in his face. Tilting his head down a corridor, he replied, “I think so. I wish I could say the same for my case.” He said, looking down at the raggedly bitten corner of his bag. “Are you alright?” He asked, remembering that he should probably pretend to care about her well being. He gave her a once over-- she seemed to be in better shape than him, less bitten if only because she hadn’t gotten stuck in the floor. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He said with a baffled expression on his face. “Have you?” He asked, curious. She’d reacted… rather well, all things considered.

Erin had never seen anything like that exactly, though comparatively, they were practically harmless to the more gruesome things she had gone up against. She probably should have looked more upset or bewildered than what Ben was surely expecting but she was just--pissed. It was no secret that this town or the mysteries of it were getting to her. Not that Ben was privy to any of that information, or deserved any of the anger it brought up. “No,” she shook her head, resting her back against a wall, letting the coolness of the brick calm her frustrations. Deep breaths helped too. “I mean, I’m fine. My shoes? Not so much, but otherwise--no, I’ve never seen a rat look like that before,” she answered and shook her head, shook her head, reaching down to inspect the damage. The heels had been chewed down to nubs. Great. She tossed them into the trash bin beside her once she decided they’d be more of a hindrance on her way to the car than a help. “If you’re good, I’m gonna go shower for about a thousand hours now and pray I didn’t just catch twenty new variations of rabies.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing off the wall, debating on whether or not to stop by Morgan’s classroom again or just tuck her tail between her legs and run home. She paused for a moment in the hall, that last trickle of hope layered in with maybe a trace of teenage desperation still coursing alongside the adrenaline in her veins. “Raincheck on the whole me bothering you thing? Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, cringing slightly even as she said it.

There was a strange expression on Erin’s face, one Ben was annoyed that he couldn’t quite read. She hadn’t reacted as poorly as some of the students he’d introduced to the darker side of this world had, and he’d always started off small. No sense in putting their fragile minds before the full might of his Lord when they could barely handle a caged brownie. Erin had reacted in a similar way to him-- attack and then flee when it became clear it was a losing battle. Wiping at a streak of blood that ran down his chin, Ben nodded and watched her toss her shoes away. “Pity about the outfit, it suited you. Before, well,” He gestured to his own ragged suit, the hem of his pants in tatters. “All of that.” With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to set it back in place, but brown locks hung limply against his forehead. “That sounds like an excellent idea, I’d best do the same.” Ben said. At her last words, though, he couldn’t help but smile. So she was still interested in him, hm? Intriguing. He’d love to pick her brain, see just how much she really knew. Pulling out a pen from his pocket, Ben reached for her hand gently and wrote his number on her palm. “Call me sometime. Perhaps over coffee, next time.” He said with a chuckle.

Erin froze in her spot when he came closer. Why was he coming closer? Her face flushed red when he took her hand and for a moment she completely forgot where she was--forgot they’d just run from a stampede of supernatural looking rats, or that she wasn’t even wearing shoes or that her feet and ankles were bleeding all over the university hallways. Something hideously close to a giggle erupted from her as he etched the numbers into her skin. Oh, he was definitely smooth. Her? Not so much. “Coffee, yeah.” She cleared her throat, trying to stop the frantic static waves in her brain from cutting off her ability to speak. “I’ll do that.” She managed those three words with more of a struggle than she’d ever admit. Another giggle-like laugh slipped from her throat and she wanted to stab herself in the eye with that very pen. Damn it. He knew. There was no way he didn’t. She didn’t trust herself with words anymore at this point, instead opting to give a small wave as she backtracked out of the hallway. Gave a quiet yelp and hurried apology as she nearly smacked right into a student on their way to class, before booking it the hell out of there.

