#my gpa that i worked so hard for….. i don’t want it to disappear…….

[miodiodavinci]

laying down by a brook with one hand in the water like some kind of tragic prince , , , , , ,

[tiresomeimagination]

Guilty Pleasure (707 x Reader)

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: This is sort of a slight AU. A “what if” where Seven met his MC during his time abroad in college. Someone that managed to make a big enough impact that moving on was harder than it should have been. I know this might be slightly OOC, but I did try my best to keep things believable ^^; I mostly just really wanted something with a foreigner/Western MC, and when I learned that Seven went to college in America, I thought it’d be an interesting way of implementing that. I’ve been working on this for a couple weeks now and while I’m not completely satisfied with how it turned out, I do still think it’s a neat enough idea, so I’ll go ahead and share it. (I also do apologize for the length;; I don’t know how it ended up this long, haha... Leave it to Saeyoung to make me write probably my longest oneshot to date)

Edit: I wrote a short continuation piece that can be found here!

~~~~~

Ah, there was nothing like coming back to your quiet little apartment after a long day studying on campus. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to spend long hours at your college library. After all, you had the somewhat unpleasant honor of making it into an Ivy League school to begin with. This meant you had to work pretty hard just to make sure your GPA didn’t slip too much. Keeping up with things had been easier during your first year…back when you had a fun classmate to spend those long hours pouring over textbooks with. Now, it was just you. But that was fine. You managed on your own.

You trudged your way inside, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag somewhere into the corner. With a tired sigh, you flicked on the light, nearly jumping out of your skin at the sight that greeted you. 

A familiar young man with bright red hair and glasses reclined on your couch as if he had been waiting for you. He met your gaze with a smile and gave a small wave. “Hey Y/N, long time no see! You really need to find a better hiding spot for your spare key y’know. I would have thought you’d change it up by now,” He said calmly. His English was nearly flawless, although you could still hear his Korean accent.

“L-Luciel??” You croaked out, finally finding your voice after your mini heart attack. This couldn’t be the same guy you knew, could it? Your old classmate...Chilyoung Choi, or Luciel as he had used as a nickname between the two of you, the mysterious boy who disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared in your life.

“Yep!” He chirped as he hopped back onto his feet, still sporting a carefree grin.

Several feelings ran through you in that instant, from utter disbelief, to relief that your old friend was okay, to hurt as you realized the implication that if he was okay…then he really had just left without so much as a goodbye. You pushed that feeling down and chose to focus on the positive for now. Your friend was alive, safe, and in front of you after all this time. Pushing yourself forward, you threw your arms around the redhead.

Luciel stiffened in surprise, letting out a small “oh!” before he returned the hug. He admittedly wasn’t sure how you would react to seeing him again, but he was relieved that you seemed to be taking it well so far.

“...Don’t think this means I’m not mad at you for ditching me,” you grumbled into his shoulder, savoring the warm embrace a moment longer before the two of you broke away.

“A-ah, of course, haha…!” He chuckled awkwardly, not wanting to risk getting on your bad side right now.

You let out a heavy sigh. "So…what are you doing here?" You asked, trying to keep your tone from sounding too frazzled.

"Ah, well, I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing!" Luciel said as he gave his best casual shrug, speaking as if he hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. This actually wasn't the first time he had checked up on you. He had looked you up on several other occasions, but you didn't need to know about that.

"...You were in the neighborhood…? I figured you'd go back to Korea after school."

"Oh…yeah. I did," he responded simply, making no move to elaborate. The truth was that he had traveled back to America while working on a new mission. He tried his best to ignore the proximity to his old school, and by extension his old acquaintances, but after a long and grueling few days of agency work, his impulses had won out in the end. He needed to see you in person…at least one more time.

You let out a more exasperated sigh, running a hand through your hair. You knew better than to push for answers with him. Even back then, he had always been a bit dodgy about certain subjects. If you pushed, he would just shut you down and start to distance himself. You would have to walk his crazy tightrope of half-answers if you wanted to get anywhere. "O-okay…well…you're here now, so…can I…I dunno, get you something to drink?" You asked awkwardly.

"Don't suppose you've got any Doctor Pepper?"

"Umm…I'll take a look," You mumbled before heading into the kitchen and leaving Luciel alone in the living room.

He took the opportunity to look over the room. He took note of any new items you’d added and smiled as he spotted old familiar ones. He always did feel relaxed here. You had been one of the only classmates of his that could make him feel a bit less anxious about everything. Somehow, you could make him actually feel the teensiest bit safe in the midst of his crazy secret life filled with far too many worries to count. Maybe that's why he was drawn to you…why he couldn't completely push you to the back of his mind and forget you when it was time for him to leave. Luciel’s nostalgic smile faded as his thoughts continued to wander. He was supposed to forget you. He should have…

“Well you’re in luck, I had a few cans of soda left in the back of the fridge and it looks like I’ve got a couple Doctor Peppers. Guess it was meant to be,” you said as you reentered the room with drinks in hand.

Luciel snapped out of his thoughts and accepted the drink with a small thanks. "So… you're still hard at it, I see." He commented, gesturing to your school bag on the floor, practically overflowing with your textbooks and papers after you carelessly threw it down earlier.

"Oh…yeah, I've got a bit longer until I graduate. Not everyone can be a genius like you and fast-track everything," you scoffed as you averted your gaze, instead focused on opening your can of soda.

"Aw, come on! I remember you not being too bad yourself. You could keep up with the best of 'em. You would never have survived the year as my study buddy if you couldn't!" He said with a laugh, giving you a playful nudge with his elbow.

You couldn’t help but join his laughter. You forgot how contagious his smile could be. “Hah, are you sure it wasn’t just so you could come play with my cat instead of work?” You asked teasingly.

Luciel’s smile widened. “Ah…I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation,” he responded in an equally teasing tone before taking a sip of his own soda. “Where is the little guy anyway?”

“Hm, not sure…Here, buddy! Come on out!" You called out for your cat, scanning the area.

"Eep!" Luciel squeaked in surprise. You turned back around to find your cat coiling his way around Luciel's legs. 

You both chuckled slightly and Luciel was quick to bend down and scoop the kitty into his arms. you were torn between cringing and laughing at the feline's whines of protest as Luciel cuddled him enthusiastically, rubbing his face against the creature.

"Hey, be gentle with him. He's not as young as he used to be," you chided half-heartedly.

"Aw, but he's just too cute!" Luciel squealed happily.

You watched him play with your cat for a few more moments with a fond gaze before your expression grew more serious. "...So are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room? You just show up here after years of me not knowing if you were dead or alive? Come on, Chilyoung. You've got to tell me something." You pressed. You tried to keep your voice as level as possible but you couldn't stop a bit of hurt from leaking into your tone.

Luciel's movements slowed to a stop, instinctively holding your cat close as his expression darkened. He couldn't help but wince slightly at the use of his old fake name. Just one of many…

"...It was never my intention to hurt you...I had to leave the way I did. You won't understand, but I didn't exactly have a choice…And I didn't exactly have the luxury of keeping in touch…" He explained in a voice so low you almost didn't catch it.

You were a bit taken aback by his solemn response. Was he in some sort of trouble after all? You frowned with concern and stepped toward him, touching his arm gently. “What are you talking about? What happened to you?”

Luciel sighed, silently opening his arms and letting your cat scamper away. He then lifted his gaze to meet yours, giving you a sad smile. “I can’t talk about that…In fact, I’m not really supposed to be here at all…I just…” He paused, his smile fading as he looked away in shame and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “...I guess I just really wanted to see you again…hah…pretty stupid, huh?”

“...Luciel…”

He quickly shook off the gloomy expression and gave you a fresh smile, only managing to worry you more. “But this can be our secret, right Y/N?...No one can know I was here, okay?” He asked, his tone chillingly serious despite his cheerful facade. He sounded almost…scared.

Your expression hardened into one of determination as you pulled him into a tight hug. He held himself stiffly, not sure whether to push you away or not.  After a moment, you pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on or what it is you’re going through…but you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I’m just glad to see you again. I'm glad you're okay and I'm glad you're here…I missed you too.”

…Ack! You used friendly support and affection! It was super effective! Critical damage -707 hp.

Luciel just stood there, staring at you like you’d grown two heads. If you didn’t know any better, you’d even say he looked flustered. “Ah…I…uh…haha…yeah…” He stammered, struggling to get a hold of his hammering heart. You always did this. You made it easy for him to let his guard down. That was…dangerous. Much too dangerous.

You just chuckled at his anxious state, taking his arm and tugging him towards the couch. “Now come on. We don't have to talk about anything that you're not comfortable with right now. Let's just sit for a minute and relax," you reassured him, sensing that he needed some comfort.

He followed your lead without protest, although you could have sworn you heard him mutter something in Korean under his breath as he tried to pull himself together.

You both sat on the couch, falling into an awkward silence at first, but slowly beginning some friendly small talk. True to your word, you kept yourself from asking any of the big questions you really wanted answers to. Something you could tell Luciel greatly appreciated. Instead, you caught him up with a few things that had happened since he left. You didn't really think your boring college experience was particularly enthralling, but Luciel seemed to be enjoying every word of it. He never had the time to slow down and really enjoy a proper college experience. He had a job to do and people to help. He could never be like you. So he found it particularly relaxing to hear about the life of a regular student.

In return, Luciel offered you a few small pieces of info. They were all pretty vague, more like a few gracious breadcrumbs to sate your curiosity and keep you from asking more questions than they were actual explanations. You learned that he worked for a big fancy group where his genius computer science skills were being put to use. He told you that was the reason for his traveling. He made an effort to make it sound like a cool plus, but you could tell he was unsettled about something.

"Luciel…are you really okay?" You asked hesitantly.

"Oh yeah sure. Living the dream," he responded lightly.

You weren't very convinced.

Luciel looked over at your concerned expression, letting out a small chuckle. "Seriously, I am okay, Y/N. You don't have to worry about me. Sure, my job isn't exactly easy, but I can handle it. It's no problem for someone like me!" He insisted. Another lie. His job was terrible. It made him do terrible things and it made him feel like a terrible person. But he couldn't tell you that part. No. He just wanted to indulge in a little peace with you and pretend to be normal for a single fleeting moment.

You gave him a critical look. You knew he wasn't being completely honest but you also knew there was nothing you could do about it. "Well…even someone like you still needs help sometimes. I know I can't do much. I'm just a boring college student with a cat. But if there's ever anything I can do…I'm here, okay?"

"...Yeah," he muttered, expression softening and his smile turning a bit more genuine. There was a moment of silence as you looked at each other, drinking in each other's presence.

The moment was broken by the buzz of his phone. Luciel’s expression immediately soured as he fished the device from his pocket and flicked it on. He groaned, letting out another grumble to himself that was foreign to your ears. "Yikes…Duty calls," he finally said in English once more before he rose to his feet. He had to get back before anyone from the agency realized he was gone. None of them knew about you. He was never supposed to make any real connections during his brief time here, but he had managed to keep whatever this was a secret…And by God, he was going to keep it that way.

"You're leaving already? Is everything okay?" You asked anxiously, following his lead and rising as well.

"Yeah, yeah. Great. I've just gotta…uhh…have you got a back door?"

"Oh, uh…yeah. Just through the kitchen."

"Good, good…" He trailed off, mind running a mile a minute. His attention suddenly snapped back to you. "Ah, you remember what I told you, right? I was never here,” he reminded you hastily, sounding like he was in a hurry to leave.

You smiled. “Who was never here?”

Luciel mirrored your smile. “Haha, yeah. That’s the spirit! Now, I hate to drink and dash, but I’ve really gotta go. Thanks for…thanks for everything, Y/N. Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softening at the end. He gave you a more hesitant and lingering look before heading to the kitchen, making a beeline for the door.

“Wait! Luciel!” You called after him as you followed him around the corner.

“Yeah?”

“...Keep in touch this time, will you?”

“...I…Yeah. Roger that,” he responded, lifting his hand in a small salute before opening the door and slipping back out into the night like the ghost he was.

Luciel could barely think as he hurried his way back to his temporary hideout where his handler would undoubtedly be looking for him. It was fine. Luciel was smart. Exceptionally so. If anybody was qualified enough to keep such complicated double lives separate, it was him. He would just have to think of a new way to get under his handler’s skin again to keep the agent distracted. It would be easy. Maybe it was a bit of his ego thinking, or maybe it was the addictive nature of your company, but Luciel couldn’t help but think that he could do this again. Was it really so bad to enjoy himself for once? It wasn’t like you were associated with him in any meaningful way someone could trace. All Luciel would have to do is cover his tracks properly and you would be fine…right?

Ughh…He groaned quietly in frustration, lowering his head as he hurried along the dark streets. Who was he kidding? He didn’t deserve to be selfish like this, did he? He shook his head, forcing himself to stop the senseless back and forth. He would think more about this later. For now, he needed to get back to work…and pray that there would be no punishment for indulging himself in such guilty pleasures.

[autistic-ranpo]

YES! During the ice cream date Richie tells Eddie that Jules is a lesbian and he’s been helping her work up the nerve to ask out her crush. Her crush is on the cheerleading team and the only reason she joined. He’s been play flirting with her to help her practice and because it’s DERRY. That’s when Henry Bowers and his crew show up and goes up to them. He immediately starts with his usual homophobic bullshit. ‘You two fairies on a date. Knew you weren’t man enough for that cheerleader babe Tozier. She should be with a man’s man like me’. Eddie almost choked on his ice cream and has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Henry sees it anyway and turns his attention to him. ‘What are you laughing at Mommas boy. Just make sure our project is tip top don’t want you messing up my GPA’ ‘Must be really hard trying to maintain a 1.0 or is that being generous Bowers’ Richie combats. That was when Henry really starts to get mad and leans over threateningly towards Richie. Eddie moves to try to intervene but there’s no need. The owner an older gentleman who makes it no secret that the Losers are his favorite customers steps forward. He ends up kicking Bowers and co out in the kindest way possible(very Ben). Before the owner leaves he high fives both Richie and Eddie. It was smooth sailing afterwards. Richie walks Eddie home and they don’t really know how to say goodbye to each so they just stand there smiling at each other. Richie looks around to make sure the coast is clear before quickly kissing Eddie on the cheek and running away. Yelling ‘see you tomorrow!’ over his shoulder. Eddie watches him leave long after he disappears, smiling.

THIS IS SO CUTEEEEEEEE

i will protect the owner with my life btw he’s my new fav

i…. really wanna draw jules and her crush now- idk what they’d look like though

also. neither of them have any idea what the fuck to do when you’re dating someone so they both go to bev (who seems the most sensible about this stuff) and she just shrugs like ‘fuck if i know’ so they both panic and richie gets him a turtle. from the quarry. eddie cannot believe he’s attracted to this idiot (affectionate) but here he is.

they also are the worst at coming up with excuses to be alone. like they’ll all be hanging out at ben’s house or smth and richie will whisper something to eddie. eddie will immediately stand up, go to the door, and say ‘yeah sorry guys i gotta clean. my. uh. room.’ richie will sprint to the door and say something like ‘wow. sounds like hard work. im gonna help you.’ and they both run out of the house. all while blushing furiously.

everyone knows what’s happening ofc but richie and eddie congratulate themselves on being so discreet the second they’re gone

[hannie-dul-set]

PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow​ (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

it’s not.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.

[maddiwrites]

The Hybrid (I)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: Thank you for being patient with me as I slowly write this series. I had this idea a long time ago and I’m not finding motivation to write it but the inspiration comes and go. I smile with every comment that is left on my fics and I’m so grateful for this community. Thank you for letting me pursue my creative writing without judgement. Love you guys! (Also, yes. If you didn’t see my last note, I based YN’s family off of the Gilmore Girls characters. That’s who I picture as them.)

Word Count: 8k

 Masterlist   Prologue 

You wake up to someone falling on your bed next to you with a dramatic sigh. Knowing exactly who it is, you choose to ignore her and try getting back to the dreamless sleep you were peacefully having before you woke up.

That is, until she sighs again. 

You flip onto your back and stare up at your ceiling fan that’s quickly spinning above you. “What, Rory?”

“How did it go with Andre and that boy?”

You look at her with one brow raised. “You woke me up to hear about Andre’s love life? That hardly sounds like you. You don’t care about high school drama or hookups.”

“You’re right,” Rory says. “But I thought I would ease you into what I actually need to tell you.”

You turn on right side and look at your sister confused. “What?”

She sighs. “The cafe’s basement flooded last night. Mom needs us there to help her clean up and take inventory on what’s salvageable.”

You turn back on you backside and close your eyes, exhaling a deep sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Rory says and pats you twice on your covered thigh as she sits up. “Come on. I made you pre-cafe coffee. It’s sitting in the kitchen.”

You throw your sheets off of you and trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face. It’s about 8 a.m. At least you were able to get about six hours of sleep. 

Last night, it was hard to let your brain rest to fall asleep. You kept tossing and turning, thinking about the blonde Pogue who walked you home. You missed how easy it was to talk to someone who you felt truly knew you. Your banter rolled off your tongue easily and you never had to worry about offending him because you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew what he could take and what he couldn't. 

Talking to him brought back childhood memories you had hidden deep in your mind. How JJ would constantly poke you until you ripped into a smile on days that were grey. How you used to steal John B’s bandanas until he was chasing you around his house to get them back. How you would draw a mustache and a unibrow on Pope’s face when he fell asleep by the water. 

Those days felt like they were decades ago. So far away, you didn’t know if you’d be able to reach for them again. If it was even possible to get back. 

You thought about texting him. Thanks for walking me back. We should all get together soon! You had written out. But then you deleted the whole message, telling yourself it was because you didn’t know if he even had the same number. But deep down, you were just afraid of the rejection. 

Its been about three years since the four of you had been together in one place. You don’t know what they’ve been through or if they’ve changed. They for sure as hell don’t know what you’ve been through. You don’t know if they're dynamic has changed. Clearly you and JJ can still joke with each other but what about John B and Pope? You heard about John B’s father disappearing at sea, most people believing he’s dead, but John B holding onto hope that’s he’s alive. You always thought about calling him to reach out and offer your condolences. But for the same reason you didn’t text JJ, you never called. It didn’t feel like your place. They had Kie for that now. A little part of you felt jealous of her, like she had replaced you and any memory of you. She seemed nice, but she wasn’t you.

“Ready?” Rory pops her head in to your room as you slip on a cropped plain white zip up jacket over your cropped black tank. 

“As I’ll ever be,” You say and snag the car keys out of her hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’m driving.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “I want to get there safely.”

“And I want to get there quickly.”

“Fine. But we’re taking my car. It actually has doors.”

For your sixteenth birthday, your grandparents gifted both you and Rory your own individual cars and even let you pick them out. Rory chose a black 2020 Honda Civic for it’s safety features and reputation for longevity as if she was planning on handing it down to her future kids. And you picked out a white 2020 Jeep Wrangler with a hard top that pops off along with the doors for a very open and thrilling ride. Everyone but you called it a death trap, but you found it to be the perfect summer car. 

You park Rory’s boring Honda Civic in the back of the cafe in a lot used specifically for employees. The cafe is already booming with teens and families, waiting for their morning coffees and fresh pastries. Kids your age are running around behind the counter with sweat dripping down their brow bone to get everyone’s orders out in a timely manner. 

In the back of the store, your mom walks up the steps from the basement with two large trash bags and immediately notices the two of you. “Oh good. You’re here. Rory, help the girls behind the counter. The dishwasher’s broken and poor Hailey is hand washing everything. Y/N, come with me downstairs.”

“Why does Rory get the fun job?” You grumble and follow your mom back downstairs after she tosses the two trash bags. 

“Because she’s actually nice to the customers.”

“Treat others how you would like to be treated. Isn’t that what everyone always says?” You smirk. You never agreed with the phrase ‘the customer is always right.’ It’s complete bullshit and being the employee shouldn’t mean letting yourself getting verbally abused by a ‘Karen’ on the other side of the counter. 

The basement is used for the cafe’s storage, lined with wooden shelves Steve put together that hold to go cups, back up espresso machines, boxes of coffee and food and ingredients, etc. Now all the boxes are dark and sopping, creating puddles on the concrete floor. 

“Oh my god. Mom. How did this happen?”

“Jenky water pipe busted in the middle of the night,” Steve walks down the stairs and passes your mom a knowing look. It didn’t surprise you that he was here. He’s the jack of all trades. Owns his own automotive shop, builds a lot of his own furniture, actually cooks a decent meal, and has the same outlook on customer service as you do. He was probably your mom’s first call. “Talked to the plumber. They can’t get here until at least noon.”

“Noon? We’ll be underwater by noon. I might as well turn all my employees into a swim team,” Your mom says.

Steve shakes his head. “I was able to hold the leak until he gets here. You should be fine.”

Steve was the first person that actually helped your mother out when's she moved to the Cut. Six months pregnant, she pushed her car into his automotive shop after it broke down on the side of the road. Their banter was similar to the one you and JJ have. He helped save your mom money by building yours and Rory’s cribs, changing table, and dressers. And ever since, the two of them had been connected by the hip, although they both refuse to admit it. You think the pair are just trying to deny the love they clearly share for each other. And you think the main reason for that is because of the incident four years ago with your mom’s ex boyfriend. No thanks to you.

 “Look at you constantly building your resume,” You smirk at him. 

Steve scoffs. “It’s more than what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes. Steve is the closest thing you have to a father. He practically helped raise you with your mom. He’s the one you turn to whenever a fight with your mom goes too far, which isn't too often but it happens. He usually lets you stay at his house for the night to let you cool off. But he’ll never sugar coat his advice when it comes time for him to give it. Even if you don’t ask for it. He knows growing up with Rory has been challenging. She was clearly your mom’s favorite, or at least that’s what you thought. She has a 4.0 GPA with a realistic dream to get into Brown University and study journalism. She played by every rule, never got into trouble, and spent most of her free nights getting ahead of her school work or staying late at the cafe with an open book from the library across the street. She was an absolute angel to everyone else, making you look like her evil twin. 

