#why did I choose to take AP Lit

[popcorn-plots]

me attempting to do homework:

[skytellar]

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author note: hiiiii, this is my first postttt and i hope y’all like it and tell me how i diddd. i’ve never posted anything on this app so idrk how to do it very well…. 😟😟😟… anyway this is something i scrapped a few moths ago. okay i’ve been yapping for a while adios.

warnings: not much it’s fluff, OCD, body insecurity, skin color insecurity, academic validation, cussing (duh) (i think that’s all teehee)

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Could life get any worse god. This essay was actually going to be the fucking death of her. 10 pages, 10 pages of nothingness as it felt. She couldn’t help but repeat the same words, was she dumb? Why was this so hard, this normally comes easy, school is supposed to be easy, the one thing she holds on to. How can school be the one thing shes good at, and I still manages to fuck it all up. 2 pages in, and its due in 2 days, what the actual fuck.

All she feel next to her is humming next to her ear as she tries to continue working, as if her brain is short-circuiting or something. She manages to type maybe 2 sentences more, before she bashes her head into her hand out of frustration, she couldn’t possibly get angrier. The hand around her waist squeezes and she turns around. “Baby, please don’t stress. And please don’t do that.” Rafe commented. He put both hands on her hips and pulls her forward to him, he looks at her forehead that she just hit. He kisses her forehead 3 times, he knows that how she likes it. 3 times.

“Maybe take a break hun, you’ve been overworking yourself for probably four hours now.” He pointed out as he rubbed her temple, knowing it would ease her temper and stress. “No, I can’t take another goddamn break. I’m being so fucking lazy. God.” She snaps. She felt as though she had accomplished nothing, this essay was her semester exam and she had a 5.0 GPA because of all of her AP’s.

She would absolutely wreck it if she didn’t get an A+ on her exam for AP Lit. “Baby, you’re the most hardworking person I know. Farthest from lazy, you’ve been working far too long. How about we go for dinner, grab a Baha-Blast from Taco bell on the way back, and you can write 2 more pages when we get back? Okay?” He said it as though it was a demand rather than a question.

She thought for a moment. It made her feel bad rather than better. He was too good for her, he did too much. She didn’t deserve him. He saw her lack of a response, knowing she was probably overthinking it. He looked her dead in the eyes, giving her a “please-i-love-you-so-much-baby” look. “Get dressed okay? Please bug?” He asks, knowing she can’t possibly say no.

“You’re impossible,” she scoffs jokingly as she gets up to get dressed. Rafe does his little victory dance and goes to the closet to pick out clothes. She’s on the opposite side of the closet, picking her dress from her side of the closet. She goes through probably 10 dresses and sighs. She felt like she wouldn’t look good in any of them. She was nothing like the girls he’d had before. She wasn’t blonde. Her eyes weren’t blue. She didn’t have that perfect hourglass figure. And she wasn’t white.

How could she possibly compare? She didn’t even believe he was ever attracted to her, even though he makes sure to let her know probably every hour of the day. Why couldn’t her stomach just be flat. She wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t the skinniest either. Her body had always been a sore subject, barely wearing any revealing clothing. Hoping no one would notice that Rafe’s perfect girlfriend was a fucking lazy whale. Her hair was also something she wished was never a problem for her. She has really curly hair, which she has to fight a full-fledged battle with everyday for it to look remotely decent, like she actually washes it. Why did she have to be like this, and why did he choose her?

By the time she’s at her peak of her thoughts, two hands wrap around her waist from behind. She looks up at her 6’2 boyfriend who was a foot taller than her. He was already fully dressed and ready, cologne and everything. God he smelled fucking delectable. “Have you picked what you want to wear yet bug?” He asked in a deep tone. Fuck, he was so hot. Why couldn’t she be on his level, or why couldn’t he find anyone better. “Still thinking, none of these look good on me.” After hearing that, he looks down at her wide-eyed, as if he was in shock. “What? Bug what are you on about?” She raises her eyebrow back at him, her eyes saying, “You heard me.”

He lets go of her and backs up, hands in the air, “This is shocking. I don’t think we are thinking about the same person! My girlfriend?” She rolls her eyes in return and says, “Okay, if you’re so sure, pick a good dress for me, smart guy.” He smirks in return, “Game on.” He goes towards the dresses, and looks through them, trying to find something he knows she will like and look amazing in. He finally stops at a long hot pink dress, with spaghetti straps, and a low cut. He bends down to grab some heels to go with it, picking some white pumps. He grabs the outfit and drops it in her hands.