[stones-x-bones]

Classic Blunder || Ben and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell and @inbextween SUMMARY: Ben finds Bex reading alone in the hallway and decides she’s quite a remarkable find. CONTENT: Brief Domestic Abuse mention

Being back at school was a strange feeling. Bex was eager to be back, she did love learning after all, but the strangeness of it came from sitting through hour long lectures about modern law and criminal justice systems, because despite trying to convince herself that she could still do this, she really didn’t want to be doing this. There was a meager acceptance as she sulked through her mandatory classes of the day, only to give herself the gifts of her electives-- A Timeline Of History Before Humans and, of course, Professor Beck’s class, Our Monsters, Ourselves: Recognizing the Other in Speculative Literature-- after them. She always came away feeling refreshed from them, especially now more so that she was living at Morgan’s. Going home to a place that didn’t feel...suffocating was nicer than Bex had ever imagined. But, that still left a lingering fear in her-- because, ultimately, she’d have to go home one day. And it was probably going to have to be someday soon. So perhaps the strangeness was more a feeling of bittersweet, because despite the bruises now fading on her skin, and the cuts closing up, the things that brought her joy also reminded her of the fact that they would not last. They simply could not. 

Morgan’s class had ended a while ago, but Bex still lingered in the hallway. She was reading one of the books she’d borrowed from Morgan’s library, about Ancient History and how the stories of the past influence modern literature. There was only one bench in the hallway and she’d curled up on it, letting the masses of students wander by, not paying much attention to them and they paid little attention to her. But she remained even after the halls had cleared and more classes had started, lost in her book. She didn’t even notice the footsteps in the hallway, or the man approaching her.

Shutting his attache case with a final sigh, Ben stood up from his desk and shut the door to his office. It had been a long day of grading, office hours, and a department meeting, but it was worth it in the end. Making the right appearances, maintaining a good work flow, ensuring that his end of semester feedback responses were just where they needed to be-- it was all a balancing act. And it was an act he excelled at. Locking the door behind him, Ben made his way through the winding hallways of his building towards the exit. As he made his way through the halls, his forehead creased as caught sight of a young woman lost in a book. “I hope you don’t have a class to be going to,” Ben commented loudly, slowing to a halt in front of the girl. “Not that I’d tell on you-- this isn’t high school, after all.” He said with a conspiratorial grin. “What are you reading?”

Bex nearly jumped out of her skin when the man spoke, snapping her book shut out of reflex. She looked up at him, trying to shake off the jitters that had suddenly crawled into her hands. “O-oh, no! I don’t! I just got out of class, I pro--” she stopped herself mid sentence and shook her head, “I just got done with my last class of the day, I just like, you know, the atmosphere here sometimes cause it gets real quiet and there’s usually no one around in the halls, so reading is easy, but I--” she needed to take a breath, to calm down-- “sorry. Sometimes I talk a lot when I get nervous. Not that I’m nervous! You just kind of...caught me off guard.” But he didn’t seem too perturbed by her frantic rambling and he looked like one of the nicer professors, unlike most of the ones who had permanent furrows in their brows. She looked down at the book in her hands. “Oh, um…” held it up to him, “it’s something Professor Beck lent to me. A-about the history of storytelling and how it influences modern literature and media. Do you, um, know her? Professor Beck? Are you in the lit department, too?”

Slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers, Ben listened to her ramble with a patient smile on his face. She was one of those students. The anxious, over-eager, not yet self-assured children. Ripe for the picking. And his little gatherings, they were long overdue for a fresh face, for fresh blood. “I was only joking, I’m sorry for making you nervous.” He said with a laugh and apologetic shrug that he didn’t mean. “Or rather-- not nervous.” Ben corrected himself. Watching as she held up the book, his eyes flicked across the cover. It seemed… exactly like the kind of drivel Bitchy Fucking Beck would have in her personal collection. Modern literature and media-- what sort of study was that? Were her students analyzing movies? Or, he shuddered to think, TikToks? Disgusting. But, his expression remained politely intrigued, “Ah yes, Morgan and I are well acquainted. And no, I’m not a member of the literature department, but we work within the same college. I’m a professor of the Classics and not,” Ben let out a wry chuckle, “Literary classics. I teach Greek and Roman classics. I’m sure your book includes some references to the old mythologies and tales from back then.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! Really! It was mostly my fault. I’m really bad at paying attention, sometimes. Especially when I’m reading a book.” Bex gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile, finding that innate part of her that needed to please adults surfacing again. She perked up a bit when he mentioned knowing Professor Beck. “You are? She’s great, don’t you think? I mean, I’m kind of struggling in her class, but it’s because I’m really bad at creative writing and critical analysis of literature, but I enjoy it! It’s interesting and I like learning new things.” She watched him eye the book before setting it down in her lap again, fiddling with the cover. “Oh, you teach the classics? That’s so cool. I’ve always been interested in studying them academically. I’ve read a lot of books on them-- like, a lot-- but I’ve never taken a class for it! And um, it sort of does, obviously! Story-telling was often used as the only means to pass on history and culture and it was such a large part of both the Greek’s and Roman’s society. I know it’s kind of typical, for people to enjoy Greek mythology, but there’s a reason it’s so popular. But, um, I don’t really have to tell you that, do I?” She chewed her lip anxiously. “Sorry, uh-- I’m Bexley, by the way.” Stood up, holding her hand out. “Professional rambler.” 

“Nothing wrong with getting lost in a good book,” Ben said with a nod, “I’m guilty of that particular crime myself.” Among other, actual crimes. But, that was neither here nor there. Watching the way her eyes seemed to light up at the mention of Beck, Ben offered a reassuring smile. She was one of these foolish children who preferred fiction to fact, hm? But, as the girl continued to speak, perhaps, he thought, not. “Ah, regardless of performance, the pursuit of knowledge is a wonderful thing. That’s why we’re all here, right?” He said. Listening patiently as the girl’s words took on a meandering, if anxious, quality, Ben regarded her with a practiced eye. She was young, she hardly looked old enough to order a drink. There was a nervous anxiety that practically bubbled over from within her-- he could see it in the way she played with her book, how she bit her lip, the skittish way she moved. Interesting, very interesting. “Oh no, I’m always happy to hear what fellow lovers of the classics have to say.” He said and shook her hand firmly, a broad smile on his face. “Ben Campbell. Professional Rambler of the Classics. If you ever have the misfortune of attending one of my classes, I can assure you, I have you beat in the rambling department.”

“Oh, do you like reading books, too? What kind? Do you have your own library? Professor Beck has a huge library at her place. She lets me pick whatever I want to read.” Bex gave the professor a genuine grin as he took her hand to shake. He had a firm grip, and she remembered all the times her father told her a man could be judged by how firm his handshake was. She still didn’t understand what that meant. “I’m trying my best, and, really, that’s all I can do right now, right?” Even if that fact still made her feel poorly. She hoped her inability to keep the waver from her voice wasn’t a dead giveaway. She shook it off and readjusted. “Nice to meet you, Professor Campbell! And, well, I mean-- who wouldn’t ramble about the Classics? There’s a lot to say about them, and a lot to, you know-- know.” She wasn’t sure she was making too much sense anymore, but the lack of sleep was getting to her. She really needed to sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the empty hallway. “Have you taught here long? This is my first year at UMWC so I don’t know a lot of the professors. Or a lot of the staff. Or...students.” She knew Mina, and she knew some of the weird kids in Morgan’s class, and she knew Frank. But that was about it. She really needed more friends. “Sorry! If I’m keeping you, you can go. You probably don’t wanna be stuck talking to some awkward student who’s not even in your class.”