You glare at him before turning to your mom with crossed arms. “What do you want me to do, Mom?”

“Actually honey. Can you go to Heywards and grab more coffee filters and napkins. The water soaked right through the plastic wrapping on our last box.”

You nod, leaving your mom and Steve to clean up the basement themselves. Before heading out, you sneak behind the counter and make yourself a quick coffee to go.

“Where you going?” Rory asks as she reaches behind you to grab a banana for her customer at the register.

“Heywards to grab a couple things for Mom.”

“Oh. Make sure to grab toilet paper while you’re out. I think we’re almost out of it.”

“Got it.” 

Heywards is only a short drive from your mom’s cafe. It’s the closest convenient store that isn’t crazy pricey. It’s where your mom gets all her supplies whenever she runs out of things before shipment gets there. 

You use to always come here when you were younger with the boys, each of you, even Pope, stealing a small bag of chips or a candy bar here and there. Little did any of you know, Mr. Heyward caught your thieving hands every time but never said anything. 

The bell above the door chimes when you walk into the store. You know this place as well as you know the cafe, finding the toilet paper and coffee filter immediately. 

When Mr. Heyward looks up from the counter, his smile grows. He can pick you out of a crowd anywhere, but he hasn’t seen you in a long time. Last time he saw you, you had braces and overgrown bushy brows. Now you had bushed hair and shaved legs. 

“Hi. Mr. Heyward,” You grin shyly at him. You don’t know how he’s going to react to see you, unsure of what Pope might have told him about you. 

“Little Miss Y/L/N? Is that you?” Heyward smiles widely, pulling your own lips into a wider smile. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school and my mom’s cafe...” Both of those things were a lie. You just avoid the Cut to avoid the Pogues. 

“How’s the fam?” 

“They’re good,” You say as Heyward hands you your bags. “Mom says hello by the way. I’m actually taking these to her store now.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger. We miss your smiling face around her. Anette, too.” Heyward says, mentioning his wife. 

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Of course, darling.” 

Heyward and Anette always had a special place in their heart for you and Rory. They’re not one for gossip, but they knew a little bit about what your mom’s been through and have heard plenty of stories about your grandparents. They always thought, despite your mom’s background, that you and your sister were raised impressively. Anette always hoped that one day Pope and Rory would get together. Everyone always wanted their child to be with Rory. 

As your about to leave the store, the bell chimes again with another customer. Only it’s not another customer. It’s Pope and John B. They don’t see you at first, and you wonder if maybe you can sneak out without them seeing you. But something about that felt wrong. Especially because Heyward would more than likely mention to them that you were here. 

Pope sees you first and stops in his tracks. “Y/N?” 

“Hey, guys. Long time no see,” You smile at both of them. You bite down on your lip awkwardly when you meet John B’s stare. You don’t know if you should mention anything about his dad’s disappearance. But what would you say? Sorry? What good would that do?

“How’ve you been?” Pope gives you a small side hug, then John B. 

You shrug. “You know, living the dream.”

“How’s life as a Hybrid?” John B smirks. 

You roll your eyes playfully and groan. “Oh god. Never call me that again.”

You may be considered a Hybrid by everyone else, but you would never put yourself into that category. You grew up a Pogue, the same way everyone else did around you. The only thing tying you to the Kooks are your grandparents. 

“Why?” John B smirks. “I wish I was a Hybrid.”

You smirk back. “Maybe you will be one day. I hear you have a Kook of your own for arm candy.”

You saw a faint hint of blush on John B’s cheek at the mention of his girlfriend but you don’t mention it. “Sarah, yeah. She’s not like the other Kooks.”

“I would hope not. Her brother’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” They laugh. 

“We miss you, you know.” John B says. Pope looks at you, trying to read your expression. John B’s not wrong. They do all miss you, especially Pope. He felt like you were the only one who really understood him. Of course his other friends are great, but you actually took the time to try and understand his passions. Like forensic science. 

“I miss you guys too. It’s been a while.”

“Well, hey. We’re actually all getting together tonight at my place. Nothing big. Just a bonfire and a couple beers. You should stop by,” John B says.

“Yeah,” Pope says, immediately getting hopeful that you’ll show up. 

Your smile falters. The invite makes your heart swell and your lungs contract. It’s an invite you’ve been wanting for three years. And now that you have it, you don’t know what to say. It’d be different if it was just the four of you like old times. But now there’s Kie and Sarah and although you have nothing against them, you’re afraid they won’t accept you. The thought of your boys picking them over you terrifies you. 

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll try to swing by later.” 

Pope smiles wide and looks at his friend to see his reaction. John B grins and nods, almost impressed that you had agreed. But he saw the twitch in your lips when the question was asked. 

“Great. I guess we’ll see you later then.” 

You nod. “Okay. Bye guys.”

You suck in a deep breath when the fresh air outside of Heyward’s store brushes over you. Your heart thumps wildly with both excitement and nerves when you’re finally able to collect your thoughts. You don’t know what you’ll do tonight, but the possibilities can change your entire summer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You spent the rest of the day mopping up the cafe’s basement and rearranging the shelves. You smelled of sweat and coffee grounds by the time you were done and dreamt of the shower you would be taking when you got home. 

Rory drove you home after the two of you closed up the cafe for the day. Neither of you said much. Rory was exhausted from running around behind the counter and you were too busy thinking about whether you’d go back to the place you used to call your second home.

You took a longer shower than usual, still pondering what your night would be like. Your head was telling you to stay home but your heart pulled you in the direction of the Cut. You yearned to hear about what the future held for Pope, and listen to John B retell stories of when you were kids, and be able to stare into JJ’s bright blue eyes without him noticing. 

You changed into a pair of jean shorts and a plain red cropped tank. Rory walks into your room as your brushing out your hair and looks at you as if you lost your mind.

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t wear that,” She says.

You brows scrunch together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I wear shit like this all the time.”

“Not to the Country Club, you don’t.” That’s when it hits you. Today’s been so hectic, you forgot what day it was. “It’s Sunday.”

Sunday dinner at the Country Club is now a weekly commitment forced upon you by your grandparents. Each week, your mom, sister, and you are forced to spend one dinner with your grandma and grandpa. This is basically your mom’s payment back for sending you and Rory to Kook Academy. Only they actually pay for the dinner. It’s usually the longest two hours of your entire week. It’s hard to listen to your grandfather rant about Real Estate and your grandma slyly critique your mother in almost every aspect of her life. 

“Shit. I completely forgot,” You say.

“Well, you better change. We’re leaving in about five minutes,” Rory says then plucks a gold necklace from your dresser. “Oh and can I wear this tonight?”

You sigh. “Sure.”

You change into a baby blue wrap around dress and pin your wet hair into a half up half down due. It’s gonna have to work for the limited time you have to get ready. After applying a thin layer of makeup to look the least bit presentable, you meet your mom and sister by the front door.

“Finally,” Your mom says when she sees you. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was Sunday.”

“It’s okay, honey. I just don’t think I can handle another late remark from Mom today.” She looks you up and down and grins. “You look great.”

Despite the many fiery fights you and your mom can have, she is also your best friend. It’s kind of like a love hate relationship. Steve says it’s because you’re exactly like your mom - almost like a sixteen year old version of her. 

You really hope that isn’t true. You’re not ready to have a kid in two years. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Your grandparents are already sitting at a round table in the corner of the country club by the two tall windows that reach up to the ceiling with a view looking out into the golf course. The best seat in the house for the richest a holes on the island. 

“Lorelai,” Your grandmother grins, but you can instantly tell it’s sarcastic. “Did you have to walk here?”

You speak up before your mom could. “Sorry Grandma. It’s my fault we’re late.”

Your grandparents are hard on your mom but easier on you and Rory, especially Rory.

“Well, you’re here now,” Your grandpa says. He’s usually the mediator between your mom and grandma. Although he’s usually sucks at it. “Sit. Sit.”

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, JJ shuffles through his many coworkers with his apron in one hand and a piece of fried calamari from Miss Carol’s appetizer in the other. 

“JJ -” She scolds and slaps his hand away from going in for a second piece. 

“Good evening Miss Carol,” JJ smirks and makes his way to the area between the kitchen and dining room where most of the servers and bust boys hang out. Some of the boys slap him on the back or shove him by the shoulder, chuckling to themselves. “What’s going on boys? Busy crowd?”

“What are you doing here? You never work Sundays,” His friend, Mitch, says. 

Luke Maybank was behind on several bills - worse than it’s ever been. They already shut off their electricity and JJ wanted to make sure the water wouldn’t be next. 

But JJ shrugs nonchalantly. “Little extra dough can't hurt.”

“Well, you picked a good day,” Raymond walks up to the blonde, rolling his sleeves. “You got Kook Royalty and their Hybrid offsprings in your section.” 

“What?” JJ looks through the small square Plexiglas on the swinging door. He knows exactly where to look and immediately sees you sitting with King and Queen Kook, looking absolutely miserable, pushing around your food with your fork. 

“Damn, Maybank. Almost broke your neck - you turned so fast.”

“Shut up, Easterling. I was just seeing how crowded we were,” JJ lied. He really just wanted to see if you were here. And now that he sees you are, he’s a little nervous to do his own damn job.

Raymond Easterling chuckles. “Yeah, I know what you were looking at. But don’t get your hopes up. There’s a reason Kooks call that girl the Heart Sucker. Not even the high and powerful JJ Maybank could get a piece of that.”

The guys around JJ and Raymond chuckle and nod in agreement, hearing the stories of how you’d reject every single guy that’s ever asked you out. Sometimes you’d go on a few dates, trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but then things would quickly become too much, and you’d get overwhelmed. 

JJ didn’t like the way Raymond talked about you or how the others laughed at your expense. His hands clenched into fists, tempted to throw a punch in Ray’s cocky face.  The guy’s just being a jerk because he’s one of the guys that got rejected by you, he thought. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ shakes his head and ties his apron around his waist to distract his hands.

“No?” Raymond challenges him. “You think I’m wrong? You think you could pull the infamous Hybrid over there?”

JJ glances back through the window. You’re looking at your grandma with a clearly forced grin. You’re twirling your hair between your fingers, a habit you picked up when you were little to do when you’re bored. JJ would find you doing that in school all the time. 

You’re gorgeous, he thought. It’s no wonder that almost every guy on this island has tried to make a pass on you, including JJ himself, but his remarks always come off as playful, afraid of actually telling you how he feels about you. His fantasies about you went further than just getting you between the sheets. He could picture getting married, having children, and growing old together. Years ago, the two of you would talk about your future. Neither one of you cared about money or fancy jobs. All you wanted was to be free - of this island, of each other’s families, of responsibilities placed on you from birth. You hold the same values as JJ, and he’s never met another person like you. 

But JJ has a hard exterior. No one other than his best friends know his true heart, and he wasn’t going to let someone like Raymond Easterling find out about his soft spot for you. He would never hear the end of it.

JJ looks at you one last time. You’re talking to Rory, your face in his direction. This time you’re smiling, probably discussing something other than your grandparent’s expectations of you. He’d kill to see that smile every single day.

What’s the worst that could happen? You reject him? Yeah, that might kill JJ inside, but maybe you’d still be his friend, or continue to be acquaintances like you are now. As long as he gets to see you, he’d be okay. There was always the future. But who knows? Maybe you’d say yes? He’ll never know unless he tries. Right?

JJ fakes the same cocky grin that Raymond wears. “I haven’t failed yet.”

The guys around him whistle and shake their heads with smiles. 

“All right, Maybank. Let’s make a bet. I’ll give you one hundred dollars to get Y/N Y/L/N in the sack by the fourth of July.”

JJ scoffs. “You like giving away free money?” He ignored his racing heart at the thought of being that intimate with you.

Raymond nods. “Okay. Let’s put your money where your mouth is. Get her to say ‘I love you’ by the end of the season and I’ll raise you an extra hundred and cover all your dishwasher shifts in September.”

JJ raises his brows with surprise. No one offers to take the dishwashing shift. Sometimes the boys are pulled back there when the kitchen is short staffed and it’s easily one of the worst jobs at the Club.

This bet was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Deal.” JJ says.

The boys shake hands on it and the other guys whisper to each other about how intrigued they are to see this play out.

JJ wipes his sweaty palms against his apron and pushes the door open to approach your table, hoping he can hear you over his thudding heart. 

“Good evening folks. May I take those empty plates out of your way?”

You look up at the voice you know so well and a smile raises on your lips. JJ meets your eyes and he winks at you, splattering your heart in flutters. 

“Please.” Your grandmother pushes her plate away from her, stuffed with filet and red wine.

“JJ,” Your mom grins up at him. Growing up, your mom always had a soft spot for the blonde Pogue. She’s heard the stories about his father, mostly from Steve, who actually grew up with Luke Maybank, his cousin. As a child, he was sent to live with Luke Maybank and his single father. Lets just say, he’s not surprised by the way Luke turned out. “Look at you. You’re all grown up now. Last time I saw you, Y/N was still pushing your head in the sand for stealing her popsicle.”

“Yeah. I quickly learned no one should mess with Y/N and her food,” JJ says.

“Never stopped you though,” You smirk at him.

“Lorelai. Who is this?” Your grandma asks, disregarding the boy himself.

“Mom,” Lorelai gives her mom a warning look. “This is JJ Maybank. He went to school with Y/N and Rory.” Lorelai knew to play it safe with her wording. She didn’t know where you and JJ stood. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him and she knew better than to ask. 

“Nice to meet you,” JJ says politely. ��I’d shake your hand but mine are kinda full.” He motions to the plates in his hand.

“That’s quite all right.” Your grandma’s smile is so forced, it makes you uncomfortable. 

“I won’t hold you up. Has your server been around with the dessert menu?” JJ looks at you. “We have chocolate cake tonight.”

Heat rushes up your neck. Not because of the cake itself but because JJ remembered your favorite dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. It was safe to save you were a choco-holic. The boys use to make it for you every year for your birthday. It usually came out burnt, none of them ever remembering how to properly make it. But it was all you needed to feel like a very special girl. 

“Your favorite,” Rory elbows you.

Your grandma cringes. “Sounds like diabetes on a plate.”

“Mom,” Lorelai scolds. 

“What?” She asks, not understanding the concept of a filter.

Now heat rushes to your cheeks for an entire different reason. “He did. We’re not doing dessert tonight. Thank you, though.”

JJ nods but feels disappointed by the way your face flinched at your grandmother’s comment. 

“My pleasure,” He says like he was taught to do and excuses himself to drop the plates off in the back before he can say anything else that would probably get him fired.

Your mom looks at your with raised brows. “He’s cute, honey.”

“Lorelai, please. He’s the busboy,” Your grandma says.

“He’s a good kid, Mom.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

Rory gives you a knowing grin as you walk away from the table. When you walk into the hallway between the dining area and the front lobby, you immediately feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sometimes just the presence of your grandparents and their pompous judgements can be suffocating. You do your best to bite your tongue around them, excusing yourself when you feel yourself getting heated. 

JJ catches a glimpse of your light blue dress out of the corner of his eye when he rounds the corner to collect the plates off a different table. He looks over his shoulder at Raymond, who’s staring at the blonde watching you, and winks.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ says, walking up to you.

You look up from your phone and immediately smile. “Hey. I was actually hoping I’d catch you out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry about my grandmother. She can be...”

JJ shakes his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I work for Kooks almost every single day. I’m use to it.”

You sigh. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” JJ says. “Besides, that’s probably the nicest she’s ever been to me.”

You hide your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

JJ laughs and takes your wrists in his hands, slowly pulling them away from your face. Your eyes shoot up to his, immediately feeling a tingling feeling run through your skin, straight to your heart. 

“It’s okay. I promise,” He says softly. His voice is so sincere that you have no other option but to believe him. It almost makes your feel guiltier, wondering how much bullshit he’s been through with ungrateful Kooks that it’s so easy for him to forgive and forget.

“Okay,” Your voice is a whisper, taken off guard by how close he is to you and how he still hasn't let go of your hands. 

In that same moment, JJ realizes he’s still holding you and gently removes his hands. He coughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, where sweat begins to bubble. Why is he so nervous?

“So um...” You say, suddenly feeling nervous too. “You going to John B’s tonight?”

JJ’s eyes shoot up in surprise. How did you know that? “Yeah. I’m heading over there after work.”

“I saw him and Pope at Heywards earlier today and they invited me over. I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because it’s different now, you wanted to say. But you didn’t because you feel like the elephant in the room would only grow. And you didn’t want to admit you were nervous to meet Kie and Sarah outside of school. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You should definitely come. The boys miss you.”

You pretend like a little piece of your heart didn’t just break when JJ didn’t say ‘we.’ 

“What time do you get off of work?”

“Around 9ish.”

You nod. “I can pick you up if you’d like and we could go together?”

Your heart races after you suggest it. What if he says no? Why were you feeling this way? This is the same kid you use to make fun of for pouring milk into his bowl before his cereal. 

“Yeah. That’d be perfect.”

“Great!” Your phone pings with a text from Rory, telling you that your grandparents are wondering where you are. “Shit. I have to get back. I’ll see you at nine?”

“See you then,” JJ nods and turns back to the kitchen. When his eyes meet Raymond’s, he’s reminded of what he agreed to. Almost surprised how quickly he forgot about it. You were able to take his mind off of anything without even trying. He clears his throat to get rid of the giddy grin he was wearing after talking to you, wanting to look tough and casual in front of his coworker. “Easy.” He says to him. But that felt anything but easy. He could vomit with nerves.

“There’s still plenty of time for you to screw up, Maybank.”

JJ huffs. He’s not wrong. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You drive up to the front of the country club and park in front of the main entrance. It’s 8:57. You’re early and will look eager. So you wait until 9:06 to text him that you’re here.

You changed into a pair of dark washed denim shorts, a yellow cropped tube top, a grey flannel, and navy converse. You changed your outfit about four times before deciding on your first one, not wanting to look too casual or too dressed up. 

For the last three years, you wondered when the four of you would get back together as a group. You wondered if it would ever happen. And now that two Kooks are involved, you feel more nervous than excited.

You jump when the passenger seat door opens, lost in the depth of your own head. JJ smiles, not seeing your reaction.”Cool ride,” he says and looks around the interior. 

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out into the road.

“I got you something,” JJ says.

You glance at him with furrowed brows. What could he have possibly gotten you since you saw him last? A book mark from the Country Club’s gift shop?

JJ reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plate with clear wrap around it. Your mouth drops when you see the chocolate cake on a plate in his hands, the smell immediately hitting your nose with pure delight.

“You saved me a piece?” You jump in your seat excitedly.

“Had to hide it good too or else Miss Carol would have had my ass handed to me,” JJ jokes and even pulls out two forks. He undoes the wrapping and cuts off a piece. He waits until you hit a stop sign and says, “Open up.”

You look at him and immediately open your mouth. He gently places the fork between your lips and you take the piece of cake off with your teeth. Like a baby.

Your eyes close with pure pleasure. “Oh my god. That’s amazing.”

“Miss Carol does know how to bake a mean cake,” JJ says and takes a bite of his own.

“Another one,” You say, glancing at the cake again. Like you said, choco-holic. “Please.” You say when JJ teases you by holding the fork away from you.

JJ laughs. “I like hearing you beg.”

You slap him in the arm with the back of your hand. “In your dreams, Maybank.”

“You got that right, Y/L/N.”

The two of you finish the cake with only a few bites each. Small but rich in chocolate that leaves you craving more. You were gonna have to meet this Miss Carol woman. 

After he puts the plate back in his bag, JJ reaches for the aux cord, but you quickly slap his hand away. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re seriously gonna make me listen to this the entire way to John B’s?”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know Blink-182 is one of my favorite bands.”

“It’s also soccer moms’ favorite band,” JJ laughs at you.

You turn up the volume, blasting ‘All the Small Things’ and point to your ear. “Sorry. Can’t hear you!”

JJ rolls his eyes but laughs along with you, even bopping his head to the beat. You drive with the windows down, dancing and singing along to a bunch of throwback songs with JJ as if the two of you have been doing this forever. 

You pull up to John B’s and park behind his dad’s old van, better known as The Twinkie. When you turn down the music, JJ looks at you with a shake in his head. “Next time, I’m driving.”

“What was wrong with my driving?”

“We’re in the Outer Banks, Sparky, not NASCAR.”

You scoff and follow behind JJ who’s leading the way up John B’s driveway. As you get closer, you smell the smoky scent of a bonfire nearby and eventually hear John B’s laugh mixed in with a female’s. Your smile falters as nerves gather in the pit of your stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks.

“Nothing,” You say, but JJ easily catches your lie and gives you a knowing look. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Who? Pope and John B? I’m pretty sure they like you more than me even after three years -”

“Not them, you idiot,” You shove him playfully by the shoulder as you two let yourselves inside. “Sarah and Kie.”

“Don’t you go to school with them?”

“Yeah, but we don’t talk,” You say quietly, not wanting them to hear you.

“Hm.”

“What?” JJ shrugs. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you cared about what other people thought.”

“I don’t,” You say quickly. “But they're your best friends. It’s different.”

“You don’t need their approval. You technically were here first.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been replaced,” You try to say it as a joke and even throw a smirk in there. 

But JJ stops in his track and looks at you seriously. “No one can replace you. Not even if they tried.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s not a common occurrence that JJ gets all serious on you. Warmth covers you like a blanket and the longer he holds your stare, the weaker your knees become. 

“JJ! Is that you?” John B calls out from the backyard.

“Yeah,” JJ yells back. He opens the fridge in John B’s kitchen. “Want a beer?” He offers to you.

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

For the first time, you take in John B’s home. It looks the same as it did three years ago, only a lot messier. The pull out couch looks like its been used recently with blankets and sheets tossed about on it. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts are thrown messily on the coffee tables and the air smells faintly of old marijuana. 

JJ leads you out to the back where four people are gathered around a fire. Three out of the four immediately smile when the two of you approach them, but Kie’s eyes narrow and her head tilts with confusion.

Shit, you think. 

“You came!” Pope laughs and hops up from his beach chair and embraces you in a hug.

You laugh, not expecting the embrace, but welcoming it all the same. John B’s next, giving you a quick hug and shaking his head.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you were going to come,” John B says.

“You can thank me for that later,” JJ says jokingly.

“Actually when I heard JJ was coming, I almost changed my mind and stayed home,” You joke and smirk JJ’s way.

“Just like old times,” Pope says, looking between you and the blonde. The banter felt like the yall never separated in the first place. 

“Hey, you know Sarah and Kie, right?” John B points to the girls. Sarah stands up to say hi, and eventually Kie follows her, not wanting to look rude, but stays off to the side, keeping her distance.

“Yeah,” You wave awkwardly. 

“Hey!” Sarah says sweetly. “I didn’t realize you guys use to all hang out.”

“Y/N grew up down the street,” JJ explains and sips at his beer. 

“You want a drink or something?” Pope asks you, not knowing JJ already did.

“No thank you,” You say again.

“You don’t drink?” Kie asks. It was the first thing she’s said to you.

“Not usually,” You say and hold her stare. You try to get a read on her, but she’s had to get a tell on. You can’t tell if she just doesn’t like you or just doesn’t know you. Either way, it makes you uneasy. 

“Here, I’ll go grab you a chair,” Pope says and walks to the side of the house to grab another beat up beach chair. 

As the night goes on, you feel the tension in your shoulders loosen and your body feel lighter. Most of the night was spent retelling childhood stories the four of you shared. Sarah would laugh at most of them, occasionally rolling her eyes at her boyfriend from the stupid shit he would do, although it sounds like he’s no different to you now. 

You talked about the time you and JJ stole a golf cart for a joy ride on Figure Eight, or when you and John B pranked Pope by putting a dead fish in his locker, or how you and John B learned how to play guitar from youtube tutorials. 

Midnight came around quickly and exhaustion was slowly taking over your body. It’s been a long day between the cafe flooding, dinner with your grandparents, and now this. 

JJ was the first to notice you slowly fading. 

“You okay?” He asks you quietly as everyone else is caught up in conversation. 

“Yeah,” You say, lazily grinning at him. 

“We can leave if you want,” He says.

“You’re not staying?” You ask. It sounded like everyone was planning to spend the night here. And as much as you wanted to, you just didn’t feel comfortable enough yet. 

JJ shrugs. “My dad’s out of town tonight. It’ll be nice to have the house to myself.” Before you can say anything, he stands and brushes his hands against his pants. “All right, losers. We’re out of here.”

“Aw, you’re leaving?” Sarah pouts.

“Yeah, I’m beat and Y/N’s my ride home,” JJ says.

You were glad he didn’t call you out for being tired. You didn’t want to look lame in front of everybody, especially Kie.

“Thanks for having me,” You say to everyone. It might have been John B’s house, but it was everyone’s night you intruded on.

John B stands up to hug you. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You nod. “I won’t. I promise.”

Pope hugs you next. “Text me when you get back safe.”

“I will.”

“Bye!” Sarah waves and Kie exhales a ring of smoke from her blunt.

You wave at them before following JJ back to your car. 

“Nuh-uh-uh,” JJ says. You didn’t realize you both walked to the driver’s side.

“What? No.”

JJ nods and holds his hands out for your keys. “I’m not dying tonight.” 

“You’ve been drinking and smoking all night,” You say. You didn’t think JJ was drunk or even that high, but you were not going to let a teenager with an ounce of alcohol in his system get behind the wheel. “Next time. For now, hold on to the cupholder.”

JJ sighs dramatically and goes to the other side of the car and hops in the passenger seat. 

This time you keep the music quiet, listening to the hum of the radio instead of your phone. 

“Take a left,” JJ says.

“JJ, I know where you live. And it’s not left.”

“Don’t you trust me?” 

You snicker. “Not in the slightest.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Just take the left.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and take the left turn. He directs you for a couple more miles until he has you park in front of a 24 hour diner. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask.

“I’m in the mood for a milkshake.”

“We just had cake!” You say.

“Come on, Sparky. Show me what that mouth can do,” JJ smirks. 

You go to hit him again but he takes off running to the front entrance and pulls the door open. You chase after him, almost running into his back at the front host stand where JJ safely smirks at you in triumph.

“Two please,” He says to the hostess. 

The old cranky woman leads you to a booth off to the side next to a window without a word. 

A couple minutes later, a waitress walks by and asks if you’re ready to order. 

“Yes. One chocolate milkshake and one black and white milkshake,” JJ orders for both of you, already knowing what flavor you’d want.

“And fries, please.” You say. The waitress nods, takes your menus, and walks off. JJ raises his brow at the extra order. “What?” You shrug. “Just showing you what my mouth can do.”

JJ scoffs. “What a tease.” 

You playfully kick his shin under the table.

“Did you have fun tonight?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” You answer. “Felt like old times. The girls are nice too.”

You were about to only mention Sarah, but you didn’t want to cause any issues with Kie. Not yet at least. Maybe she just needed time to warm up to you.

“See? I told you they wouldn’t bite.”

A couple minutes later, the waitress comes back with your milkshakes and fries. 

“How’s John B doing? You know, with the whole Big John thing?” You ask delicately, unsure of how JJ would react to you pestering about John B’s business. “I didn’t want to ask and bring the mood down,” You explain yourself although you don’t need to.

JJ shrugs. “He’s in denial I think. Won’t sign a death certificate until he sees a body. He could be worse, though.”

“Yeah,” You say softly. You don’t know what you would do if you were in that situation. In a way you felt lucky that you never knew your dad at all. It would be harder to lose him, knowing who he was.

You take a fry and dip it into your milkshake before taking a bite. This makes JJ freeze and look at you like you have two heads. 

“What?” You say with your mouth full.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” You say and give him a look to do it.

JJ reluctantly picks up the fry and dunks it into his milkshake. He looks at the fry questioningly before popping it into his mouth. Somehow the sweetness of the milkshake and the saltiness of the french fry complement each other beautifully and his widen in pleasant surprise. 

“Oh wow,” JJ says.

“Told you,” You smirk.

You spend the next hour catching up, trying to fit the last three years into an hour. JJ does most of the talking because you want to know more about what John B, Pope, and JJ have been up to. Your life was so boring and depressing, you didn’t want to bore JJ with the details.

You drive JJ home and talk for a few minutes more when you park. He seems to be procrastinating getting out of the car, but you don’t mind. You could talk to him all night, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“All right. I’ll let you get home before the sun rises,” He says and opens the door. He pauses when his feet hit the ground and he looks back at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have to work at the shop, why?”

“Well, there’s a storm coming in. John B and I might go out to surf the surge before it hits. You still surf?”

You scoff. “Do I still surf?”

JJ holds his hands up in surrender. “Just checking. You think you can handle the surge?”

“Let’s not forget who the better surfer is, JJ.”

“I didn’t. It’s still me.”

“You wish.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Now you have a point to prove. You have to show JJ that you’re still the better surfer. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” You agree. 

“Great, it’s a date.” He winks and shuts the door before you can tell him otherwise. 

You giggle to yourself as JJ walks up the front yard and stay there until he you see he gets in safely. 

You pull out of the driveway, wishing he had asked you out on a real date. One that didn’t involve John B.

Tag list: @super-funky-bisexual​ @sunsetswithjj​ @moniamaybank​ @throwawayfish​ @poguestyle17​ @5am-cigarette​ @jjpouggues​ @fly-away-from-here​ @buckys2thicc​

[renee-writer]

Call Me Josh Chapter 1

NANO day one: 1380 words

She was a normal college student. Her life felt complete. She is in her last year, her GPA is 3.5, she has recently became engaged to a wonderful man. Joe is a year older and working as an architect. They are planning a wedding after she graduates after dating two years. It seems perfect.

Mary sits studying literature. Her degree will be in Education. She longs to be an elementary school teacher. It is a normal day. She is alone in the dorm room. Her roommate is at the library. She feels the difference before she sees anything. A strange lightness in the air. With a frown she looks up. What she sees, almost drops her to her knees. A man, glowing with an inner light, stands before her. Before she can say anything, he speaks. His voice is like a bell ringing.

“Don’t be afraid Mary. I have come with a message from God. You are to have a child, a son, who you are to name Joshua. He will be blessed of God, sent to save His people.”

“How is this to happen? It will have to be after Joe and I marry for I have stayed pure.” She wonders later how she was able to speak at all to such as him.

“No, for Joe will not be His father. Joshua will be known as the Son of God.”

“As you say. I will do as God directs.”

He smiles and disappears. She stares at where he had been as she tries to decide if the whole thing had been a strange dream. Was she sleeping? As a test, she pinches her skin. She feels it, so awake then. Not following her classmates, or the majority of them, in experimenting with drugs, it isn’t a hallucination. That leaves only one thing. It really happened.

She stands and walks over to the window. Opening the small window, she breaths in the fresh air. She is attempting to understand all this.

She is just an average girl from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. She had grown up in a good moral family. They read the Torah, attended synagogue. An average Jewish family. Nothing special. How was it possible that she was chosen for this amazing blessing. What will her parents say, Joe?

Her hands go to her mouth. Her brown eyes get large. They will think her insane. Will Joe even want to marry her?

“Holy One, make everything okay.” She whispers behind her hands.

“Did you finish your report?” Her roommate, Sarah’s voice startles her. Her jump and small squeal has the other girl frowning. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Where are you Mary?”

The question, the utter absurdity of the situation, has her breaking into hysterical laughter. Now Sarah is worried. What is wrong with her friend? She walks in, dropping her book bag on the bed, before walking cautiously over to the laughing girl.

“Sorry Sarah, it is just that,” Her giggles return, bending her over. Her black hair falls over her face, streaming with sweat and tears. She sinks on the floor as the craziness hits her hard. Sarah follows her down. She places her arms around the other girl.

“Whatever it is, I will help you.”

This brings a fresh bout of shaking laughs. “Oh boy that you could!”

“Come on it can’t be that bad. Can it?”

“I am to have a baby.”

Sarah stills. Oh. She thought her dorm mate was waiting for marriage but, things happen. “Well, it will be okay. You and Joe are to be married.”

She is shaking her head. “Maybe. It isn’t Joe’s baby.”

Now she is shocked. The Mary she thought she knew would never cheat on Joe. “Oh.” Comes out of numb lips.

“No no no, it isn’t like that.” She reaches for a box of tissues and wipes her face. “I didn’t cheat on him.”

“Oh no! Were you raped Mary?” Sarah makes plans to tear whoever it is apart. That someone would do something like that to her sweet and innocent friend! Just when she was about to ask for a name, Mary replies.

“No. You will think me insane.”

“Mary, you are my friend. Just tell me.” They still sit, cross-legged on the floor by the open window. The sounds of the quad drift in. It is a beautiful fall day and it is pretty full.

“Let’s move away from the window.” They stand and Mary shuts it. She takes a seat on her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest. Sarah sits at the desk they share, where Mary’s books and papers still sit. “I was sitting right there, where you are, when the air turned strange, lighter somehow. Then a man was standing there,” Sarah gasps, “Yeah, that was my first reaction. Especially since the dude was glowing.”

“Glowing?” Her brow is furrowed.

“Hand to God.” She almost started giggling again and fights it back. She needs to get through this. “He told me not to fear that he was here to give me a message. He said I would have a son I was to name Joshua. That he would be blessed of God and save his people. I am assuming he means Joe and I will, right?” Sarah nods, “So I say as much but he say no, that Joe won’t be his father, that the baby will be known as God’s son.”

Sarah ‘s mouth drops open and stays that way. Mary just nods. Finally, she replies, “What did you say?”

“What could I? That I would do as God directs.”

Sarah shakes her head. “I would tell this guy to get lost. Who is he or anyone to tell you such craziness?”

“Sarah, you aren’t Jewish. You don’t understand. We get a message from God we don’t reject it.”

“But, a baby. Do you really believe you can have a baby without having sex?”

“No, but I believe God can cause me too, if that be His will.”

“Okay, I will believe it when I see you pregnant.” Another shake of her head. “It was an angel, he was. That is what you believe.”

She nods. “I do. He was glowing from the inside out. His voice, it was glorious. He also appeared out of nowhere and left in a blink of an eye. There and gone.”

“If it was anyone else I would think you were on something. I don’t think that about you. You are way to straight laced to be on any drugs.”

“I thought I was dreaming. I actually pinched myself.” She hugs the pillow tighter. “It seemed it had to be a dream or hallucination.”

“Get that. Anyone would think the same.”

“But it wasn’t. It really happened, as improbable as that sounds. Do you believe me?”

Sarah takes a moment. She chews on her lip. Mary watches her as she moves her strawberry blonde hair back. With a sigh, she answers. “I believe you experienced something. I will believe his words when you are pregnant.”

“So will I.” They both laugh.

“A suggestion, I wouldn’t tell Joe until you really know.”

“I have never held anything back from him. We have no secrets.” She worries the pillow in her hands. Sarah moves over and takes a seat beside her.

“Get that. It is up to you but, even you aren’t sure. Why freak him out until you know?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I will sleep on it.”

“A good idea.”

“I need to finish my report.” Sarah laughs.

“Can you concentrate enough to?”

“Good question. I must try. It might be a good distraction.”

With focus, she manages too. The girls share a pizza and some soda. They then get ready for bed. Sarah hugs her tight. “Whatever happens, I am here.”

She hugs her back. “Thank you.” She slips into the tiny bed. Her eyes take in the ceiling through the glow of the soft nightlight. Her arms are crossed behind her. She starts to pray in her head.

“Holy God, I am scared. I don’t know how everyone else will respond. I think Sarah thinks me crazy and is to polite to say it. Please be with me. Whatever Your Will is, please be with me.” Still praying, she falls asleep.

[arcticdementor]

The University of California system is getting rid of its SAT/ACT requirement. More will follow.

There’s a lot to say. First, we must distinguish between two types of tests, or really two types of testing. When people say “standardized tests,” they think of the SAT, but they also think of state-mandated exams (usually bought, at great taxpayer expense, from Pearson and other for-profit companies) that are designed to serve as assessments of public K-12 schools, of aggregates and averages of students. The SAT, ACT, GRE, GMAT, LSAT, MCAT, and similar tests are oriented towards individual ability or aptitude; they exist to show prerequisite skills to admissions officers. (And, in one of the most essential purposes of college admissions, to employers, who are restricted in the types of testing they can perform thanks to Griggs v Duke Power Co.) Sure, sometimes researchers will use SAT data to reflect on, for example, the fact that there’s no underlying educational justification for higher graduation rates1, but SATs are really about the individual. State K-12 testing is about cities and districts, and exists to provide (typically dubious) justification for changes to education policy2. SATs and similar help admissions officers sort students for spots in undergraduate and graduate programs. This post is about those predictive entrance tests like the SAT.

Liberals repeat several types of myths about the SAT/ACT with such utter confidence and repetition that they’ve become a kind of holy writ. But myths they are.

1. SATs/ACTs don’t predict college success. They do, indeed. This one is clung to so desperately by liberals that you’d think there was some sort of compelling empirical basis to believe this. There isn’t. There never has been. They’re making it up. They want it to be true, and so they believe it to be true.

…

2. The SATs only tell you how well a student takes the SAT. This is perhaps a corollary to 1., and is equally wrong. They tell us what they were designed to tell us: how well students are likely to perform in college. But the SATs tell us about much more than college success. Let me run this graphic again.

…

3. SATs just replicate the income distribution. No. Again, asserted with utter confidence by liberals despite overwhelming evidence that this is not true. I believe that this research represents the largest publicly-available sample of SAT scores and income information, with an n of almost 150,000, and the observed correlation between family income and SAT score is .25. This is not nothing. It is a meaningful predictor. But it means that the large majority of the variance in SAT scores is not explainable by income information. A correlation of .25 means that there are vast numbers of lower-income students outperforming higher-income students. Other analyses find similar correlations. If SAT critics wanted to say that “there is a relatively small but meaningful correlation between family income and SAT scores and we should talk about that,” fair game. But that’s not how they talk. The routinely make far stronger claims than that in an effort to dismiss these tests all together, such as here by Yale’s Paul Bloom. (Whose work I generally like.) It’s just not that hard to correlate two variables together, guys. I don’t know why you wouldn’t ever ask yourselves “is this thing I constantly assert as absolute fact actually true?” Well, maybe I do.

In general, progressive and left types routinely overstate the power of the relationship between family wealth and academic performance on all manner of educational outcomes. The political logic is obvious: if you generally want to redistribute money (as I do) then the claim that educational problems are really economic problems provides ammo for your position. But the fact that there is a generic socioeconomic effect does not mean that giving people money will improve their educational outcomes very much, particularly if richer people are actually mildly but consistently better at school than poorer for sorting reasons that are not the direct product of differences in income. That is, what correlation does exist between SES and academic indicators might simply be the metrics accurately measuring the constructs they were designed to measure.

And throwing money at our educational problems, while noble in intent, hasn’t worked. (People react violently to this, but for example poorer and Blacker public schools receive significantly higher per-pupil funding than richer and whiter schools, which should not be a surprise given that the policy apparatus has been shoveling money at the racial performance gap for 40 years.) All manner of major interventions in student socioeconomic status, including adoption into dramatically different home and family conditions, have failed to produce the benefits you’d expect if academic outcomes were a simple function of money. I believe in redistribution as a way to ameliorate the consequences of poor academic performance. There is no reason to think that redistribution will ameliorate poor academic performance itself.

5. SATs are easily gamed with expensive tutoring. They are not. This one is perhaps less empirically certain than the prior two and on which I’m most amenable to counterargument, but the preponderance of the evidence seems clear to me in saying that the benefits of tutoring/coaching for these tests are vastly overstated. Again, a simplistic proffered explanation for a troublesome set of facts that then implies simplistic solutions that would not work.

6. Going test optional increases racial diversity. This one, I think, must be called scientifically unsettled. However both Sweitzer, Blalock, and Sharma and Belasco, Rosinger, and Hearn find no appreciable increase in racial diversity after universities go test-optional. “Holistic” application criteria like admissions essays almost certainly benefit richer students anyway. What’s more, we have to ask ourselves what “diversity” really means in this context. Private colleges and universities keep the relevant data close to the vest, for obvious reasons, but it’s widely believed that many elite schools satisfy their internal diversity goals for Black students by aggressively pursuing wealthy Kenyan and Nigerian international students, whose parents have the means to be the kind of reliable donors that such schools rely on so heavily. I’m not aware of a really comprehensive study that examines this issue, and it would be hard to pull off, but the relevant question is “do various policies intended to improve diversity on campus actually increase the enrollment of American-born descendants of African slaves?” I can’t say, but you can guess where my suspicions lie.

…

All of that is prologue to the bigger point: the controversy over college entrance examinations stems not from the examinations themselves, but from the fact that they reveal profound differences in human capital that make progressives uncomfortable. The SATs don’t create inequality. They reveal inequality.

…

The racial achievement/performance gap is a curious thing even in the context of an American political discourse that seems to get more bizarre by the day. That the gap exists is, on balance, not controversial. Gaps in performance are observed on essentially every measured academic metric, though the size of the effects vary from context to context, and the general distribution is Asian American students at the top, white students next, then Hispanic, then Black. The Black-white gap in particular has shrunk from the era of (explicitly) segregated schools but progress has not been consistent or linear. Most people in academia and politics admit it exists: prominent Black politicians like Barack Obama and Kamala Harris reference it, every major think tank and foundation operating in the educational space identifies it as a major priority, and the NAACP used to address if often, though their Education and Education Strategy pages have recently disappeared so it’s hard to know where they stand now. These things are faddish but once upon a time every other dissertation written by someone getting a PhD in Education was about the gap. We can observe it even outside of reference to controversial tests, such as noting that the white high school graduation rate is 10% higher than that for Black students. The achievement gap is a thing.

And yet I also find a rapidly-congealing social prohibition against talking about these gaps in progressive spaces. If you refer to a racial achievement gap in a lot of liberal or left contexts now, you’ll find that people clam up fast and get visibly uncomfortable, even if you take pains to point out that an academic achievement gap does not imply an academic potential gap. People just don’t want to acknowledge that gaps exist at all; our racial discourse appears to have become such a blunt instrument that the acknowledgement of racial difference is controversial even when you preface discussion with the belief (that I hold) that the gap is the product of innumerable environmental and sociocultural factors rather than genetics or other inherent differences. Simply saying “Black students consistently score lower on tests like the SATs, have lower average GPAs, and have worse metrics on ancillary concerns like truancy” - again, Barack Obama’s position, Kamala Harris’s position, Cory Booker’s position - is enough for people to start launching into harangues about the inherent violence of those comparisons. People just do not want to talk about this stuff.