With an amused smile, Ben replied, “Yes, I do. I have a rather large collection of books at my home, as well as in my office. Most of the ones I keep here are related to my classes, but my personal library at home is a bit more diverse. Still, I’m rapidly running out of room in my collection. A pretty common struggle for your average bookworm, I suppose.” He said with a chuckle. “Of course! And I’m sure your professors understand that. What are you majoring, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked. She knew Beck-- quite closely too, it seemed. But, she’d also said she wasn’t the creative sort. Hm. So how did she know her? “It’s nice to meet as well, Bexley.” He beamed. “I’ve taught here for the past ten years. First as an adjunct but I’m now an associate. Though I doubt you wanted to know that-- suffice to say, I’ve been here for some time. How are you finding your classes? I’m always interested in hearing what students think of the matriculation process.” He said before waving off her concern. “Ah, no, I’m done for the day. Like I said. I value what our student body has to say about the university.”

Bex’s eyes lit up at his words. “You have a library here?” she couldn’t help but ask, not thinking much of it, really. She wanted to see it. Books were her only escape for the longest time. It sounded stupid and cliche, but when you were locked up in a room for most of your life, adventure was where you made it. In hallways, in blanket forts, in books under the bed. She couldn’t help the curious glow in her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I totally get that. Most of the books I have at home are stuffed in my closet, but my dad’s library is pretty big. Though, he really only has law texts and old books on, like, world wars and stuff. I never understood the appeal of them, but I guess some people just like different things. I, uh-- I’m majoring in law. Well, pre-law, but, you know.” She shrugged. “Ten years? Wow, that’s a really long time. You must know this place well.” She wondered if he knew about all the hidden secrets White Crest had. He seemed so normal. But, then again, she seemed normal, too, didn’t she? Sometimes? “Oh, no worries! I don’t mind! Tell me whatever you want, I’ve been told I’m a good listener and I never mind learning more about people. But, uh-- classes are fine! They’re-- I was out for a bit, cause I was um...sick,” she scratched at the back of her neck, “but I’m catching back up, I think. It’s nice to know a lot of the professors here care so much about the students. Penn State felt very...different.” And yet she missed it. Missed the freedom. “That’s where I transferred from. I actually grew up here, but I don’t ever really feel like I did, since my parents sent me to private school.” And there she went, oversharing again. She bit her lip. “Sorry, that was probably more information than you wanted from someone who’s not even in your class.”

“Library is a strong word to describe my office, it’s just a wall with some shelves. But, it’s rather comprehensive, if I do say so myself.” Ben said with faux modesty. Always better to play the bashful professor than to yammer on about how much time and money and effort he had put into his collection. Particularly the money. There were first editions in his collection that librarians dreamed of. “I can’t say I understand the interest in the world wars either, but again. I’m a professor of antiquity. Anything beyond 6th century AD is too new for my tastes. It’s a wonder I can even use a smartphone.” He smiled at his own little joke. “Pre-law, that’s got quite the courseload. How are you finding it compared to Penn state?” He asked, shifting his weight so he could stand more comfortably, his body language relaxed and open as he listened to her ramble. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I grew up in town as well, but I went to college elsewhere, so I can understand that sentiment.”

“Wow,” Bex breathed, “I’m a bit jealous. I think it’s my dream one day to just have an entire room full of books. I...guess that’s really just a library, but they wouldn’t even need to be shelved. Stacks on stacks would be nice. I would shelve the nice ones, though. I’m not a heathen, I take care of my books!” In a way, Professor Campbell almost reminded Bex of Morgan. Less wiccan, though, and more scholarly. “Oh, really? What’s your favorite period? And, well, smartphones can be confusing, but really they’re just small computers. If you ever need help, I can probably show you. I had to show someone else recently how to use her smart phone cause she couldn’t figure out how to change the background wallpaper.” She swallowed, nodding maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, yep-- heavy course load. Lots of reading and citing and making sure everything is exactly word for word. My whole family is lawyers and they’ve all got degrees from Harvard, so you’d think it’d come naturally to me, but I guess I didn’t get the right genes. I’m trying my best, though, you know? And UMWC is...smaller than Penn, but I guess it feels...cozier? I liked the freedom I had at Penn state, but it was really high pressure. A lot of the kids in my program here just seem really bored, though. This isn’t a top school for pre-law so you have to get really high scores in order to even think about getting into Yale or Harvard or Princeton, so I think a lot of them are resigned to just going to second rate grad schools. Where’d you go to college?”