…

Those concerns with group differences, at least, have some sort of basic political logic and are amenable to complaints that they are the product of systemic inequality. (They are, but not the inequalities that people think, and again the SAT gap is a result of systemic inequality, not a cause of systemic inequality.) More disturbing to me is the rise of resistance within academia to the notion of inequalities between individuals. When I was in grad school more than a half-decade ago, I observed with some considerable unhappiness that it had become increasingly socially unacceptable to speak of some students as simply better students than others, as being more talented, harder working, or more prepared. All of this was seen as inegalitarian and, eventually, as “white supremacist” even if every student being compared in a given context was white. There were many instructors back then who bragged about giving all students As, etc., and I must assume this practice has only grown over time. In the humanities and social sciences especially there is a growing movement to reject assessment, including grading - the means through which we sort better students from worse - as the hand of illegitimate power that “does violence” to the students who voluntarily attend college.

…

Of course, that complicity in the neoliberal machine is not some recent injustice; it is the very reason that colleges and universities are funded by our society at all. If this trend continues, not just eliminating SAT requirements or increasingly refusing to hierarchize students with grades but in rejecting the entire sorting function of the university, academia will collapse. Wealthy parents aren’t paying Harvard to enrich their children in the humanistic sense. They’re paying Harvard to act as a marker of their child’s superiority in the labor market and the social hierarchy. Employers value college because it provides at least some meaningful information about who will succeed as a worker; remove that function and the financial justification for a hideously expensive system dies. I would love if education dropped its association with meritocracy, but that cannot occur within our current system. The professors who self-aggrandize through their rejection of their hierarchizing function, if successful, would cause the doom of the modern university. (These tenured radicals, of course, never are so moved by the inherent inequities of academia that they quit the profession.)

Today, it is somehow controversial to say “some people are smarter than others,” a reflection of one of the simple brute realities of human life and something that has been accepted as true for thousands of years.

Here is the essence of it: hierarchies of relative academic performance are remarkably stable throughout life, due to differences in inherent or intrinsic academic ability of whatever origin, and the SATs and similar mechanisms reveal those differences in a way that liberal America is increasingly unable to accept. This is the source of all of this angst, not the technical details of whether a test is fair or valid or just, but a liberal intelligentsia that is incapable of honestly confronting the fact that different human beings have fundamentally different intrinsic abilities. I believe in political equality, social equality, equality of rights, equality of dignity, equality of protection under the law. But the notion that all people are equally talented, in academics or anything else, is an absurdity, and as much as people will rush to deny intrinsic difference, I suspect that pretty much everybody knows that they are real. When you were a child you casually assumed that some of your classmates were naturally better at school than others, and you did because it was true.

This is the conversation that I tried, and failed, to force with my book: left-of-center political movements, from center-left to radically socialist, cannot achieve the goal of the greater good for everyone, including greater political and economic equality, while pretending that we believe in equality of human ability. The only way to intelligently address various social, economic, and political equalities related to differences in human potential is to acknowledge that those differences exist. The current rending of garments regarding inequalities within our education system has led to certifiably bizarre situations like the movement, currently gathering steam, to teach math as if it is as subjective as literature or art. But this won’t make Black kids or poor kids or girls or anyone else actually better at math. And if the universities really give up their function of creating an academic hierarchy for political reasons, employers will find new systems that do that, or a lot of people will get hired and quickly fired for not being competent. This is not an intelligent policy approach. Getting rid of the SATs won’t make unprepared kids prepared. It won’t make naturally untalented students naturally talented. It won’t make kids who aren’t smart into smart kids. All it will do is hide the reality of those unpleasant inequalities.

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au)

pairings: poppy x mc (bea) 

warnings: throughout this fic (there will be a bunch of parts to it) there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide 

reader discretion is advised

(this chapter is more about setting up the basis of the story so is more context than anything else, part 2 will be more interesting I swear 😭, also it’s like 4am so if there’s any gramatical mistakes I’ll fix it later) 

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @simpforpoppy @ognenniyvolk (I’m pretty sure this is my tag list if you wanna be added or taken off for future chapters just ask 😊) 

word count: 3.6k 

Part 1: The introduction

As the sun began to set, the houses along the street began to bask in its warm glow. The neighbourhood is quiet, like always, excluding the occasional car engine rumbling through the roads until they disappear into the distance and once again the silence is deafening. This neighbourhood was your typical suburban type, their structures stood tall and bold. Looking from an aerial point of view, one could argue that it’s almost like the houses have been copied and pasted along the street, they almost look perfect. One theory is that they were purposely made to look like they're perfect because they don’t want anyone to find out their secrets. It’s harder to catch a true glimpse when everything looks flawless.

If you compare the northside and the southside of Greensburg, it makes it seem like they’re living in two different worlds and maybe they are. The polarisation between the rich and the poor only becomes bigger, demonstrated by the high socio-economic backgrounds of those who lived in the north who go to the best schools, have the best jobs and sometimes own more than one house. Compared to those in a low socio economic background in the south, who usually have to work two jobs just to feel some sort of financial stability in their lives or have no choice but to indulge in illegal jobs just so they can feel some sort of power and superiority and have money of course. Only a few in the south are able to lead a straight and narrow life and successfully do it without having to engage in the culture of illegal activities. 

Bea Hughes, a girl who lives in Greensburg is someone who managed to immerse herself in both worlds. She used to be part of the upper class lifestyle but after life fucked her and her family over at the tender age of 8 years old, she was pulled into another world, one that she quickly had to acquaint herself with, because in the south, survival matters. The luxuries she once knew as a kid had disappeared and she constantly lived in a fight or flight situation. Now as her senior year of high school looms ahead, she finds herself still living in a similar situation, but instead of dealing with gangs or her addict of a mother, she had to deal with stuck up rich kids in Greensburg’s most prestigious school, Belvoire, which may have been her toughest obstacle of all. Against all odds, Bea managed to earn a scholarship at this private school when she was 15, and in order to keep her place, she has to maintain a 4.0 GPA, join at least one extra curricular activity and immerse herself into the culture of the school (whatever that meant). 

Even though life managed to be shitty most of the time, there was one constant, one thing that made life worth living, one thing that made her the happiest…

“Crap”, the brunette clung onto the branch of the tree trying to regain her footing after narrowly avoiding her death (or more likely a trip to the hospital). After recovering from her mild slip, she rapped on the window beside her and a few seconds later the window slides open and as she enters the room she trips up on her own feet landing face down on the floor. 

“Real smooth”

Bea chuckles at the snark comment as she looks up and as the sunlight shines through the window, it highlights all the features of the other girl. She was shorter than Bea (although not in this moment since Bea was practically laying on the floor), her facial features were sharp and her strawberry blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders. Her plush pink lips were curled up in a small smile as she offered a hand to the girl to help her up. 

“I totally meant to do that” Bea takes her hand and lifts herself off the floor, and after she quickly dusts herself off and grabs the blonde’s wrist pulling her towards her while her other hand settles on her waist. “So how much time do we have?”

The petite girl wounds her arms around the taller girl’s neck and slightly tip toes to whisper, “my dad has dinner with a bunch of investors so he’s not going to be back until midnight”. A huge smile appears on her face as she leans back slightly taking in the appraising look of the brunette. 

“Perfect”. 

Bea moves in to kiss the blonde, passion already igniting as their tongues tangle in a fight for dominance until Bea suddenly pulls away, foreheads touching, eyes blazing with desire as she whispers against the other girl’s lips, “I missed you Pops”. 

The other girl rolls her eyes and unwinds her arms from Bea’s neck, slightly pushing her back and while maintaining eye contact she walks backwards towards the bed and sits on the edge, “shuttup, you literally saw me yesterday” her tone attempting to come across as catty but instead comes out in a more playful manner. 

Bea raises an eyebrow as she saunters to where the girl is sitting and places two fingers under the girl’s chin lifting her face until their eyes meet, “so? I’m suddenly not allowed to miss my girlfriend?” She leans in, her lips ghosts around the blonde’s lips. 

“You talk too much, come on we’re wasting daylight” the blonde grabs Bea’s shirt and pulls her down onto the bed with her as they tussle in the sheets, lips crashing against one another reigniting the same passion from the kiss before. 

“Poppy..” Bea all but moans when Poppy places wet kisses along her jawline and begins biting at her neck. Not wanting her to have all the fun, Bea suddenly flips Poppy over pressing her deeper into the mattress as she ravenously kisses her, as if Poppy is the only one who can satiate her desire, and honestly speaking? She probably is. 

“No more foreplay, I want you now” Poppy breathlessly says, breaking the heated kiss. Bea sits up to straddle Poppy, intertwining both hands with hers and places it above the blonde’s head and grinds on her hips earning a low groan from Poppy. 

“Ask and you shall receive my queen”

In response, Poppy rolls her eyes and her tongue darts out of her mouth, teasingly moving against her own soft lips and as Bea leans in for another kiss her slender fingers move lightly above Poppy’s inner thigh, touching everywhere except where Poppy wanted her the most. After a few pleads from the blonde, Bea finally indulges her desires and they moved in perfect syncopation. 

….. 

After a while, Bea and Poppy collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied recovering from their physically demanding rendezvous. Bea lays on her back with one arm behind her head and one arm wrapped around the petite girl who fit perfectly in her larger frame. Poppy relaxes her head on Bea’s chest, feeling lulled by her heartbeat which brings her a sense of calm and security. Bea softly kisses her forehead and looks down at the girl, entranced by her beauty, enrapturing the way her breaths are slightly longer and deeper than usual, the way her hair falls around her face and how her fingers subconsciously ghost around Bea’s stomach drawing lazy shapes. 

Poppy Min Sinclair, a 5’2 blonde beauty who is Bea’s entire world. Everything about her screams perfection in Bea’s eyes. She’s a straight A student, captain of the cheerleading team, and likes to spend time volunteering at her local animal shelter and is secretly an amazing artist. Though her family was one of the richest families in Greensburg, Poppy wasn’t your average highschool rich girl. Though she would often go on regular shopping sprees and refuse to wear anything that wasn’t designer (unless it was Bea’s clothes), she never treated Bea any differently than how others would. She was a bright girl, who was loving, friendly, fierce when she needed to be and extremely loyal. When it was just her and Bea she could show her true self, not pretend to be someone she’s not or play a certain role, she could just simply be Poppy instead of Poppy Min Sinclair. Poppy often felt the gravity that came with her name, especially since that’s all her father pressured her to be, a Min Sinclair. 

Hayden Min Sinclair, Poppy’s father, owned an entire empire of companies, differentiating from technology based businesses to architecture and finance. To say he was a businessman was putting it lightly, he was almost like a god or at least someone who was highly worshipped by business moguls. He built up his family’s name and within a decade he was a force to be reckoned with. Hayden Min Sinclair worked his ass off to lift his companies off the ground because as a person of colour he knew he would have to work 10x harder to get what he wanted. All he ever wants is life for his daughter to be easy, the irony is, that he’s one of the main reasons why it’s so hard. 

He’s a man of honour and pride and has never expected anything less from his daughter, hoping she would keep the dignity attached to the Min Sinclair name and bring it to new heights. So his traditionalist and conservative views means that he’s expecting Poppy to marry a man, who’s also an aristocrat, in which Bea is 0 for 2 for Poppy’s father’s expectations. Hence, Bea and Poppy have to keep their relationship a secret, a way to protect both Poppy and her future but also Bea from Mr Min Sinclair’s wrath. Reputation means everything to the Min Sinclairs and to Mr Min Sinclair specifically, especially after Poppy’s mother passed away when Poppy was 10 after an unfortunate incident of a drunken hit and run which left Poppy permanently broken from the loss of her mother but had all the socialites gossiping about the tragedy for months. To this day Poppy and her father still mourn her loss and Poppy often turns to Bea for comfort, for her companionship could provide the means of making her forget the empty presence of her mother that was left behind. 

They’d known each other since they were 7, when Bea used to live in the very same neighbourhood after the Min Sinclair’s moved into the neighbourhood, and they spent almost every waking hour together, attached by the hip. They were the best of friends and almost nothing could get in their way. Emphasis on the ‘almost’. 

When Bea’s father left Bea’s mother, Isabella when Bea was 8 and her sister Aria was 2, after finding out that Aria wasn’t his child as a result of a one night stand Isabella had, Bea’s family struggled to afford to live in the neighborhood especially since Bea’s father was the breadwinner of the house and their main source of income. After a series of bad decisions resulting in Bea’s mother losing her job as a banker, the 3 girls were forced to move to the south of Greensburg since it was the only thing they could afford. 

Bea and Poppy were still inseparable at this point, either Bea would take 2 buses to go to Poppy’s house or Poppy would call the family’s driver so she could go over the Bea’s. The breaking point for their friendship was the day when Bea’s mother once took the girls to the park when they were 11 and after she had gotten so intoxicated to the point she threw up in front of all the children, and Poppy’s father prohibited Poppy from seeing Bea again. 

“That girl and her family will bring shame to our family’s name, imagine what your mother would say” Poppy can still hear her father’s words ringing in her head from time to time, but everytime she looks at Bea, all her expectations would disappear and she would just simply be happy.

They began dating when they were 14, after Poppy had managed to scrounge up all her courage to kiss Bea on valentine’s day, after the two girls had snuck away to a diner to hang out like they would usually do. Poppy looked as if she was going to pass out from embarrassment when Bea didn’t reciprocate the kiss at first, however in Bea’s defence she was more startled than anything else. When Poppy was about to apologise Bea moved in and gave Poppy a sweet and chaste kiss on the lips and from then they decided they would be together. Bea couldn’t believe her luck when she was able to call Poppy hers, she felt like she didn’t have much to offer Poppy as she had yet to have earned the scholarship to Belvoire, the same school that Poppy had been attending. As well as coming from a troubled family life she didn’t want to implicate Poppy in any way but staying away from her had proven to be too difficult. 

The consequences of their forbidden love was much harder on her than it was on Poppy, still nevertheless she would do anything for Poppy, which was proven time and time again when they have to act like strangers at school. In spite of that, the stolen glances, the stolen moments, the stolen kisses, it made it all worth it. 

“Are you ready for school tomorrow” Poppy’s soft voice vibrated against Bea’s chest. 

Bea lets out a soft chuckle, “What do you think Pops? I’m the school’s lonely girl”

Bea’s reputation at Belvoire could not be worse, in a school filled with entitled brats, it was difficult for her to make any friends considering her economic background. She also couldn’t rely on Poppy and her popularity since she couldn’t be within any vicinity of the girl she loves. Bea and Poppy’s friends had a history of not getting along, and since Poppy couldn’t allow the true nature of her relationship with Bea to come to light, Bea had to deal with all sorts of harassment and bullying from them. Bea often had to remind herself that she was only a target because with money comes a lot of entitlement, especially from snobby teenagers. Moreover, the consequences of her mother’s actions also didn’t help Bea as the stories followed her everywhere, causing all sorts of rumours to spread like wildfire. 

Poppy lifted her head slightly to look into Bea’s eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant it’s the last year of highschool, that means one last chance for us to win nationals and for you to come on top for volleyball.”

As mentioned beforehand, the extra curricular Bea chose to partake in was volleyball, not only did being part of a winning sports team look good on a college application, it also helped Bea with releasing her pent up anger and dominating her competition. Her favourite thing in particular was the smaller group of cheerleaders, including Poppy, who were at every game after Poppy made a compelling argument to the principle about the importance of raising school spirit in all sport related inquiries. Bea would often steal a glimpse at Poppy, who always came up with extra dance moves and cheers, sending secret messages that she was rooting for her girlfriend. 

“One more year of highschool, do you know what that means Pops?” Bea smiled devilishly at Poppy who returned the smile and leaned her face in, lips ghosting around Bea’s. 

“Why don’t you remind me?”

Bea grabbed the blonde’s waist and stole a quick kiss, “One more year means that next year we’ll both be in New York, and we can finally be together for real”. 

“I can’t wait to live off campus with you, we should start looking at places now so we can get ahead and find a good place sin-” Bea cuts her off with a kiss while Poppy smiles, “I hate when you interrupt me with kisses”

“No you don’t”

“You’re right I don’t, but you better not slack this year Bea Hughes otherwise I’ll beat your ass if you don’t get into Columbia”

“I would never, I’m literally a better student than you babe. I would say you shouldn’t slack either but we all know daddy’s going to help you get into NYU.”

Poppy playfully slaps Bea on the arm who just laughs, “hey, no way in hell am I going to use the Min Sinclair name like that, when” (she made sure to put extra emphasis as she spoke) “I get into NYU it will be because of how amazing and talented I am” 

“Not to mention damn right gorgeous and smart and incredibly flexible”

Poppy moves to straddle Bea, hands on either side of her head and she leans in, “hmm, you think the admission office will be looking at those particular things?” her tone teasing and inviting. 

Bea attempts to move her head up only for Poppy to quickly place her perfectly manicured hand around her neck and push her down, Bea’s eyes flash as her voice pulsates with desire, “well I’ll definitely be looking, for educational reasons of course”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin as the girls share a passionate kiss, tongues tangled together as they fight for dominance, Bea tries to envelop Poppy’s entire mouth with her kiss but Poppy’s unrelenting perseverance pushes through as she tightens the grip around Bea’s neck, pushing her deeper into the mattress. Bea succumbs to Poppy’s kisses and allows the blonde’s tongue to explore the inside of her mouth, getting lost in the wave of pleasure that emanates from Poppy’s lips. 

After a few more kisses, Bea looks at the digital clock sitting on top of Poppy’s dresser, “damn it’s getting late I should go”

“Wha- it’s barely 10 o’clock”, Poppy pouts as her eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“I know” Bea places a hand on Poppy’s face gently brushing against her cheekbone, “but you need your 8 hours of sleep and I gotta make sure everything is ready for Aria tomorrow”. 

Poppy sighs defeatedly as she knows how important Bea’s half sister is to her, she’s practically an older sister to Aria and is also incredibly protective of her too. “Well tell Aria I said hi”

Bea moves to stand and Poppy grabs her hand, “wait, you didn’t tell me, how’s your mom?”

Bea nonchalantly shrugged and gazed at the floor, “same old, same old, she drinks herself into oblivion not giving a shit about the rest of us” 

Poppy rubbed comforting circles on Bea’s hand, “don’t worry Bea one day it will get better” 

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I’ve been saying that for almost 10 years”

She stalks over to the window and lets half of her body hang out ready to reach out to the tree, Poppy moves over and gives Bea one last lingering kiss, “You know you can use the front door, my dad’s not here”

“Yeah I know but it’s always so awkward when I run into Rita at this time because she knows that I’m screwing you”, Bea smiles while Poppy raises an eyebrow

“Screwing me?”

“Sorry I meant making love to you” she gives Poppy a quick kiss 

“Much better, and anyways Rita doesn’t care, she’s been rooting for us this entire time”

“It’s okay, don’t worry P, I’ve been climbing in and out of these windows and over that gate for years, how else do you think I got these muscles”, she flexes her toned arms while Poppy runs a hand over them, “I love you”

“I love you too”, Poppy watches as Bea moves out of the window, gripping the tree and making her descent, “wait” she shouts down, “where did you leave your bike?”

Bea smiles up at her, “I parked it a couple of blocks away from here it’s fine, I’ll text you when I get home” she blows a kiss to Poppy and begins making her way over the gate and into the street which shone bright from the lampposts. Poppy sighs and closes her window and begins getting ready for bed until a knock at her door catches her attention. Rita, her nanny and keeper enters the room and looks at Poppy with a knowing glance, ‘Bea didn’t want to stay for dinner?’ 

Poppy laughs slightly and shakes her head, “no she had to get home to make sure her sister is okay”

Rita leaves a plate with a few cucumber and cheese sandwiches on the dresser, “don’t stay up too late Miss Min Sinclair,” and with that she gives a little wave and leaves the room closing the door behind her. After eating half of her sandwich and going through her extensive nighttime routine, she receives a text from Bea

💖 B

Just got home now 

Love you and goodnight my love

Poppy smiles at her phone and then sets her phone on her dresser, not before putting it on charge, and drifts off to sleep. 

Bea on the other hand was wide awake. When she safely parked her motorbike near her house and texted Poppy as she entered the house. She looked up from her phone into the dark room to see the tv quietly playing while her mother was passed out on the couch with a half drunk bottle of vodka on the table. She moved towards the couch covering her mom with a blanket and then went into her bedroom to check on her sister who was soundly sleeping in her bed. Bea headed into the kitchen took some cold pizza from the fridge and did some last minutes checks to make sure both her and her sister were equipped and ready for school tomorrow. She settled in her bed, her mind racing with thoughts about school and how challenging the first day back will be. 

read part 2: 

[pparkersz]

and they were roommates | p.p [1/5]

summary: Ned’s really good friend Y/N is being evicted from her apartment and is in desperate need of somewhere to stay. When Ned finds out about her dilemma, he proposes to Peter they let her move in, and despite his hesitance, he agrees. Y/N gladly accepts Ned’s offer but upon moving in realizes that her new roommate Peter Parker was hiding something. A Spider-man Roommate/College AU. (masterlist)

warnings: fem!reader, swearing, aged up! peter parker & co.

a/n: hi everyone! i’ve fallen into the hole of p.p x reader fics and am inspired to start a new blog dedicated to fic writing. i’m excited to share this short series with you all. please feel free to send in any one-shot requests. :)

Y/N was in trouble.

With a groan, you let your head drop with a hard thump on the wooden table.

It wasn’t the kind of trouble most people would expect from a college student like forgetting to turn in an assignment before a deadline or sleeping in, and missing class one too many times.

No--this was the kind of trouble that your mother warned you might run into when you decided you were tired of living in the cramped dorms of Colombia University and that you wanted to move into an overpriced and even more cramped apartment with a flakey roommate.

Aria, said flakey roommate, decided last month that she no longer was interested in living with Y/N you had spent the last few weeks desperately posting ads on Craigslist and the campus bulletin board for a new roommate.

Just as you’d imagined, most people that replied on Craigslist were creeps and the few from school that responded to your poster decided last minute that the apartment was not to their tastes.

Despite working many, long hours at the closest family-owned café Bugle Beans for the last three years of your college life, Y/N did not have the money to pay rent and utilities on her own.

Your landlord had tried to be understanding but he’d been kind for long enough.

“I warned you that we don’t give extensions, kid,” he’d sighed to you earlier that morning. “I’m giving you a week to move out or you’ll find all your things outside.”

“I’m fucked,” you sighed into your hands. “I’m so fucked.”

“Like fucked fucked?” A teasingly inquisitive voice suddenly came from your right, startling you out of your miserable stupor. “Or I’m going to possibly fail out of a class and hurt my GPA fucked fucked?”

You lifted your head and couldn’t stop the genuine, small smile that crossed your face. “More like I’m going to be homeless in a week fucked.”

Ned Leeds, your only confidant on this huge campus took a seat across from you, gaze switching from teasing to concerned. “Y/N, what the hell?”

You bit your lip, lowering your hand to rest on your crossed arms. “I still haven’t found anyone to replace Aria and I can’t afford rent. My landlord’s giving me a week to pay up or get out.”

Ned winced beside you, patting your arm comfortingly. “Yeah, the city landlords are ruthless, and trying to find a roommate that’s not a psycho is even worse. I’m sorry.”

You blew out another sigh. “Don’t I know--”

“Y/N!” You jumped at the sound of Ned’s suddenly excited voice. “I have an idea!”

“Do tell.”

“Peter’s ex-girlfriend MJ moved out from our loft a few months ago and we’d been meaning to find a third roommate for a while now. It hasn’t really been a priority but it’s about time we try to find someone.” Ned’s brown eyes were shining excitedly as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “We need a roommate, you need a place. What do you say?”

For the first time in a month, you felt a small burst of hope in bloom in your chest.

“Ned, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, kid.”

“Ned Leeds,” you almost sobbed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I owe you all the free coffee and cookies in the world.”

Ned snickered, rubbing your back softly. “I’d have to talk to Peter but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You pulled away and gave him a watery grin. “Let me know as soon as you can, please.”

“I’ve got you, friend,” he winked, getting up from the spot next to you. “I’ll text you tonight. You better start packing.”

___________________________________________________________________

“I just don’t think it’s wise right now, Ned.”

Peter Parker repeated this to his best friend for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening.

“Peter, she’s the best, I promise--”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” the brown-haired young man interrupted, putting down his highlighter and looking away from his notes. “It’s just--with the whole Spider-man thing I don’t think it’s a good idea to have someone new here, man.”

At Ned’s crestfallen expression, he felt a sliver of guilt creep up.

It wasn’t necessarily that he had something against Y/N. He’d met her briefly a few times and Ned always spoke highly of her since they’d been randomly partnered for a project their freshman year.

“Pete,” Ned’s voice was desperate. “She got evicted from her apartment and has a week to come up with almost two grand or find somewhere to live. She doesn’t have many friends in the city. She needs us.”

Peter swallowed hard before releasing a sign. He couldn’t argue with Ned about that and his own conscience wouldn’t let him rest if he knew that someone was potentially going to be left homeless.

But he was hesitant.

He’d gotten used to not having to hide to anyone his superhero persona and the thought of having to be careful around someone new in his own home was not appealing to him.

When MJ moved out, he and Ned had decided they would eventually find a new roommate but there was no rush. Mr. Stark had kindly left a nice fund for Peter that helped them out with rent for a while and they’d fallen into a nice routine just the two of them with MJ occasionally coming over for movie night.

He and MJ were still good friends, having parted on good terms, so she was still around often.

He supposed though that they’d just be crossing the bridge he’d been much too comfortable to cross a lot sooner than he wanted.

Clearing his throat Peter gave Ned a nod. “Let her know the empty room’s hers if she wants it.”

Ned let out a breath of relief, giving Peter a grin. “You’re the best Pete. I promise I’ll help with covering for you if it comes down to it.”

Peter shook his head with a smile of his own, punching Ned lightly in the arm. “I’m counting on it, Ned. It’ll be like old times.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve cooked up a good story, eh?” Ned snickered as he remembered the various times he’d have to come up with excuses for Peter’s absences, suspicious behavior, and abnormal disappearances. He reached for his phone immediately opening up his messages. “I can’t wait to tell, Y/N.”

“Let her know I’d be happy to help her with moving in.” Peter offered quietly, turning back to his notes.

“Will do. “ Ned responded distractedly, typing away rapidly on his iPhone.

Peter raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought. He didn’t like to call it his tingle, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t telling him that this might just be a bad idea.

[captain-yeet]

Don't You Knock? (Felix Volturi x Reader One-shot)

Summary: Finding out that vampires and soulmates existing in a single day is exhausting, let alone discovering you're the mate of one. The night after the Newborns came to Forks, you get a surprise visitor in the dead of night.

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

A little something I’ve been working on this past week and also to celebrate a wee follower milestone. Come get y’all JUICE, enjoy!

Slamming the door to your apartment with accidental unnecessary force, you shrug out of your frozen jacket and tossed it to the floor. Today had been eventful, to say the least. It began with helping out your supervisor with paperwork down at the police station and ended with a vampire practically starting a riot over you.

Oh, and vampires exist now. Neat.

You were only a few years older than Chief Swan's daughter and he had asked something rather odd of you a few months back after she returned from disappearing to Italy; "Keep an eye out for her, will ya?"

So, you found a way to insert yourself into Bella's life, like a friend with older sister vibes. She was none the wiser, and so were you in terms of what kind of shit the silly girl had gotten herself into.

Shrugging out of your pants, you let out a content sigh. "Right, relax time," you breathed. No vampires, no pyres of burning bodies. Just me and some pasta.

You were just planning on tailing her and the gaggle of pale friends of hers to see what exactly they were up to. You'd seen them while out on a hike and immediately your suspicion grew when you saw Bella being carried down the hillside by her boyfriend Edward Cullen, accompanied by the largest wolf you'd ever seen.

Following them at a distance, the sight you stumbled across made you let out a very loud "What the fuck is going on here!?"

Bodies burning but with no horrid stench. One of the Cullen boys ripping apart a corpse with his bare hands and tossing it into the pyre. A naked boy on the ground writhing in pain, being lifted and carried off by more shirtless guys and one woman. A teenager curled up into a ball on the ground.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" Bella cried.

"What am I doing here? What the shit are you doing here, what exactly have these people roped you into?" You had snarled the last part, backing away from the two approaching Cullens.

The doctor's wife had whispered a quick explanation to you. They weren't human, but vampires. Vampires existed what the actual heck. Bella was in danger but isn't any more.

And the Volturi, the "vampire police" were arriving soon, and you had no time to leave before they did.

An hour passed and you hummed a song to yourself while you washed up the plates after having a quick dinner. The day had turned to custard and you just wanted to forget about it for a moment and go to bed.

The buzzing of your phone made you jump. Picking it up, you saw the name on the screen and sighed heavily.

Caller ID: Bella

"What now?" You groaned, leaning against the counter. You pressed the answer key and held the phone gingerly up to your ear. "Hello?"

"Y/N, are you home?" came Bella's voice through the speaker. There was a hint of urgency in her tone that had you immediately tense.

"I am, why? Has something happened?"

"Listen to me," she urged, "you need to leave, Alice has a vision that -"

Your brows knitted together in confusion. Bella had given you some information about her boyfriend having some kind of mind reading gift but you didn't realise that extended to the rest of the Cullens being gifted too. "She had a what now?"

A short sigh. "Someone is coming for you! Please just trust me and go!"

Pushing yourself off the counter, you paced in your kitchen. "Who?" you deadpanned, fear growing in your heart.

"Y/N go!"

Suddenly you heard the creak of that one rickety window in your living room shutting. You grabbed the closest thing to you; a pan. "If I don't call you back by tomorrow morning assume the worst," you murmured in a hushed voice before hanging up.

Placing your phone down, you grasped the pan firmly and stalked to the corner leading into the living room. You couldn't hear anything but the sound of a dog barking outside and the steady rain that had begun as you drove home. Taking a deep breath, you rounded the corner and entered the room.

Nothing. No one was in sight.

"You know that pan isn't going to do much," a deep voice commented from behind you.

Yelping in shock and fear, you instinctively turned and swung the pan with just the one hand at whoever it was behind you. An ice-cold hand gripped your wrist, stopping your attack.

The tall intruder raised his eyebrows at your clumsy attack, red eyes boring into your own with intensity. You were caught off guard by how ridiculously handsome, tall and muscular he was, which you knew was probably the last thing you should be thinking about right now. You swung at him with your free hand and he caught that too. Now you were pinned.

"Easy, I mean you no harm," he said firmly, his tone ringing with authority. He began walking forward, still with you firmly in his iron grip making you step backward till your back hit a wall. "If I let you go, will you calm down?"

"You broke into my apartment and you want me to be calm?" you hissed, the last word turning into a screech.

"Please, I -" the man struggled with his words for a moment. "I just want to talk. About what happened today, if you'll give me a chance."

You glared at him for a little. He could end you very quickly if that was what he wanted to do. You knew that after what you saw of him today. He was a killer, through and through.

So, you conceded with a solemn nod.

The man was pleased with your cooperation, releasing your wrists and stepping back away from you. You set your poor choice of a weapon down on a table and leaned against the wall, quickly wiping away a stray tear that began trailing down your cheek before crossing your arms and staring him down with a hard glare.

Red eyes traveled up and down your figure, at first with curiosity that dissolved into something else, something more akin to fleeting lust and you suddenly remembered your lack of pants. "Don't you vampires know how to knock? It would have given me time to make myself more decent."

A low chuckle came from the man. "That would have been a politer choice, but I guess I miscalculated things." With a pause, he added, "not that I'm complaining, it's a nice view."

He winked and you cursed yourself for the impulsive flush of heat to your cheeks. It really should be illegal to be that good looking and that infuriatingly forward.

Padding over to the couch, making sure to have the front of your body facing him and not your rear end, you made yourself at home and placed a blanket over your lower half. Resting your hands in your lap, you sheepishly looked up at him. "I'd feel more comfortable if you sat down."

Moving slowly, you assumed so he wouldn't frighten you, he sat next to you on the couch on the furthest end, giving you some space. "Where would you like me to begin? I'll answer any questions you have if you'll also grant me the same privilege."

You thought for a moment. Many pressing questions came to your mind at once. You weren't sure where to begin. "Okay," you agreed with a heavy exhale. "Well, the first question I have to start with is who are you?"

"Fair," he smiled and again your heart skipped a beat. "My name is Felix, as you know already, I'm a member of the Volturi who are tasked with enforcing the secrecy of our kind."

Your brain took a moment to process the information. "So... you're essentially the vampire police?" you concluded with a raised brow, earning another chuckle from Felix.

"I guess you could say that although we're closer to being a governing force, now let me ask the same of you."

Glancing away briefly, you let your eyes roam around your apartment before meeting his curious red ones again. "My name is Y/N and uh, I work down at the local police station here in Forks - a cadet, got in thanks to my okay-ish GPA." You felt yourself rambling so you quickly shut up before you embarrassed yourself further.

"You don't strike me as a woman who'd aspire to be a cop," he mused, his head cocking to the side.

You shrugged meekly. "Maybe so, but I've always wanted to try making a small difference and I figured why not try and work towards becoming an officer?"

"That's admirable."

Heat flushed to your face. You racked your brain for more questions. "Well, if you're a vampire, how old are you?"

"About 2,000 years old, give or take."

A strangled hysteric laugh caught itself in your throat, making him purse his lips and stare at you like you'd grown another head. "I'm sorry," you said quickly, "it's just... wow that's a... long time to be alive." Taking a moment to compose yourself, you gave him a small smile. "You look amazing for your age, I gotta say."

A grin spread across his handsome face, and again your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't deny he was incredibly handsome - ridiculously so. "Immortality does wonders," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying making you flustered.

A question popped into your mind at that moment, one that had been plaguing your thoughts since you left that clearing "... What is a mate? Why is it so significant for, your kind?"

You recalled the moment the two of you locked eyes for the first time. You remembered Edward Cullen's hiss of anger and shock and the way this man before you stared at you. It was like he was a deer in headlights and time itself had stopped. The pyre had disappeared, every confusing new thing that had surrounded you in a matter of minutes gone.

In that finite moment, it was just you and this tall strange man who gazed at you like a blind man seeing colour for the first time.

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" He murmured, chuckling to himself. Eyes downcast, he paused to think about how he wanted to answer. "My kind lives for a very long time," he began, lifting his gaze back to you. "Some of us will find another that we connect with so intimately that nothing else compares. A mate is a life partner, someone who feels as if they were made for you."

Resting your chin on your hand, you listened to his explanation earnestly. The idea of soulmates felt like a silly girl's fantasy, but you couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings at his words. "And me?" You asked softly, scooting a little closer to really lock eyes with him. "Edward said I was your mate."

Mate. The term felt so foreign to you, it rolled off your tongue strangely.

With that announcement, the clearing had become chaos. Angry snarls from both Volturi and Cullen alike sounded through the area, you'd been pulled behind a blonde golden-eyed woman.

And many protests.

"Impossible!"

"That's absurd, Felix would never become attached to a human."

The voice of reason had come from Doctor Cullen. "It isn't impossible - look at Edward and Bella. If this is true then it's up to them to decide their fates."

Felix's reaction was the one that stuck out to you the most "You seemed so angry, back in the clearing..."

During the outcry, Felix's face was the one you focused on. After moments of staring at you with thunderstruck wonder in his eyes, he balked and you could have sworn you saw him say "No," to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose like he'd suddenly gotten a bad migraine.

He sighed. “It was more shock than anger. Of all the things I had prepared myself for dealing with when we arrived, meeting my mate was not one of them.” Shaking his head, he offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry that the way we met wasn’t under better circumstances. Having you see me like that on our first meeting...”

 “I wish the circumstances had been better too.”

Another memory flickered in your mind. The young girl on the ground. Her screams as she cried out in pain, Felix stalking toward her with a stoic expression. There was no doubt in your mind that even if this ‘soulmate bond’ thing was true - and a tug at your heartstrings swayed you to believe that maybe it was - the man before you was dangerous.

 “You killed that girl,” you stated bluntly.

 “I had orders,” he retorted, the stoic mask returning. “I had no choice.”

You were shaking your head before he finished speaking. “That doesn’t mean that what you did was right!” Exasperated, you raised your hands. “Just because someone orders you to do something doesn’t mean that it’s the correct course to take! Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

Felix opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, jaw clenched.

Okay, maybe don’t try to aggravate the vampire, Y/N, you cautioned yourself. Hands falling with a slap on your exposed thighs, you sighed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

Silence followed. You watched him carefully and he watched you, neither making a single move for a while. 

 “You’re afraid of me.” The words left his lips calmly, not phrased as a question but rather a statement.

Lips parting slightly, you felt your face turn into a grimace. Your emotions were all over the place at this point in time and you didn’t know what to do about it or how to feel. Maybe you were scared of him - he did break into your home after all. And a rational part of your conscious knew that being afraid was probably a good thing. But at the same time? You felt a sense of hope - hope that this whole vampire mate thing may be true and that he really wasn’t here to kill you or worse.

 "I guess I can’t blame you for feeling that way,” he sighed. “Do you still want an answer to your original question?”

Biting your tongue for a moment, you nodded. “Yes, tell me.”

 “Meeting you was a shock, that is true. It’s just...” A pause for a moment, and in a more gentle voice he spoke once more. “I have been around for a long, long time. Centuries. In that time I thought I wouldn’t ever find my mate as I watched others find theirs - I even became somewhat promiscuous, because if I was never going to find the one, what was the point? Why not fool around with whomever? And then you appear before me and I’m shaken to my core.”

The room was silent save for the frantic beating of your heart, the patter of rainfall and the distant sounds of life around your apartment building.

 “I fear I’ve ruined my chances of you accepting me as yours,” Felix confessed.

 “I... may be willing to accept you - or at the very least give you, us, a chance. But you must do something for me first if you’re willing?” Is this a bad idea? A great idea? Maybe both, you concluded.

Felix’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”

You pointed at the door. “Leave my apartment and knock on the door.”

Suspicion turned into amusement. “You want me to leave and then come back in?” he repeated, playful sarcasm in his tone.

You felt your lips twitch up into a smirk. “Yes, that is indeed what I want. If we’re doing this I want to give it a real shot with a proper beginning - no attacking anyone with a pan and preferably with pants on.”

The two of you eyes each other a moment before you broke out into a fit of giggles. Felix shook his head muttering something along the lines of “Strange human” before taking your hand gently in his own, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a feather-light kiss, sending your heart beating overtime. "As you wish."

Letting your hand fall from his grasp he rose to his feet and walked away from you. Opening the door to your apartment wide, Felix faced you and stepped backward with a smirk, closing the door behind him.

When he closed the door, you stood up and rushed to find a pair of pants. Luckily you’d conveniently left some unfolded laundry out in the living room after a late-night trip to the laundromat. Shimmying into some comfy leggings, you murmured to yourself, "Feel free to knock now, big guy."

Not even five seconds later, and there was a short knock at your door. What, they have super hearing too? you chuckled to yourself.

Taking what felt like the millionth deep intake of breath for tonight, you opened the door for your “unexpected” visitor.

Pursing his lips trying not to laugh, Felix nodded in greeting. The man towered over you and for a brief moment, one of his hands running through the dark shaggy locks of hair, you wondered how his head didn’t hit the doorframe. And also how soft his hair was to touch. “Hello, may I come in?”

 “Since you’re so polite, of course you may,” you greeted him, stepping back to allow him to enter.

 “Does this mean you’ll give this a chance?” he took a hesitant step forward, watching you for any sign of discomfort, “you want to give a future with me a chance?”

You nodded. “It’s not every day a vampire comes to my door asking to be my lover,” you replied teasingly, winking at him as he had done to you earlier in the night. And besides... if you're serious about me being your mate, then I want to give this a go."

An earnest, genuinely happy smile lit up Felix’s face. You’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life. Beaming back at him as he entered your apartment, you knew from this night onward your life would never be the same. Were you ready for that? You weren’t quite sure.

But for now, you were certain in your feelings; if soulmates were real, you’d feel like a fool to pass up your own. Whatever the future held, you’ll face it.

You’ll face it with him.

[flyandfamousblackgirls]

Why Ananda Lewis Traded a Microphone for a Tool Belt

The TV personality and former VJ proves it’s never too late to follow your passion.

Known for her outspokenness and captivating personality, TV host and carpenter extraordinaire Ananda Lewis has been a powerful voice and advocate for teenagers and women for decades. A familiar face on television from the mid-90s through 2004, Lewis was the host of some of TV’s most popular shows, including BET’s "Teen Summit," and MTV’s "TRL" and "Hot Zone." In 1997, she won the NAACP Image Award for an interview she did with Hillary Clinton. Eventually, she even went on to host her own daytime talk show, "The Ananda Lewis Show."

Then, without warning, Lewis disappeared from the spotlight — leaving many wondering where the popular television host disappeared to.

But she hasn’t gone anywhere: These days, Lewis is in the construction business; tearing down walls, painting, and renovating homes in her new career as a carpenter. "For me, this is the only work I’ll ever do in my life," Lewis says. And prior to her TV career, she was actually on a very different path. Lewis grew up in San Diego; and after her parents divorced when she was 2 years old, she was raised by her mother and grandmother, along with an aunt that lived in Los Angeles. "I had this tribe of very powerful women," she says.

Lewis then majored in history at Howard University and wanted to become a teacher. But thanks to her students’ encouragement, she ended up auditioning for "Teen Summit," which set her on the fast track to fame.

The powerhouse recently sat down with Shondaland to talk about finding and following her passion — and why she traded in a microphone for a hard hat and tool belt.

Shameika Rhymes: How did you end up on "Teen Summit"? Was TV something you were always interested in?

Ananda Lewis: I was working with a summer program with kids, and the audition came up through a friend of a friend at BET… I actually had a speech impediment until I was 8, and I had three years of speech therapy. So, I was used to reading and had built up my confidence in talking in front of people, [and with "Teen Summit,"] everything came together. I started loving that it combined the work I was already doing with teenagers. That was always in my heart — to help people.

SR: How did you go from that to working as a VJ to hosting your own talk show? That’s quite the journey.

AL: I felt like I needed to keep changing. Evolution and metamorphosis are important to me as a person, so that you’re not stuck somewhere as a person, and you continue to grow. If that means giving things up that you are comfortable with, then that’s what it means. The great part of that is you continue to grow and progress. The down part of that is, in hindsight, for me, I didn’t get to stand in the moment that I was in and really soak it in and appreciate it. I was always looking for the next thing. Oprah said it best, about how the gratitude piece is where the magic is. When you can stand in a moment and be grateful, the moment expands. Then you take that expanded moment and turn it into something else. I missed doing that.

I [also] wish I had stopped the people that wanted me to do the [talk] show and said, "Not yet, it’s a little too early to do this" It was overkill for me. I had so many issues with stalkers, and negative energy coming towards me from the attention; it was too much for me. I broke in certain ways and I went into self-survival mode and said, “This has to go.”

SR: Is that why you disappeared from the spotlight? Because you needed that break?

AL: I wasn’t happy with the show itself so I felt like my performance was impacted by that. There were some good [episodes], there were some highlights, but for me, it wasn’t what I felt like I signed up for.