“Sounds like the dream of a fellow scholar,” Ben said, voice kind and understanding. She seemed young, impressionable. Eager to learn, eager to please. Interesting. How very interesting. “I’ve gone through the stacks of books phase myself, I know how that is. But, having shelves just really ties a room together. There’s nothing quite like seeing all the spines laid out, the titles staring back at you. It’s a wonderful thing.” He said with a nod. “I’m quite a fan of the first century of the Roman Empire. Marcus Aurelius, his works still hold to this day.” At the girl’s offer, he let out a small laugh, though internally he wanted to roll his eyes. He wasn’t inept. “I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though!” He said. As she continued to speak-- on and on, about her family, about her inane observations of what the campuses were like-- Ben continued to mentally measure and weigh her. This Bexley girl, she was new to the university, still trying to find her footing. She didn’t know many people, students or staff, she’d admitted that herself. She seemed as though she was struggling with that critical jump that all students experienced when they entered college. And who was he to withhold aid from a student in need? “Ah, I went to Princeton actually. For both undergrad and my doctorate. But, UMWC is still an upstanding school-- it’s no Ivy League, but I can assure you, faculty here are providing just as rigorous of an academic experience.”

“Well, I mean, that would be nice,” Bex sighed, “I don’t think I’d mind teaching all too much, but I’ve already got my future career all planned out.” Not that she was all too excited about it, and she was more than sure that it was getting harder and harder for her to hide that fact. SHe laughed it off and gave a smile. “I can’t wait to have my own library, it really does sound like a dream come true.” Her eyes perked up. “Oh, that’s a good one! The rise of the Roman Empire really is one of the most incredible things to read about. I’ve always wanted to go to Rome and see the remains of the old empire. Have you been?” She smiled up at him again, shifting in her spot. :Ah, right, of course. I just kinda-- like to offer to help. I like feeling like I can help, you know? And, wow, Princeton! That’s a pretty prestigious school. I think my parents really want me to go to Harvard. Did you like Princeton? And yeah, totally! I-I know this school is pretty great and there are a lot of wonderful professors, it just usually helps being at an Ivy League if you wanna get in somewhere like Harvard. Or Princeton. So I’ll just have to, you know, try harder. Which is fine! I can do that.” And hopefully not run herself too ragged in the process.

“As cliche as it is, I can’t help but quote John Lennon-- Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Ben said, shamelessly using the quote. It was very “motivational poster-esque” but it resonated in students, for one reason or another. “So who’s to say what the future holds? I never thought I’d be a professor either, but I fell in love with academics during my undergraduate degree. Once I figured out that I wanted to teach the coming generations, who all shared my passion? I never looked back.” He replied. “Oh yes, I spent the third year of my doctoral program across Europe, assisting in archeological digs. I must say, I was jealous when I heard they uncovered the tomb of Romulus last February. I would have given anything to see that.” Ben let out a sigh and gave a shrug. As she continued on, babbling away, Ben was beginning to put together a nice little picture of her life. Overbearing parents, who wanted her to be something that-- well, he couldn’t quite tell if she wanted to be that. But, there was a hesitation to her that seemed quite promising. “I enjoyed my experience there quite a bit-- the environment, my peers, the professors… All of them were incredibly influential on my professional journey. And I owe my success to the university.” He smiled, though it faded as she mentioned trying harder. Eyebrows knitting together, he replied, “You know, rest is a very critical part of growth. It never hurts to take a break from time to time.”