Three months before the show shut down, my grandma was having a personal emergency and I was 3,000 miles away. She was in her 80s at that time and needed help. So, I felt like this woman who sacrificed for me to have a childhood that was stable and full of happiness and love — I wasn’t going to let her just be left hanging.

I was completely unhappy with this talk show. I felt like I was drowning, so I packed everything and went to my grandma’s home and took care of her for the last two years of her life.

SR: When did you decide to go back to school to become a contractor?

AL: My grandmother was the first person to put a drill in my hand. It was because she said, “When you broke something in the house, then you fix it.” There wasn’t some man fixing stuff, it was my mom and grandmother. When I saw things fixed, I saw things fixed by women, and that was the norm. These women of that generation were badasses, and that’s who raised me.

After my grandma passed, I came back to work because I needed to. I was trying to build a shoe rack and I just could not get this board to fit. I was so frustrated, so I said, "I need to take a class." I started to search and I ended up on Los Angeles Trade Technical College’s website and felt this swelling in my heart. I don’t know how to describe it, my heart filled up with gold. I started registering for classes and before I knew it, I was on my way to getting a degree in carpentry. I graduated two years later with an Associate in Science degree with a 4.0 GPA.

For more of interview, click the post.

[borderlineteacher]

Life. Might be triggering to some.

So I should be grading essays right now but my motivation is in the toilet so here I am. Then again, I think writing this will be somewhat productive so I guess that’s good.

My therapist asked me if I’ve been writing about all that’s been happening with me. She even asked about tumblr specifically. I told her that I haven’t, which is so unlike me. I’ll post something vague and that’s it, or I won’t post at all. She told me I should try to write something, if not for tumblr than just for myself. So I’m going to try.

It’s been hard to put things into words. Even when I talk with my therapist it is hard to sound coherent because I’m trying to make sense of shit out loud. So if I even try to put that into writing? Not possible. But maybe I haven’t even tried? I don’t know. 

We are coming up to one year with this pandemic. In this one year, I have actually accomplished a lot! I did well in grad school, even graduated with like a 3.98 GPA. I got my first head teacher job. I really worked on myself and was focused on my health and overall wellness. I lost 48 pounds in a healthy way. I felt good about myself. My mindset towards a lot of things was changing, I was literally transforming into someone else. For the first time in years I felt confident and able. And that’s good. It’s really really good. 

It’s February 15th. Those positive strides have not disappeared. They have not gone away. They still exist. I am not discounting them at all.

Here’s the thing with borderline personality disorder...or rather, here’s the thing with my mind and my experience: For more than half of my life I have lived in intensity. Whether it was negative or positive, painful or enjoyable, my life has just been full of extreme intensity. 

If I am succeeding or being fully in the moment or doing something I love and therefore feel happy, I don’t just feel happy. I feel on top of the world. Continued and concrete success makes me feel like I can do anything and that I’m essentially cured.

If I am in a depressive state, I don’t just simply feel bad. I feel absolutely fucking miserable. I hate myself, I hate everything around me, I walk around as a zombie and barely function throughout the day. I self sabotage anything that could possibly bring me out of it. 

Intensity.

Right now I am in a kind of “maintenance” zone. With my weight, with where I’m at with my job, with everything. The good things are not gone, but I am not currently actively succeeding and seeing concrete results. I just...am. Maybe that’s what stability is? It’s just simply being?

Except I am uncomfortable. I do not like it. 

Work is fine. I love my coworkers. I’m physically healthy. Things at home are chill. Me and my 25 year old sister have gotten super close. I’m just...cruising. It’s not a bad thing. But I just cannot deal with it.

I don’t know how to handle neutrality. All my life I’ve lived in black and white. I’ve never just existed in that holy gray zone they say we should strive for. And I just do not feel okay here. It is all so foreign and confusing and I feel unsettled. Like something is missing. I am lacking something. 

It’s hard to articulate my current emotional experience. So instead my mind turns to thinking about it physically. I don’t actively feel good, nothing bad is necessarily happening, so I must feel...nothing? My body feels....numb? And I hate that. 

And that’s where self harm comes back into play. It just makes so much sense to me right now. I’d rather feel pain than nothing. Something is better than nothing. Part of me is thinking “You’re 27, Rivka. You’re not 15. You’re not 18. You’re not 20. You’re a fucking adult and you cannot even think of cutting yourself at this point in your life. How pathetic.” I know that’s invalidating and it doesn’t help at all. But I think it regardless.

And then there’s another part of me that does not give a shit how old I am. The thought of cutting again, getting that relief, getting that entire high...feel so fucking tempting because I feel I need it. I told my therapist that I’m not trying to plan on hurting myself, I just know that I want to. Very badly. And that’s the worst part -- knowing I can’t but still experiencing the thoughts and feelings and urges. They do not just go away once you say NOPE NOT GONNA DO IT. Instead they get stronger and I feel trapped. 

My therapist brought up the whole “But how long would that relief last, is it short term or long term relief?” And I responded with that it would be long term. Because if I actually relapsed, I’d be in it for the long run. I would not give two shits anymore and it would become chronic. I told her that if I actually relapse then it’s all over for me. I give up. 

Again: I have no plan to do anything, I’m not actively creating a self fulfilling prophecy. I just know that this is happening right now. I’m trying to stop it in its tracks, but it’s happening. 

It’s scary. It’s pretty damn all-consuming. 

But then I wake up and go to work and laugh with my students.

Because that’s just what I have to do.

[jadekitty777]

The Miraculous Tales of Luckybug and Qrow Noir

Anyone ready for an onslaught of fics from me for the next week? Because that’s what’s happening my friends.

(I apologize that my blog will also be running on super speed for the next week as I reblog stuff. I also apologize in advance that I won’t have time to read many, if any, fics. My own still need to be edited and finalized. Aaah lil’ stressed honestly).

Day 1: Flirting

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 5600

Ao3 Link: The Miraculous Tales of Luckybug and Qrow Noir

Summary:  In the daytime, he was Clover Ebi. Just a normal college student, with a normal life. But there's something about him no one knows yet. Because he has a secret. A miraculous secret.

(AKA: The Miraculous Ladybug AU no one asked for)

~

“Voici, À Bientôt!”

“Merci beaucoup. Bonne journée!” Clover replied, taking the box from the smiling cashier.

As he stepped out of the bakery into the busy streets of Paris, he gave a sigh of relief. Though he’d been living in France for the past two months now for his Spring Abroad program, he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious every time he had to converse with the locale. His accent wasn’t the best and some words he just couldn’t remember the right inflection for.

Then again, as he got to Green Belt Park and took a seat on one of the empty benches, leaning back to enjoy the stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, he figured being in such a beautiful city was a good excuse to remain speechless.

He set his bookbag down beside him, opening the flap, and then the top of the box, revealing two small slices of cake. “Okay Ruby, you can come out. It’s safe.”

In a flash quicker than lightning, a red streak zipped from his bag and into the box. A moment later, the kwami looked up at him with starry silver eyes and asked, “You got me two?”

He tapped her on the head, right between her antennae. “The strawberry is for you. The other is…”

“For Qrow, right?” As she looked up at him, he decided that the paragon of heroism should not have such a shit-eating grin.

“It’s not-!” He knew his face was getting hot. “We have to work on the sociology project this evening so I thought he’d appreciate it.”

Not fooled for a second, Ruby said between bites of cake, “You should just tell him.”

“I don’t think I should be taking love advice from an immortal being that transcends time.” He craned his head back, watching the thin clouds above drift along the sky. “Besides, it’s not that easy. Qrow is, he’s just so-” He pictured the other man, all dark hair, captivating red eyes, and shy, personal smiles wrapped around a gruff voice that belayed layers of emotion. Clover sighed longingly, “Wonderful.”

Even without eyebrows, Ruby rose one. “Ah-huh. I can see how you’re having trouble.”

He cracked up. It was nice to have her sensible perspective around. He had to wonder how different his life would have been if he never picked up that little black box with the note ‘You’ve been chosen’ left underneath it.

Having come into his life around the same time Qrow had, she’d been privy to a behind-the-scenes look to how his relationship with the other man shifted from strangers to close friends. She was the only one who heard his secret thoughts as that bond grew into intense feelings.

“I really mean it though. It’s always best to be honest with your heart.” The kwami told him.

“I know you’re right. But is it what’s right for Qrow?” At her head tilt, he explained, “He’s got a crush of his own, remember? The one he’s so vague about?”

“Maybe he’s so vague because it’s you?”

He snorted. “Only if he knows I’m Luckybug. He’s got blue eyes, remember?” That was one of the only things he’d been able to pull out of him, besides the gender. Which, after a simple process of elimination, meant it was either Qrow’s best friend Taiyang or James, the leading RA in their dorms back home. Well, or rich and prissy Jacques, but he knew Qrow had better standards than that.

“He could be colorblind to green?” Ruby offered hopefully.

He gave her another pat on the head. “I don’t think it works that way, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

She made a soft noise, before floating up from her bed of crumbs to sit on his shoulder instead. “He hasn’t mentioned this person the entire trip though, right?”

Clover started in surprise. She was right, he hadn’t – which was a huge change from the near weekly aside he’d give about whatever his ‘prince charming’ was up to. “You think it’s fading away?”

“I’m not sure.” She said, looking towards the city’s prized monument. “But I think it might mean this trip could be an opportunity to tell him how you feel. What better place to do that then the city of love?”

He mulled that over. When he found out his university offered abroad studies during junior year, he had been so excited. He’d always wanted to travel, but the prospect of going alone was also nerve-wracking. Qrow, facing much the same enthusiasm and inhibitions, had struck a deal that they would go together. That also meant they had been spending an exorbitant amount of time together, living together in the shared home with a few other students. Shared a room, even.

How many nights had they spent together, just talking about nothing and everything? Mapping out plans over train and bus schedules to fit in as many big sights as they could on their free weekends of tourism? Walked along the Seine at night, the city lights reflecting off the water, where Clover would inadvertently get lost staring at how gorgeous Qrow looked in the casting glow?

Maybe… he could…

“Clover, the sky!”

The sudden alarm in Ruby’s voice had his head jerking upwards. To his horror, the space above the tower was turning black with red lightning streaking across. The telltale sign of Omen at work. But she couldn’t be here!

But sure enough, from the depths of the portal, a large, winged Grimm appeared. It looked like a giant raven, with terribly sharp claws and razor-tipped feathers.

His kwami looked to him, determined. “We need to transform.”

He nodded and grabbed his phone, sending a quick message to Qrow, before stuffing it and the bakery box in his bag. After a cursory glance around, he ducked into the shadow of a tree trunk. “Alright Ruby, charm on!”

The clover-shaped brooch on his chest glowed and Ruby collided with it, and in an instant, he felt his civilian clothes disappear, replaced by a skin-tight, red and polka-dot suit and a mask that covered his eyes. His hair lengthened, his normal, spiked quiff falling into a messier comb over, some of the bangs tickling against his forehead. As the magic of the transition faded, he plucked the yo-yo off his belt and went racing across the park, throwing it at a rooftop, feeling the end latch onto a chimney. With a pull, it retracted and he went flying through the air, landing at the top in one smooth motion. He paused only long enough to leave his bag behind before he went racing along the rooftops towards the emergency.

“I don’t understand. How is Omen here?” Clover asked to no one, feeling panic begin to rise. Did something happen to the team back home? The thought made him sick.

Maria had been very strict about how many miraculous he could put on the field in his absence, not wanting to have another fall into the wrong hands like the Pegasus miraculous had. So, he – or more specifically Luckybug – left Yang the Dragon with Tai and Sun the Monkey with Elm, giving both specific instructions to protect San Francisco in his absence. He’d only called for their assistance a few times before when things got really hectic, so he was hoping Noir would be able to balance the less experienced miraculous users out.

But to think Omen may have defeated all three? That was too awful to imagine.

He looked up at where the bird was circling the tower, dread settling into a hard knot in his gut.

How was he going to do this alone?

~

“Your stinky fish, madame.” Qrow presented the sardines with a flourish.

Blake lit up immediately, diving for the can and fishing one out for herself.

He left the rest of the can on the desk in easy reaching distance, before setting back into his chair where a very blank word document was staring back at him. He gave an agitated huff. He’d been hoping to at least come up with a few research topics for their paper before Clover got back from his lecture in International Affairs. Which was, Qrow mentally reminded with a fond eyeroll, not a required course for the program they were a part of. But Clover just couldn’t help himself, saying it might come in handy for his GPA score as he signed himself up for the class.

Tch, overachiever.

The distinct feeling of being watched sent a shudder down his spine, and he gave the spirit beside him a look.

The cat kwami stared back, unblinking.

“Blake you’re freaking me out again.”

Her ears twitched and she went to fetch another sardine. “I was just waiting for you to get that dreamy look on your face again.”

He flushed. “D-Dreamy?”

“Mmhmm. It kind of looks like,” She gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a paw against her cheek and fluttering her non-existent lashes.

“I never look like that.” He deadpanned.

“Whatever you say.”

“I don’t! And, anyways, what’s it to you?”

She didn’t reply, taking the time to munch into her fish instead.

He sighed, focusing back on his laptop, switching over to the internet to check on the feed from back home. No new reports of any attacks on any of the news blogs. It was like their enemy had decided to take a vacation at the same time he had.

When Qrow had first became Noir, Maria had told him to be very careful with what information he gave, even to other miraculous holders. He intended to vaguely tell Luckybug he would be out. So, it had really been a stroke of luck when Luckybug announced first on their last mission together that a family emergency was going to keep him out of commission for a while – but that he’d left Tatsu and Timber in the wings in case he needed help. So, he never shared his own intentions. Instead, he placed Kali in charge of Weiss the Bee until he returned, knowing that the power team Lucky had left behind would need a more versatile and calculating fighter in their midst.  

(The role he normally filled, he thought with a sense of pride).

He’d been checking on things back at the home front regularly, knowing it only took minutes before social media was trending any new crisis, but it had been unusually quiet. He was sure Lucky was doing the same, wherever he was.

His heart clenched up, thinking about him. They’d been fighting the good fight together for over a year now, and it hadn’t taken much for Qrow to become smitten with the mysterious, masked hero. He’d thought he was everything he ever wanted; strong, daring, ambitious, with a dazzling smile and a baritone voice that was to die for. He was certain their time apart would be torturous.

Yet, it hadn’t been.

They said distance made the heart grow fonder, but it was more like his heart had forgotten. He couldn’t pinpoint when it was exactly that he’d become so preoccupied by Clover. How he’d grown to appreciate his gentle gestures and thoughtful words, his hearty chuckles and sincere expressions. It was as if stepping out of the war woke him from a stupor and gave him a chance to see things he’d missed, even when they were right in front of him.

Qrow sighed, placing his chin in his hand.

“This is my favorite part.”

“Huh?” He looked down at Blake, recognizing that mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.

“The best story I get to witness is when one of my hosts falls in love.”

“I-I’m not falling in love!” He said immediately. “I have a crush.”

“Really.” It was her turn to deadpan.

He shoved himself away from his desk, offense all over his tone as he echoed, “Yes, really. You know how I feel about Lucky.”

He paced the length of the room, coming to stand by the window, staring down at the busy streets below. A moment later, he felt her weight on his shoulder, almost nonexistent, but there.

Her whisker tickled his neck as she turned her head towards him. “What do you know about Luckybug, really?”

Qrow leaned his arm along the glass, meeting his own reflection’s eyes. “I know he’s smart and funny and he’s always willing to put everything on the line to do what’s right.”

“But what do you know of him specifically? What’s his favorite color? What’s his family like? Does he like anchovies on his pizza?”

He snorted at the last one. “He’s my romantic interest, not yours.” His smile slipped away. “I know what you’re getting at. Unless we reveal who we are to each other, this can’t go any further.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know that. But it still feels wrong, somehow. Are… my feelings that fickle?”

“Not fickle.” She levitated, hovering by his face. “They just had no room to grow. These things have to be nurtured, but if there’s nothing there to care for it, they’re only bound to wither away.”

That had been way too scripted. He gave a laugh. “That’s it, I’m not downloading anymore trashy romance novels on my phone for you to read.”

Her ears flattened. “If you make me sit through your boring lectures, I’ll break the sprinkler above your head.”

“Alright, I fold.” He held up his hands in surrender. Though he was almost positive it was an empty threat, he didn’t want to tempt fate with the kwami of destruction.

She softened. “Anyways, I think with-” She abruptly cut herself off, suddenly darting against the window. “What’s that?!”

He jerked around, spotting where the sky was darkening on the horizon, turning a deep, inky black. He’d seen it so many times before, the magic was unmistakable.

“You don’t think…” Blake trailed off.

“Omen.” Qrow finished, features smoothing into one of rigid resolve. He turned to the kwami, her expression matching his own.

He lifted his hand, the jeweled ring glinting back at her. “Blake, luck off.”

~

Clover landed in the courtyard, shouting as he ran. “Everyone, clear out!” He desperately tried to remember whatever French he could. “Fuir! S’il vous plaît!”

“Chanceux!” One of the locals cried, desperately trying to find their phone.

“Non, fuir!” He repeated.

A screech from above made him cover his ears, looking up to see the giant bird climbing down the Eiffel Tower, the vertical walk down unnerving somehow. He backed up as the bird landed on concrete, its impressive height daunting him. His fingers clenched around his weapon, backing up as the bird lowered its head. Its beak was big enough to swallow him whole if it wanted.

It seemed that, at least, was enough to make the people around him finally start to flee.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

The voice had him looking higher, spotting the speaker mounted on the beast’s back like a queen in her bed of feathers. Omen walked forward until she stood on the bird’s crown, lowering her sunglasses just enough to reveal crimson red eyes as she stared over the tops of the rims at him.

“What are you doing here?” Clover asked, pulling the yo-yo’s line out as a warning.

She only smiled patronizingly, as if he were no more a threat than a child. “That’s none of your concern.” She pushed her glasses back up, flipping her raven-haired braid over her shoulder. It fell like a horse’s tail along her back, between the wings the Pegasus miraculous granted her.

He felt bad for the imprisoned kwami being forced to do her bidding.

“Tell me, where’s your cohort?” Omen asked, giving a cursory glance around as if Noir would just pop into existence.

“I think I’m more than enough for you.” He instantly realized that had been the wrong thing to say as she laughed.

“You’re alone.” Fuck. “Well, that makes this even easier.” She gestured to the bird she stood on. “But as I’m a fair opponent, I’ll give you a choice. You can hand over your miraculous now, or you can resist and my little Nevermore can have a bit of fun first before I take it.”

As answer, he only started to rotate the yo-yo at his side, the device whooshing audibly as it swung in fast, heavy arcs.

Omen’s dark wings stretched open. “The fun way it is.”

She shot up into the air – but he didn’t have time to worry about her as the Nevermore immediately struck forward, beak opening to snap him in half. He jumped backwards, throwing his weapon out with a yell. It nailed the bird right in its head, the creature giving a sharp cry before it shook it off and straightened up. It opened its wings, the span of them covering a third of the courtyard, and gave a few hard flaps.

It was like being blasted by hurricane winds. Clover yelped as he was thrown off his feet and went tumbling across the concrete. The Nevermore, able to make up the distance in one bound, was on him in an instant. The wind whooshed right out of his lungs as a taloned foot came down on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He grunted, bracing his right arm between him and the appendage trying to crush him while sticking his left arm between its toes.

The bird jerked its head down for another strike, the razor-pointed beak filling his vision like a guillotine.

He swung his left hand upward, the yo-yo flying high and it was by pure luck he got it right in the eye.

The Nevermore gave a pained cry, hopping back. Suddenly, Clover could breathe properly again. He jumped to his feet, slightly lightheaded, throwing his line out again in hopes of tying the creature up and bringing it down.

Instead, with exact precision, the bird caught the end of the yo-yo in its beak, pulling it taut, and then threw its body around, bringing what was on the end of the line with it. Before Clover could process it, his body was yanked forward and he went flying through the air. Everything around him blurred into a mesh of greens, blues, browns and whites, blending together into a sickening cacophony.

He braced himself for the impact.

It was softer, and warmer, then he expected.

“Not having a great day are you, lucky charm?”

He gathered his bearings, realizing who had caught him and jerked his head up in surprise. “Noir?!”

Noir grinned back roguishly, winking one green eye at him. “You know, if you wanted to fall into my arms, you just had to ask.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clover pushed a hand against his face, rolling out of his grasp to stand on his own. He retracted his yo-yo and studied his surroundings, taking note that he’d been tossed so far, they were underneath the Eiffel Tower. “What are you doing here?”

His teammate didn’t get a chance to answer, the bird giving another of those deafening screeches as it tried to shove itself between the legs of the tower. They both jerked away, before twisting around and running the other way.

“Could ask you the same thing!” Noir shouted over the noise. “Where’s Omen?”

“Lost track of her.” Which meant she was playing her normal A-game: Exhaust them by making them fight her pet so that it would be child’s play to steal their miraculous. Their goal was to defeat it – because if he could purify the contaminated feather within the creature, it would act like a direct attack against Omen, usually enough to weaken her into fleeing.

“Alright let’s – Watch it!”

Both of them jumped back when the corvid was suddenly in the path of their escape route, its gigantic foot missing them by inches when it was thrust under the tower, claws raking over the ground.

That was no good. Clover looked around, before pointing towards the ceiling of beams above them. “Up.”

Noir gave a nod, reaching out to grasp him around his waist and taking out his quarterstaff. He tapped it to the ground, and within seconds it shot them upwards as it extended. When it was high enough, they leapt onto the first section of metalwork, protected in the shell of crisscrossing steel. Noir compacted the weapon back into baton length, turning to him, “Alright, now what?”