Bex felt her immediate reaction bubbling up her throat-- John Lennon was such a problematic man, but of course a white cis man would think his quotes were profound-- but she swallowed it back down, smiling sweetly. “Sometimes cliche is true, though. They’re cliche for a reason, right?” She didn’t like the implication of it, though. Was she so transparent? That she didn’t want the life her parents had laid out for her? She rubbed her arm absently. “I know that, though. That I should stop and enjoy life. But what I want is kind of irrelevant. My family has been lawyers for centuries and every daughter has always taken over the business. So even if I don’t wanna do that, I don’t really have a choice.” But her grievance was immediately dismissed. “Wait-- you’ve been on digs? Like real, actual, digs!? Where you found stuff and you got to-- you got to see it first hand? Which digs? Where were they? What did you find? Oh, god, I nearly cried when they found Romulus’ tomb! What an amazing discovery! Can you even imagine being there for that? Or the new tomb they found in the Valley of King’s? It always feels like we’ve discovered so much, but then we just keep finding more and it’s amazing.” She couldn’t help the sparkle in her eye or the shine in her voice-- this was her true passion and the worst part about being a lawyer was that it made it impossible to chase. “Wow, Princeton sounds amazing. I haven’t done a campus visit yet, but I’ve heard good things about Harvard. If I make it in.” She withdrew a little at that. “I-- I know. And I did! Take a break. Sort of. It was an unintended break, but a break all the same.” If being in a nightmarish dreamscape counted as a break. 

“Indeed.” Ben said affably, eyes still analyzing her every move. The way she shifted in place, the way she rubbed her arm, the way her smile seemed a fraction less genuine than it had before. It seemed she wasn’t one for John Lennon. Suited him just fine, the Beatles were vastly overrated and John Lennon was a musician, what bearing did he have on anything that mattered? “I’m just a professor, so… please, you don’t need to take this to heart. But, life is meant to be lived, is it not? And what’s more important to life than choice? The freedom to live as you please and to live without wondering how things might have been different, it’s incredibly important.” He said with a firm nod before easing back slightly, his eyes losing some of their intensity. It seemed as though his mention of his field work had piqued her interest though, which was something else he made note of. If they met again-- and he would make a point of meeting her again-- he would have to bring that up. “I did. Truly incredible, the discovery they made there was absolutely groundbreaking. Literally, given how the dig went.” Ben joked. “History is absolutely like that. Just when we think we know it all, our ancestors surprise us.” Glancing down at his watch, Ben raised his eyebrows, as though startled by how much time had passed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s not everyday I meet such a remarkable student like yourself, though.” Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew one of his cards and handed it to Bex. “If you’re ever interested in talking more-- about archeology or the Ivy Leagues, please feel free to contact me. I also have office hours on Thursday and Fridays, my door is open to you.” He said with a bright, toothy smile. 

Bex went still when he started explaining. It was the same things Morgan always told her, that her choice mattered, her wants mattered-- but it wasn’t as easy as all that. She had duties, she had responsibilities. Leaving that life just wasn’t an option. Her parents had made sure to drill that into her from a young age. This was her life, this would always be her life. She had no choice. Her eyes sank to the floor, she no longer felt brave enough to look him in the eye, even as he described his incredible experience of being part of a dig, being a part of history itself. It should have made her heart flutter to hear about it, but something inside of her told her to stop letting herself believe that one day she might get to have something like that, too. She nodded slowly. “No, it’s fine! You didn’t keep me,” she said, trying to keep the smile plastered to her face as she glanced up enough to take the card he was offering her. She stared at the neatly typed words pressed onto the paper. Benjamin Campbell. Professor of the Classics. His information was included below the title. “Remarkable?” she repeated, unsure if she’d heard that word right. “But I’m not even--” in any of his classes. But as she looked at him, she knew the offer was genuine. Her smile came a little easier this time. “Thank you. Really. For-- for this.” She pocketed the card. “It was really great to meet you, Professor. I’ll um-- I’ll see you around. I usually tend to read here most days so, you know.” She chewed her lip before grabbing her bag. “Thanks. A-again.” She needed to stop saying thanks, Mina would kill her if she knew. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” And then with that, she scurried off, the business card, and a million questions, burning a hole in her pocket. She couldn’t wait to talk to him again-- maybe things really weren’t as bad as they felt. Maybe she could have a good life here.

[lizziesquire]

what do you hope is in the books for you post law school? xxxx

hiiii bb!!!

what a terrifying question!! in the best way!!

I find myself pushing this question more and more to the back of my mind, as it keeps resurfacing more and more as I march slowly but steadily towards my last year of law school. damn. been really been on this platform for... 8 years?! now???? across 4 schools??? and 3 different levels of education??? 3 application cycles? 1 professional job??? what!

it’s a terrifying thought, in a way, because i’ve only ever planned my life concretely, with definite steps, up to this point. the plan was always to get into (harvard) law school, snag a job in b!glaw, and graduate with the security of knowing that i can provide for my family and pay off my student loans while using b!glaw resources to do as much pro bono as possible. now that i’ve presumably done those things (minus the dream school (thank god) and as long as i don’t fail this semester/3L and i get a return offer from this summer’s internship), i’m avoiding thinking about what next.

in a vague sort of way, i think about the paths i want my life to take. do i want to go in-house one day and live a more comfortable life that affords me more work-life balance than b!glaw ever will? or do i fall into the in-house mentality because so many go into b!glaw with the intention of not staying for long? theoretically, i think i would love firm work..........i enjoyed consulting, even as i’ve had to flip my days and nights while working asia hours for a client...and there’s just something about racing the clock that’s so thrilling. but i also know that it takes its toll on people and it makes personal life really difficult, so who knows what it’ll be like, esp. with workplace politics and trying to navigate the partnership path, etc., if i decide that it’s for me. slash whenever i’m ready to admit that it might be for me and may be something that i want.

i think about maybe transitioning to the arts/maybe try and carve a path to be general counsel for some fashion company or for a newspaper outlet—but i don’t know how feasible that would be when i’m going into b!glaw pretty set on litigating. i’ll get to dabble around this summer in transactional work and litigation work, but i know that i’ll end up going the litigation route, regardless, because i ! love ! legal research + oral advocacy + the long game of prepping for trial. but who knows? my summer experience might sell me on m&a or capital markets work, which will inevitably be much more suited to the in-house paths that i am vaguely entertaining in my mind.

i also think about government and being government-adjacent in d.c., being in politics but in the behind-the-scenes way, from a legal perspective. i don’t know what that would entail, and i’m still trying to figure it out, but. i don’t know if i’m well-suited to work within these institutions instead of trying to dismantle them because this past year of having served as am3rican c0nstitution s0ciety prez has me exhausted (though it was. SO rewarding to have played a big part in getting the amaz0n exec to step down from the nat’l board of directors) b/c work like that involves placating the institution while also disrupting it......if that makes any sense.

this is such a ramble a;woiefj but. the tl;dr is that i have no idea!!!! i just want to be able to provide for my parents and to be able to send money back home to korea so that my grandparents can quit their jobs and never have to think about money ever again. i want to be able to help my baby cousins in whatever way they need, whether it be tutoring or going abroad or funding their travels or just. sending them allowance. i want to be happy and in love with my life!!! i want to feel fulfilled in the work that i do. i want to maybe weasel my way as an adjunct professor after being so good at whatever i do and then just being hired full-time because my students find me valuable as a teacher. i want to travel the world and see things and experience other areas of the globe because i haven’t gotten to travel yet and i just am so curious about what else is out there and want to meet all the people i haven’t crossed paths yet. i want to find a love that is passionate and energizing and spontaneous and yet grounded and stable and feels like home. i want to maybe do a clerkship and maybe find my confidence enough to admit that i’d be interested in clerking on scotus/figuring out how the heck to do that because it’s a process so mired in opaqueness and elitism.

but at the end of the day, i just . want to be happy with what i’m doing and care about the work i’m doing and provide for my family and to have everyone be healthy and happy. a;weoijfa;rgweji

help

i am baby!!!!

thank you so much for stopping by and for letting me ramble a;woeifj i will update you with a more concrete plan once i have an idea of what is next!!!!

lots of love—happy friday xx