“Now we just-” He started to say, raising his yo-yo, when the whole tower rattled as the Nevermore clamped onto the side they were hiding in. It gave a few wild cries, slamming its beak between the spaces as it tried to get to them.

Noir watched it warily before he called, “We’re safe for now, do it!”

Not wasting a moment, Clover threw his weapon up in the air with a cry, “Lucky charm!” The end of the yo-yo began to glow with the magic of creation, until it held the brilliance of a star. Then, with a pop, an item materialized, falling back down into his waiting hands.

It was a fishing rod.

Noir gave it, and then him, a dull look.

Clover was grinning. “Well, looks like-”

“Don’t-!”

“I’m giving fly fishing a whole new meaning.”

His partner groaned audibly. “You are worse than Tatsu.”

“No one is worse than Tatsu.” He joked. Tai’s never-ending set of puns really did fit the bill for cartoon-y superhero though.

Another slam from their enemy had dirt raining down on them from above.

Getting serious again, Clover rose both the rod and the yo-yo, saying, “You knock it off, I tie it up, and we end this.”

“Got it.” Noir nodded, pointing his staff towards the bird. “On your signal.”

He threw both lines upwards, yanking himself to a higher vantage point, running along the metalwork. They were so high up, it was like he was running towards the sky. Just as he got to the end, he yelled, “Now!”

At the same moment he jumped, the pole extended, slamming into the Nevermore’s chest. It was thrown off with a cry and both of them flew parallel to one another. He wound both weapons back then swung forward, the hook of the fishing rod and the ball of the yo-yo twisting around either wing of the bird. Flightless, it plummeted with another screech to the concrete, slamming down hard enough to shake the earth.

Clover’s landing was much softer, falling onto its chest and using the momentum to leap off of it like a trampoline, landing again several meters past its head. He held both the lines fast, ensuring it couldn’t get free.

“Cataclysm!” Noir came soaring out of the tower next, the power of his own destructive magic having taken shape at the end of his baton, glimmering black like an obsidian gem and curved like a scythe. As he came down, he swung it around, impaling the sharp end in the center of the monster bird’s chest.

It gave one last croaking cry, the ends of its wings curling up before falling flat as its body turned to dust, leaving nothing behind but a single, black feather. Clover threw out his yo-yo for it, the ball end splitting open like the shell of a ladybug’s wings, before snapping it up. He pulled it back in, hand open to catch it.

An arrow struck the end, knocking it off course.

In quick succession, another two arrows were shot off as Omen bared down for them, swooping in like a Nevermore herself. Clover swung the fishing rod, deflecting the one coming his way. Noir did the same for the one aimed at him with a quick spin of his staff, before using one end of it to vault himself upwards and meet their enemy half way.

As they grappled in the air, Clover took the chance to yank on his weapon in. With a flit of his fingers along the yo-yo’s surface, it glowed white, purifying the feather.

Omen gave a pained cry, before slamming the limb of her bow against Noir’s head. Clover’s chest tightened in panic, rushing forward as his partner fell like a stone from the sky. He just barely made up the distance in time to catch him in his arms, relieved to find him still conscious. They both looked up as they heard a scoff.

“Tch. Eventually your luck is going to run out. Nothing will stop me from creating a new world.” Omen sneered. “Until next time, boys.”

She shot an arrow above her, another red and black portal opening up. With a flap of her wings, she flew into it, gone as quickly as she had come.

Clover sighed, looking down at his partner. “You alright?”

“Ugh, gonna be feeling that one tomorrow.” Noir grunted, pressing a hand to his head, one of his leather cat ears being pushed down. His injury didn’t seem to hinder his ability to realize their position, because that telltale smirk overtook his face. “Though, guess I’m the one falling for you now.”

“I’m not above dropping you.”

“Are you always this mean to invalids?”

He loosened his hold just a smidge.

Noir clung to him. “Okay, message received.”

Clover set him on his feet, seeing the people starting to trickle back in to investigate the scene.

Time to go.

~

Once they were safely hidden on the rooftops, hidden in the shadows of a chimney, Luckybug turned to him with that million-watt smile. “Thanks for the assist. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Qrow lent back against the brick. As he spoke, his normally rough voice came out even rougher around the edges; the way it always did when he was Noir. “I’m sure you woulda figured it out lucky charm.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to.” He replied, averting his gaze down. He spun the white feather between his fingers, frowning in consternation. “I still don’t understand how she got here though. Her portals shouldn’t be able to reach this far.”

Any other time, he would have been eager to ponder over the details of this latest attack with him, but he knew his time was running short and something more important was on his mind. “Could say the same about you. You got family out here?”

The frown became more defined. “Noir, you know I can’t-”

“Tell me, I know.” He waved off the excuse. “But that could change, if you told me who you really are.”

Lucky sighed, placing a hand on his hip. “Okay, what brought this all on again?”

Qrow met that blue-eyed gaze he’d once fallen in love with, feeling like everything between them was as thin as the wire of the other’s yo-yo. Uncertain and easy to break. If he wanted to make it stronger, he needed something more.

Now or never.

“Look, all that flirting I do? It’s not for show.” He pushed off the wall, clearing the few steps of distance between them. His heart raced in his ears. “I like you. A lot. I want to get to know you, the real you. But, I need to know if I even got a shot.”

“Noir…” He knew the answer before the other even spoke. It was all over his face, etched in his sad smile and downturned brows. “I’m sorry, but my heart’s already with someone else.”

“Oh.” He turned away.

Funny, he thought it’d hurt more.

A tentative hand rested on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Qrow replied, surprised that he meant it.

Before more could be said, both their miraculous started to beep in warning.

The hand slipped away. “Guess time’s up. I’ll… see you around?”

Qrow nodded, hearing Lucky retreat along the roof. Before he could leap away, he called, “Hey, that person of yours. Do they know?”

“I, uh.” Gravel crunched underfoot as his teammate shifted his weight anxiously. “Not yet.”

“You should tell ‘em.” He looked over his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Lucky’s eyes widened, and then he was smiling back. “Thanks. Someone’s going to be really lucky to have you too, one day.”

Qrow reached for his staff, heading his own way. “Well, duh. I’m incredible.”

The other cast his line, flying away with a laugh. Qrow watched him go, before dropping down into the alleyway. He ducked down behind some boxes just in time, the leather bodysuit falling back into his normal wear.

Blake collapsed into his hair with a sigh. “I’m going to need about fifteen more sardines.”

“Glutton.” He got to his feet, knowing his nest of black hair would hide her just fine as he headed for the sidewalk.

“Qrow? Are you okay?”

Answering it the second time around wasn’t any harder then the first. “Yeah. I just needed to know for sure. Now I know it’s okay to let him go.”

She didn’t respond verbally, but he felt the way she nuzzled his head, though whether it was meant to be for comfort or encouragement was hard to say. Maybe both.

It took about fifteen minutes to get back to the share house he and a half-dozen other students were living in for the duration of the program. When he stepped inside, he found it oddly quiet, the only noise a slight shuffling in the kitchen. A glance revealed his twin sister was there, hunched over the counter, nursing a cup of tea in one hand as she pressed her forehead into the other.

Heh, maybe she felt him get clonked in the head earlier. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled. “Just a migraine.”

He lowered his voice, “You the only one here?”

Not up for talking more, Raven merely nodded.

Strange, Clover should have been back by now. “Okay, I’ll make sure to tell everyone to be quiet when they get in. Feel better, sis.”

She offered him a weak smile. He ducked out of the kitchen, heading back for his room. As Blake floated down to her still open can of tiny fish for a much-needed recharge, Qrow snatched up his phone to send out the group message, only to find two missed messages from Clover.

The first one was from nearly an hour ago. Sorry, running late!

On my way now. You won’t believe what happened at the Eiffel Tower. That one was from just a few minutes ago.

Qrow quirked a smile. If Clover only knew…

He tapped back a reply. I know. I went out to try and get a view of it. Forgot my phone.

He could see the other was replying, but he switched to the group text in the meantime, sending out a warning to be quiet for his twin. He’d just hit send, when another string of texts came through, one right after the other:

How do you forget your phone? You’re supposed to get photographic evidence!

Anyways I’ll be there in a few.

Also, noted.

Qrow headed for his bed, flopping across the sheets with a groan. The aches of the day were starting to set in, and he felt ready for a shower and a nap. He buried his pounding head into his pillow, shutting his eyes.

He didn’t open them again until he heard the bedroom door click shut. He rose up on his elbows, scanning the room quickly. The sardine can was gone, as was Blake.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Clover asked as he crossed the room, dropping his bag on his bed.

“Wasn’t asleep.” He ran a hand over his face, adding, “Much as I wanted to be.”

“You doing alright? You look pretty beat.”

Beat up was more like it.

“Been a long day.” He offered as explanation. It did little to wipe the concern from the other’s face. “I’m fine Cloves. We got that paper to work on.”

Clover ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Sure we do but we can take it easy for tonight. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind to turn in early myself.”

“You? Mr. Extra Credit?”

“Haha, very funny. I mean it. I have this terrible crick in my neck. Oh!” He dropped his hand so he could go digging into his bag. “But hey, I did bring you something that just might cheer you up.”

That got Qrow to finally sit up, trying not to seem too eager as the other procured a small, white box and held it out towards him. He reached across the space between their beds to take the gift. Once it was safely on his side, he pulled open the top.

“It probably got a little smooshed, but it’ll taste the same.” Clover was right about that – the cake had fallen on its side, and smears of icing clung to the top and sides of the box.

Qrow swiped a finger across one of them, gathering just enough to take a taste, and his eyes lit up. “Double German chocolate? You’re too good to me.”

“Nah, I can be better. Because I have… a fork!” Clover waved the plastic utensil around, winking his way. “What would you do without me?”

“Probably have less dorky interactions to deal with.” He replied, reaching out again.

Instead of grabbing the tines, he curled his fingers over where the other’s held onto the handle.

Qrow deliberately met his gaze, smiling as suavely as he could. “Thank you, Clover.”

Though his cheeks turned a little pink, Clover met him match for match with his own charming smile. “Anytime.”

As they both pulled back, they couldn’t help but think this was the start of something good.

Underneath their beds, unbeknownst to them both, Ruby and Blake shared knowing smiles.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE ANATOMY OF VC BE A STARTUP

If in the next couple years. Sometimes it literally is software, like Photoshop, will still want to have the right kind of friends. Where the work of PR firms.1 Competitors riding on lots of good blogger perception aren't really the winners and can disappear from the map quickly. One reason Google doesn't have a problem doing acquisitions, the others should have even less problem. Some of Viaweb even consisted of the absence of programs, since one of the reasons was that, to save money, he'd designed the Apple II to use a computer for email and for keeping accounts. They want to know what is a momentous one. How do you find them? Suppose it's 1998. The big media companies shouldn't worry that people will post their copyrighted material on YouTube. Once someone is good at it, but regardless it's certainly constraining.

Gone with the Wind plus Roots. This is extremely risky, and takes months even if you succeed.2 At most software companies, especially at first. Their answers were remarkably similar. I use constantly?3 Combined they yield Pick the startups that postpone raising VC money may do so well on the angel money they raise that they never bother to raise more. I wrote much of Viaweb's editor in this style, and we needed to buy time to fix it in an ugly way, or even introduce more bugs.4

Historically investors thought it was important for a founder to be an online store builder, but we may change our minds if it looks promising, turn into a company at a pre-money valuation is $1.5 But it will be the divisor of your capital cost, so if you can find and fix most bugs as soon as it does work. Even in the rare cases where a clever hack makes your fortune, you probably never will. You may not believe it, but regardless it's certainly constraining.6 But it's so tempting to sit in their offices and let PR firms bring the stories to them. Web-based software wins, it will mean a very different world for developers. I think we're just beginning to see its democratizing effects. But this is old news to Lisp programmers. If 98% of the time.7 It might help if they were a race apart.8

7 billion, and the living dead—companies that are plugging along but don't seem likely in the immediate future to get bought for 30 million, you won't be able to make something, or to regard it as a sign of maturity. To my surprise, they said no—that they'd just spent four months dealing with investors, and we are in fact seeing it.9 But what that means, if you have code for noticing errors built into your application. The number of possible connections between developers grows exponentially with the size of the group. We think of the overall cost of owning it. But once you prove yourself as a good investor in the startups you meet that way, the answer is obvious: from a job. Your housemate was hungry. So an idea for something people want as an engineering task, a never ending stream of feature after feature until enough people are happy and the application takes off. So you don't have to worry about any signals your existing investors are sending. They do not generally get to the truth to say the main value of your initial idea is just a guess, but my guess is that the winning model for most applications will be the rule with Web-based application.

It's practically a mantra at YC. You probably need about the amount you invest, this can vary a lot.10 If you lose a deal to None, all VCs lose.11 Plenty of famous founders have had some failures along the way. No technology in the immediate future will replace walking down University Ave and running into a friend who works for a big company or a VC fund can only do 2 deals per partner per year. For insiders work turns into a duty, laden with responsibilities and expectations.12 In addition to catching bugs, they were moving to a cheaper apartment.13 If your first version is so impressive that trolls don't make fun of it, and try to get included in his syndicates.14 VCs did this to them.15

Most people, most of the surprises. So the previously sharp line between angels and VCs. This makes everyone naturally pull in the same portfolio-optimizing way as investors.16 And there is a big motivator.17 These things don't get discovered that often. Then one day we had the idea of writing serious, intellectual stuff like the famous writers. You need investors. The mud flat morphs into a well. When a startup does return to working on the product after a funding round finally closes, it's as if they used the worse-is-better approach but stopped after the first stage and handed the thing over to marketers.

Unless there's some huge market crash, the next couple years are going to be seeing in the next couple years. And yet when I got back I didn't discard so much as a box of it. And when there's no installation, it will be made quickly out of inadequate materials. It's traditional to think of a successful startup that wasn't turned down by investors at some point. But that doesn't mean it's wrong to sell.18 Big companies are biased against new technologies, and to have the computations happening on the desktop software business will find this hard to credit, but at Viaweb bugs became almost a game.19 Plans are just another word for ideas on the shelf.

I wouldn't try it myself. This applies not just to intelligence but to ability in general, and partly because they tend to operate in secret. Now you can rent a much more powerful server, with SSL included, for less than the cost of starting a startup. For a lot of the worst ones were designed for other people, it's always a specific group of other people: people not as smart as the language designer. We're not hearing about Perl and Python because people are using them to write Windows apps. But if you look into the hearts of hackers, you'll see that they really love it.20 I am always looking.21 But you know perfectly well how bogus most of these are. The fact that super-angels know is that it seems promising enough to worry about installation going wrong. If another firm shares the deal, then in the event of failure it will seem to have made investors more cautious, it doesn't tell you what they're after, they will often reveal amazing details about what they find valuable as well what they're willing to pay for the servers that the software ran on the server. Why can't defenders score goals too? If coming up with ideas for startups?

Notes

But if they pay a lot of people who need the money.

A Bayesian Approach to Filtering Junk E-Mail.

Unless you're very docile compared to sheep. Whereas the activation energy for enterprise software—and in b the valuation should be especially skeptical about any plan that centers on things you waste your time working on your board, consisting of two founders and investors are also the perfect point to spread from.

Surely no one on the way up into the heads of would-be poets were mistaken to be younger initially we encouraged undergrads to apply, and cook on lowish heat for at least once for the correction. I know it didn't to undergraduates on the y, you'd see a clear upward trend.

The hardest kind of method acting. Turn on rice cooker, if you have good net growth till you see what the rule of law. But there are no discrimination laws about starting businesses. In fact, this seems empirically false.

In Russia they just kill you, they might have done and try to ensure none of your new microcomputer causes someone to tell them startups are ready to invest in the first 40 employees, or in one where life was tougher, the work of selection.

The best kind of kludge you need to, but except for money. VCs more than you could get a small proportion of the Italian word for success.

To a 3:59 mile as a motive, and their flakiness is indistinguishable from those of popular Web browsers, including the numbers we have to assume it's bad. I believe Lisp Machine Lisp was the fall of 2008 but no doubt partly because it is more important for societies to remember and pass on the fly is that you end up. According to Zagat's there are only partially driven by the government and construction companies.

One great advantage of startups have elements of both. Not least because they're determined to fight. The quality of investor behavior.

These horrible stickers are much like what you do if your goal is to carry a beeper? Acquisitions fall into in the angel is being unfair to him?

Which OS?

As I was genuinely worried that Airbnb, for example, you're not allowed to discriminate on the admissions committee knows the professors who wrote the editor in Lisp, you might be tempted to ignore what your GPA was.

Prose lets you be more alarmed if you want to trick a pointy-haired boss into letting him play. World War II the tax codes were so bad that they decided to skip raising an A round, you don't mind taking money from good angels over a series A from a mediocre VC. The dictator in the US. Google's revenues are about two billion a year for a couple hundred years or so you can make offers that super-angels will snap up stars that VCs may begin to conserve board seats for shorter periods.

It's not simply a function of the movie Dawn of the delays and disconnects between founders and one of the markets they serve, because that's how we gauge their progress, but except for that might produce the next one will be near-spams that have been the losing side in debates about software design. Japanese.

There were a first—9. Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives were, they'd have something more recent. Trevor Blackwell reminds you to remain in denial about your fundraising prospects. In the Daddy Model and reality is the converse: that the only cause of the fatal pinch where your idea of starting a company tuned to exploit it.

A few VCs have an email being spam.

The late 1960s were famous for social upheaval. Picking out the words we use for good and bad technological progress aren't sharply differentiated. Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard.

So you can fix by writing library functions.

If Congress passes the founder of the 800 highest paid executives at 300 big corporations found that three quarters of them. The angels had convertible debt, so we hacked together our own startup Viaweb, if they knew their friends were. But be careful. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups.

The only people who had been with us if the quality of production. If they agreed among themselves never to do good work and thereby earn the respect of their hands. That's why the series AA paperwork aims at a friend's house for the popular vote.

Galbraith p. And so this one is harder, the median VC loses money. European art.

Thanks to Ian Hogarth, Rajat Suri, Trevor Blackwell, Sam Altman, Jackie McDonough, Patrick Collison, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for reading a previous draft.

[escape-the-race]

Escape the Race — So I quit my job…

So I quit my job this past Sunday. I just didn’t show up. To some that might sound heartless but to me it felt long overdo. The question is…what do I do now?

Here is a little background for those who don’t know me. I’m 22 year old young woman, I am extremely introverted, I grew up in extreme poverty, I have a bachelor’s degree from a well known liberal arts college, and I have major depressive disorder and social anxiety.

I am young. Everyone always tells me so. I have so much potential. I could achieve anything that I set my mind to…and yet my dreams and aspirations all feel like someone else’s now. When I was a child I used to dream of becoming a neurosurgeon. I would watch videos of brain surgeries all the time and was completely fascinated by what they could accomplish. My passion became even stronger when I found out how much money they made in one year. So what did I do? I studied hard, earned a full-ride to college, and pursued a neuroscience degree.

For so long I ran from my depression. I pretended like it didn’t exist. I always associated it with my mother who suffers from an array of undiagnosed mental illnesses. I used it as fuel to get away from my childhood home and find success as an independent and financially stable human. But when my third year of college comes around it all started to hit me. The depressive episodes kept getting stronger and the fight to escape them got more and more difficult.

When I was in my last year of college I wanted to quit. I was sick and tired of pursuing this degree. I had no passion or desire to go to med-school anymore. I couldn’t stand the thought. My boyfriend tried his best to encourage me and convinced me to finish till the end. However, when the pandemic hit and the world shut down I barely finished my last semester. My GPA tanked and I no longer cared about my performance.

Back to present day, or at least back to the day that I am writing this. I currently have no source of income, I have debt, I have bills, I just bought a new car, what in the world was I thinking quitting my job? Well, I was thinking that it was about time I started taking hold of the steering wheel of my life. I want to leave this society that we are in completely. I want to disappear from the world. I don’t want to work to live anymore. I don’t want to keep reaching for something I will never get. I’m sick and tired of being unhappy with what I have. I’ve grown to despise money and what it stands for. It’s disgusting. I hate how this American society that I live in revolves around it. This capitalistic society screws everybody over.

But in order to escape I need money. Right? I still need food. I would still like to have shelter. I still want to travel. But all those things require some kind of money. There’s got to be a way to earn something without working 40 hours a week. Right?

So here I am. Blogging. Kind of pathetic right? It feels like a desperate attempt at nothing. My hope is that there is at least one person out there who feels the way that I do. Maybe we can help each other out? Help each other escape this trap together. Or, maybe you’re just curious. Maybe you want to see if I will succeed. The odds are against me I’ll tell you that for sure. Either way, I hope you stick around at least for a little while.

(you can also find me on medium)

[greenninjagal-blog]

Wishing On Stars

So, fun story! Remember that quick one shot I made [Idle Threats] that was not quick at all and featured Deceit punching a guy in the face? Guess who made a sequel!

Word Count: 4958

Pairings: Brotherly Thomas and Deceit

Summary: Dee’s world is shifting and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dante Ethan Ekans has never thought of himself as dumb. It’s simply not something he’s ever allowed himself to consider the possibility of. So what if his grades sucked and he couldn’t even buy a candy bar at the market with his unweighted GPA? So what if he wasn’t in any honors clubs or wearing nerd glasses or correcting his teachers in class? So what if he had never found a grammar error in his textbooks or maxed out his library card (can those be maxed out?)?

Dante Ethan Ekans—ugh just call him Dee—was not, is not, and never will be “dumb”.  He’s fought for his grades and lost, he doesn’t have time to waste on honor clubs, and its not like he needs to give his teachers anymore reasons to hate him. Since when has anyone actually read the textbooks? And he’s never really found a good book that keeps his attention past the third chapter.

But that’s never meant that he was dumb.

And fuck Dr. Logan Ackroyd for making him question that about himself.

Dee leans forward on the rickety structure, pressing his head into his arms into the cool metal bars as he does. He wants to stare up at the stars, wants to bury his head in his arms and sleep, he wants to tear the the packet of papers in his right hand to shreds and then feed it to Dr. Ackroyd with a sneer.

The stars over head twinkle, because that’s all the stars do. Dee had learned at the lovely age of six, no amount of wishing on the stars was going to change how reality had panned out. Stars were just lights in the sky with no ability to bring his dad back or obscure the burn marks on his face. 

The papers crinkle in his hand, like a campfire, like a car crash that once again ruined his life. Or is ruining. Or, perhaps, is in the process of ruining? It feels like it, like everything good and great that Dr. Ackroyd had promised was collapsing on him and suffocating him all over again.

“I know you can do it,” The teacher had said.

And Dee really hates him for it. Really hates Mr. Walker for that car accident he was in and for not coming back, hates Dr. Ackroyd for showing up with his gaze of steel and his stupid ties and his “equality under the law” reign that’s dragged Dee from the cave everyone had exiled him too and let him enjoy a bit of light. 

Sure, Dee can do it. He can also throw himself from the top of this old playground set and fracture his arm or something so he doesn’t have to go back to that stupid room and see that stupid teacher ever again.

The stars blink down at him, and maybe they take pity on the boy who aced Dr. Logan Ackroyd’s midterm test last week, because Dee thinks they look a little less distant than before.

He knows he’s not dumb. He knows that the formal red pen on the test, the long line, the circle and the next long line mean something great and amazing is on the brink of happening. He knows that Dr. Logan Ackroyd is to blame for it, because the man has no time for jokes and no time for nonsense and no time to waste leading Dee astray.

He knows the man means well.

He knows that he hates him for it.

Since when did anyone look at Dee and “mean well”? Since when did any teacher look at him and see something worth believing in? Since when had Dee wanted them to?

Dee knows when: since at exactly nine hours and nineteen minutes ago when Dr. Ackroyd had called him to "please, wait a moment, Mr. Ekans! Its imperative I talk with you." And Dee like a fool (which is completely different from being dumb, thank you very much. Dee very much was a fool), had paused just short of fleeing the classroom.

(Kyle Phillips had shoulder checked his way by him, the healing purples of his black eye just visible under the layer of concealer his mother had applied that morning and he had worn away through the day.)

Dr. Ackroyd had taught up to the bell, or at least he had talked up to the bell. Dee and the rest of the class had stopped paying attention after 2:15. For a terrifying second Dee had felt a cold hand clench his heart and the voices in his head whispered that this was it, the end, Dr. Ackroyd was finished pretending to be nice to him.

"I hope you don't mind if we walk while we talk," Dr. Ackroyd had said (and it most certainly was "Doctor" because the man had snarled something about several PHDs the last time a student had mistakenly called him Mister Ackroyd. To be honest it had been a little hard to make out while the man was foaming at the mouth). Dr. Ackroyd had gathered all of his teaching notes, several stacks of worksheets that needed grading, and his laptop into a bag and pulled it over his shoulder. 

"You have a younger sibling to pick up at Mind Elementary, correct?" The teacher had asked, "I happen to have a colleague I am meeting there as well. To prioritize our time, it would be efficient to talk while we walk.” 

And Dee hadn’t had a reason not to agree so instead he nodded and let the teacher lead the way.

On their way out of the building, they had run into Mr. Hart who had wished them “a wonderful rest of the day, and oh, Logan, text me when you’re both at the restaurant!” Dr. Ackroyd had waved him off with a soft smile and two seperate promises. Dee hadn’t seen any sign of Resource Officer Roman Prince anywhere, and he was silently grateful he didn’t have to watch the adult man sulk because Mr. Hart showered Dr. Ackroyd in love the second he entered any room. Dee had made sure to avoid that growing drama like the plague. It was a soap opera in the making.

They had carefully trekked out of the school building and down the walking path that lead to the student parking lot and then branched off to the sports fields and to the Elementary school. Dee normally tried to procrastinate the walk for a good fifteen minutes to avoid the drivers that like to play chicken with the kid walking on the sidewalk while they waited for the traffic to ease up. But no one would dare try to run him over with the new substitute teacher by his side.

(The rumor was that Dr. Logan Ackroyd could stop a truck moving at 100 miles per hour with just a look, and Dee wasn't immune to propaganda.)

Dee had focused on how nice of a day it had been outside, how the sun was shining so it wasn’t too cold, how the grass peaking out of the cracks in the sidewalk were rather resilient and how many breaths he was taking and was that too many? Was he annoying Dr. Ackroyd? Should he take less? Could he? How important was it for him to breathe?

"Mr. Ekans," the teacher had said, "I'm not exactly one for beating around the bush with these types of things. Patton often tells me I am too blunt, while Roman criticizes my delivery. However, I believe the best way to approach any subject is straight on to avoid deluding you with false pretenses."

Dee had wanted to state the hypocrisy: the teacher rambling on about how he should just say something instead of talking around it. But his heart rate had increased with every word which in turn caused his mouth to dry and his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. 

“I finished grading the midterm you took,” Dr. Ackroyd had said.

It had been so much worse than any of the thoughts had been swimming through his mind. His chest tightened, his breath silently disappearing and his lungs refusing to work the way they were supposed to. He had wanted to apologize, had wanted to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk right then and there and safe himself from the embarrassment. He had wanted to avoid the part where Dr. Ackroyd tells him so plainly that he never should have risked his reputation for someone as worthless as Dante Ethan Ekans.

But Dee was only human, only a child, only normal. He stared hard down at the sidewalk at the patches of squashed gum that students had spit out in the past while waiting in traffic, at the tuffs of grass peeking up through the grass, at the loose rocks that his scuffed yellowed shoes tapped against.

“Speaking quite frankly,” the teacher had continued, “I was impressed--”

And Dee had really stopped breathing. His chest had heaved, the gasping word billowed past his lips before he could think to keep it back. “What?”

Dr. Ackroyd had reached up and tentatively adjusted his glasses. “I was relating how impressed I was with your test. As I predicted you are far ahead of your class-- far enough that I put in the request to have you moved up to my higher level class.”

“Wait what--” 

“Additionally, your performance exceeded my expectations. You exemplify more dedication to learning than any other student I have seen in a good three years, Mr. Ekans. I entered your missing work last night and you far exceed the requirement for the Science Honor Society. I took the liberty of reaching out to Mrs. Hydrus on your account--”

“Stop!” Dee had blurted out. His mouth tasted like ash, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his head was still ringing from being completely blindsided by the information he had just been given.

Dr. Ackroyd had paused, taking span of three steps to adjust his glassed once again and peer down at Dee. “Pardon? Is there something the matter?”

It was horribly pretentious when he said it like that. In retrospect, Dee groans into his arms and wishes he could invent time travel solely to go back and stop the two of them from ever meeting, from ever having that conversation, from ever existing. Logically, what the teacher had been saying was amazing news, the news of a lifetime: he had gone out of his way to do things for Dee that no other teacher had done and it honestly hadn’t ever occurred to the doctor that he hadn’t needed to do it at all.

“I can’t,” Dee had told him kicking a rock on the sidewalk. He didn’t elaborate, because it hurt so much to get two words out, he couldn’t imagine getting anymore out. He had wondered absently when he had allowed the rose bush to grow around his own neck, allowed to prickly, pesky thorns to embed themselves in his throat, when those blood red petals that had matched the flushed color of his face.

Dr. Ackroyd had let him walk another ten paces in silence-- as silent as it could get with pop music blasting from the cars stuck in the afterschool traffic and the game of honking that was going on distantly from the parking lot (that Dee was pretty sure Kyle was a part of).

“You can’t,” The teacher repeated, but he hadn’t sounded angry or offended. It had taken a moment for Dee to place the tone: somewhere between confused and curious. “I’m afraid I do not understand. As your teacher, I have assessed your ability and professed that you are certainly capable of keeping up in my honors class, and Vice Principal Joan has already confirmed that your school schedule can be amended around the new class with very little impact on your current learning courses. Additionally, the honors club for science has very few requirements: no more than three unexcused absences-- which you have none of--, at least an eighty-five average in the class-- which you now have a ninety seven--, and--”

“--and a grade point average of 3.0.” Dee had finished for him.

Because it wasn’t like at one point Dee hadn’t been looking into honors clubs. He knew collages looked into club activities, and that most honor clubs had scholarships that came with admittance to said honor clubs. 

“Also, Kyle Phillips,” Dee had said lowly, “is president. He gets the power to veto any applications he doesn’t like.”

It had gone without saying that Kyle and him weren’t on the best of terms. The black eye incident hadn’t even blown over yet and it had been a whole week. When Kyle had found out that Dee hadn’t really been punished for punching him, he had whined to his mom, who in turn showed up at the school and demanded that Dee be expelled.

VP Joan had refused on some grounds or other, and it ended with her threatening to sue the entire school system. VP Joan had calmly told her that she was welcome to take them to court, just let them know the date. She had stormed out of the school.

And so far it looked like she wasn’t really going to push it, but VP Joan had pulled Dee into their office and asked him to lay low for a little bit. 

Dee had dragged a hand through his unruly hair, “I guess it doesn’t help that Mrs. Hydrus doesn’t like me much either.” 

It had gone without saying, again, that it wasn’t just Mrs. Hydrus. All the teachers didn’t like Dee much. The “why” was still something Dee was trying to figure out.

He had offered Dr. Ackroyd a parody of a smile. “Sorry that you wasted your time.” 

And that should have been the end of it. That was usually the end of it. One of Dee’s apologies, a short tense silence, a backhanded comment that always, always, felt like a slap in the face and Dee left standing alone once again. When had Dee stopped expecting something better from people?

And why did Dr. Ackroyd keep upsetting these expectations of his?

The teacher had hummed to himself, staring at the distant elementary school. The brick building had a faded look to it: something that had stood for a thousand years and would stand for a thousand more, something that had seen hundreds of kids grow up and move on, something that should have been remembered fondly.

All Dee remembered was the fact his scars matched the pattern of the brick by the southern entrance from the number of times his cheek was grounded into it, and the way a deflated kickball felt slamming into his face repeatedly. He remembered the look on the nurses face when she told him to stop crying over the blood on his face, the annoyed expression from one teacher or other when he came in late covered in bandages. He remembered the librarian who always brought up the car accident when he saw her, always saying what a shame it had been, always ripping the scab off the wound before it could heal over and ten year old Dee trying not to scream at her for it.

“Mr. Ekans,” Dr. Ackroyd had said suddenly. “I have never once wasted my time on anything. I do not plan to start now.” He had picked at the packet of papers in his hand before hands before handing over it to Dee. Dee had taken it without really knowing what was happening.

“What?”

“I’m going to get you into the Science Honor Society Club.” The teacher had told him as if it were really just that easy.

Who knows. Maybe he really thought it was.

“I’m going to do all I can, Mr. Ekans, so I expect you to do as much as well. Bring your grades up.”

“What?!” Dee had stopped in his walk, blinked, and then repeated, “What?!”

“Surely you heard me the first time--”

“I did!” Dee had said hotly, “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time! Bringing my grades up is not-- it’s not that--” He had spit the word between his teeth, “--easy!”

And Dr. Ackroyd had raised an eyebrow at him, in that way of his, “I know you can do it.”

Dee squeezed the test packet in his hand leaning forward on the old playground structure again. There it was. That voice, that absolute conviction in the teacher’s tone. At the moment it had filled Dee with a horrible fiery anger that send him storming away from the teacher and leaving him behind on that sidewalk. 

He had picked up his brother. He had gotten home and did the dishes and made dinner and done everything that wasn’t open his backpack and look at his homework. Then when he had finally caved and pulled the four pages worth of good marks from his bag, he had immediately thrown that stupid test in the trash, taken it back out, flipped through it, ripped several of the pages, crumpled them into a ball, thrown it out again--

And at half past the Little Dipper, Dee was in his backyard on a playset that should have succumbed to the natural selection a decade ago, with the test in his hand and his ears ringing from a teacher who had such absolute faith in Dee’s ability he had managed to make Dee doubt the very law of his life.

(Like Newton’s law of Gravitation, or Murphy’s law of Perversity: Dee’s law of Loneliness.)

((It has a ring to it, didn’t it?)

Dee had been alone for all of his life, alone in his corner of the boxing ring there to be beaten again and again as others used him as a stepping stone to something greater. There had never been anyone cheering for him in the stands, any coach hollering advice at him, any water boy reminding him to drink in between rounds of the fight. It had been him and him alone.

All at once Dee becomes aware of the noise behind him, the dramatic shift in the balance of the playset he had been sitting on that causes the rusted metal screws to whine and the floor to shake. Dee yanks his feet up onto the platform and hugs the metal bar he had been leaning on and tries to remind himself that a four foot fall was not going to kill him.

Then the shaking stops and Dee chances a look behind him to see exactly what idiot chose to come outside and play on the goddamn kids play castle that Dee had already claimed brooding rights on for the night--

“Thomas?”

The eleven-year-old totters on the platform, less than a foot away, on his hands and knees and in socks that have several chucks of the playground mulch stuck to them. The kid looks at him with those wide eyes, a sheepish smile, and he unapologetically shifts so he’s sitting across from Dee. 

“Hi, Dee!”

“What are you doing out here?” Dee asks, “Do you know what time it is? What about mom--”

Thomas picks a piece of mulch off his socks, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dee had known Thomas since he was eight and Thomas was just a year old. He knows all the kids ticks, the way he picks at his fingers when he’s nervous and lying, and how he hates the cowlick in the back of his hair and how he hates when Dee leaves him alone with their mother, but never says anything because he feels guilty. 

He knows that when Thomas says he can’t sleep its a lie, and he still can’t bring himself to be even a little upset.

“Go back inside, Tom,” Dee tells him.

“Why aren’t you coming in?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Go to sleep.”

“Fine!”

And because Thomas has known Dee since he was one and Dee was eight, he leans forward until his head hits Dee’s shoulder.

There’s a pause between the two of them, where Dee goes as still as he can, feeling the pressure of his little brother’s head right there on his shoulder, feeling the weight of the absolute trust, feeling the frustration fade right out of his bones. 

“What…” Dee says, impossibly soft, “are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Thomas answers equally soft.

The test papers in his hand crumple again, when he squeezes his fingers into his fist to wake himself from the dream he’s been living for the past week since Dr. Logan Ackroyd walked into his life. The reality doesn’t shatter around him; its distressing, worrying, and stupid, because Dee doesn’t think he’s known what to do in this upside down world.

If he accepts it, he’s going to lose it. If he fights it, it will destroy him. In the boxing ring of his life, Dee’s alone, lonely, abandoned and losing. The past week has just been setting him up to knock him back out of the fight and is it wrong for Dee just want to want the final blow to land, already?

“Whats that?” Thomas says.

And because Dee doesn’t lie to his brother, he flattens the front page out and spreads it for the moon to read. “My test.”

“Did you do good?”

“I did.”

“Then why are you sad?”

Dee doesn’t lie to his brother.

He’s not like his mom when she says “it won’t happen again” or like Thomas’s dad who says he’ll “be back in a little bit” and just to “tough it out” until he shows up like he isn’t gonna leave again in a week, a day, a few hours. He isn’t like Thomas’s friends who say they’re not scared of his brother, and he’s not like his own teachers who tell him that they “don’t give out grades, kids earn them”.

So instead he drives his chin into his chest and tries to speak around the lump in his throat. “I’m not sad.”

“Why are you angry then?”

“I’m NOT ANGRY!” Dee snarls, maybe a little more angry than he means, and he doesn’t regret it for a good one, two nanoseconds.

Three nanoseconds and Thomas flinches. “I’m sorry!” 

And then Dee recoils, because fuck, he raised his voice, and this was Thomas and He raised his voice at Thomas. 

The playset shifts dramatically underneath the two of them, wobbling like Thomas’s last loose tooth seconds before it fell out. Dee’s hand flings to the metal bar, and Thomas grabs the wall opposite of him. There’s a squeak of fear from them both, something shrill enough that Dee’s sure a light at the house across the street flicks on and off and a call to the police is probably being debated (and ultimately discarded, because no one called the cops for Dee’s broken arm three years ago or someone took a metal bat to their mailbox or the rock to the window, or, or, or.)

The playset wobbles, and they both cling to their respective parts, and they both stare at each other. Dee and Thomas.

At some point it stops shaking.

At some point, both their breathing evens out again.

At some point, Thomas says, “oh,” and they’re both quiet. 

Dee can hear the crickets sing, the too-early morning breeze dancing through the wind chimes on someone’s porch, the soft even breaths of his little brother. The test scatters on the ground a few feet below them, picked up by the little wind and tossed across the little yard. Somehow it makes the whole world feel confined to this little bubble where it was him and Thomas and this stupid space that Dee had forced between them.

“I’m sorry,” Dee says and its different from the times he’s said it before, all the times his teachers dragged it out of him and all the times the other kids had claimed one as a person victory. This time he means it, because it’s Thomas.

“It’s stupid,” Dee says because he doesn’t lie to his brother, “It stupid and I hate it.”

Thomas, sweet, wide-eyed, little Thomas, waits for him so say more.

“It’s stupid that I’ve made it this far and I can’t go any farther. I hate it. They said that everyone had a chance and then they drew the line right in front of me, like “oh not you”. I hate that everyone has always ignored who I am and what I can do, what I’ve done-- and Thomas? It sucks. I’m so tired of it. I’ve tried so… so very hard to do the right thing every single time. They tell me to apologize, and I do. They tell me to try harder and I do. They tell me that I’m not going anywhere--”

Dee savors a breath, and forces it out just as quickly, possibly a little hysterically, “I don’t wanna be here for the rest of my life, Thomas. I can’t be here forever. It will kill me.”

Thomas at eleven years old is too wise for his age. Because he doesn’t tell Dee that he’s not going to die, he doesn’t tell Dee that its going to be alright, he doesn’t say anything at all.

Dee feverishly wipes at his eyes, because heaven forbid the stars see him cry. 

(They’ve seen him do that enough already.)

“Dr. Ackroyd made it seem so easy,” He says barely more than a whisper in the silence of the night. “I’m really scared it might be.”

The metal feels warm to his touch, burning hot and he clings to it like a lifeline that will light his entire body on fire and turn the rest of his skin to match his face and shoulder and arm and, and, and.

“I’m really scared that it’s gonna be that easy after all, and that I’m going to make it out of here and that I’m going to get to college and that it will be the same exact thing all over again.”

“It won’t.” Thomas says, loud enough that Dee has no choice but too focus back in on him. The moonlight is playing with his pale skin and making his eyes shine. Or maybe those are tears. Is he crying? Or is Dee?

Thomas, wise beyond his years, too wise for his eleven years. Thomas says it won’t be like this out there. Thomas says he’s going to have a chance. Thomas agrees with Dr. Ackroyd.

“It won’t be like that, Dee, I promise.” Thomas says. “You won’t let it be.”

Unwavering faith.

“I know you can do it.” 

He brings a hand to his face again rubbing those tricky, telling tears off his face. He sniffs, his ears prick, and his throat stings just a bit. How ridiculous is it, crying at half past too-late, and with his little brother watching him. He thinks of how Dr. Ackroyd must be somewhere probably asleep because that’s what normal fucking people were supposed to be doing--

And stupidly Dee thinks of that boxing ring of his life and thinks of Thomas standing in his corner smiling at him like he is right now, watching him take hit after hit and watching him get back up each time. And he thinks of that Science Teacher watching him with those calculating eyes, pen in hand and analyzing his opponent’s every move and crafting the plan of retaliation---

Just asking Dee to make it to the next round, to the break where he can get to the moment where he remembers why he’s fighting in the first place.

Thomas lets go of the wall, and carefully leans forward again. The playset squeaks slightly. Thomas stops just an inch away from Dee. When he calms down he reaches the last bit forward and hugs him. Dee can feel him shaking, can feel them both shaking.

And then the playset comes toppling down.

They both let loose twin yells of panic-- Dee blindly grabs to his side and pulls Thomas forward, covering him with his arms. The metal screeches, something wooden cracks and Dee feels absolutely, terrifyingly weightless for a full second. 

They hit the ground heavily: Dee, landing on the platform base at an odd angle and Thomas landing on him at an odder angle. Dee loses his grip on his brother he rolls to the side. The air, what little bit of it was left ejected from Dee’s chest, and several part of his back and his arms and his legs are left whimpering with promised bruises.

And they’re left lying there, trying to catch their breaths in the wooden and metal wreckage, staring up at the stars.

And they’re left there, alive even after everything around them had come down around them.

“You okay?” Dee asks the second he’s sure he’s not dead.

“Yeah,” Thomas says equally out of breath. Dee watches him raise his head, slightly, a stupid shiny grin on his face and flushed cheek in the moonlight, “You?”

It’s not that easy, bringing his grades up. It’s not like flicking a switch, or knocking over a domino, or starting a car engine, or, or or. But he’s got a couple people (Dr. Ackroyd, Thomas)  in his corner, and something that he wants (Science Honor Society).

And the stars twinkle overhead the same way they’ve always done

“It’s so... fucking late.” Dee chokes out a sopping wet laugh. It tastes like salt and despair and something completely awful that he absolutely hates: hope. 

Dante Ethan Ekans has never thought of himself as dumb. 

He’s not.