“As I said, easy.” She lightly pushes him and walks over to the side to change. As she picks up the dress she gives him a look. She doesn’t change and just keeps looking at him. He doesn’t get the message, so she has to say it herself. “Um baby, can you leave while I change.” He is taken aback, but silently. She doesn’t catch his reaction but just continues waiting. He just walks over and gives her a big hug, his arms around her waist, “Bug, you’re beautiful. If you think anything less than that, I’ might as well be a scrap of garbage on the street.”

She slightly smiles at his attempt at a joke, he pulls away from the hug and starts to walk out. But she keeps holding onto his hand and says, “Stay, Its okay.” He goes in for a second hug, even tighter than the last and kisses her head. “I love you bug.” And then he quickly pulls away and sits on the bench in the corner of the closet as she begins changing.

She quickly slides off her t-shirt, but keeps on the shorts so she can wear them under the dress. The silky dress finds its way to slither down her body, and she pulls the straps up. The dress hugs her body in all the right places, making her look amazing. The low-cut made her boobs look fabulous, she turns over to rafe and he feels as though defiantly made the right decision with that dress. “Okay, you win” she scoffs. He practically squeals in excitement. She makes her way to their shared bathroom to do her hair.

She picks up the sprayer to wet her hair, he stands behind her, to watch. She begins to brush her hair with the brush. A struggle, but hopefully it would look at least half-decent tonight. She roughly brushes it to get out the tangles, when a hand takes the brush out of her hand. “Damn, you’ll be bald if you keep doing that. ” His deep voice vibrates against her ear. He lightly brushes her hair, somehow taking out the tangles? It was never that easy for her. He was good at this.

After a few more passes, her hair is completely untangled. She rolls her eyes at his victory smile in the mirror. She grabs her curl products and starts putting them in softly, her hair feeling amazing. When she finishes, she begins touching up her makeup, already having some from today. After finishing most of it, the last step is lipstick, best for last. She begins putting on her favorite Anastasia Sugar Plum lipstick, with cherry lip gloss on top.

She turns around to see Rafe still standing there, just watching her. He leans down for a kiss but she rejects it. “Uh-uh, not with my lips done” He rolls his eyes and kisses her cheek 3 quick times. Since she already had her heels and purse, he picked her up bridal style all the way to his car. She loved how he got rid of all of her problems with a look and his show-it-off shiteating grin.

She loved him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[ichabodjane]

Yeah, the US higher ed system is quite differently structured than the European system! (Not sure about the Canadian universities tbh.)

Most bachelor degrees in the US require a certain amount of general education classes that everyone needs to take before you go into specialized classes for your degree. That's why you don't *have* to choose a degree program for the first couple of years if you don't want to and why people can switch majors without needing to completely start over (sometimes).

The general education usually includes life sciences, fine arts, English composition/literature, foreign language, maybe some kind of tech, and physical education (anything from jogging to billiards lol. I did yoga and tai chi for mine. The Ivy League private schools make you do a swimming test to graduate.) The point is to create a well-rounded education, which is what "liberal arts" is supposed to mean.

There's two main ways to get gen Ed credits before you go to a 4 year school/bachelor's programs. High school students can take Advanced Placement (AP) classes, which end with exams created by the College Board (the same company that runs the SAT/ACT general exams that you also usually need to apply to uni). Most unis accept a certain score on an AP test as credit towards one of their general education classes. So for example, I entered uni already having credits for English lit and comp, math (stats), French, history, prolly some other stuff I can't remember. Ofc this is assuming your high school is affluent enough to have AP classes at all and that you can afford the exam fee but it's still cheaper than university tuition.

The other way to get early credits is taking community college classes. Most community colleges have transfer programs set up with nearby unis. So people either take some classes then transfer to a 4 year degree OR they complete an associate's degree and roll that into the final 2 years of a bachelor's and then they have both degrees at the end. A lot of community college general ed courses are also open to high school students if their high school doesn't offer sufficiently advanced classes.

And because its the US, all of this varies based on how your state university system does things. Private universities generally follow this setup but not all.

An associate's degree generally comes from completing a 2 or 3 year program at a community college. In the US, community colleges are smaller state-owned schools that are less expensive than universities. They offer lower level university classes or programs in things like business management, nursing, or general studies. Often people save money by doing their general studies classes at community college then transferring to a 4 year university to finish a bachelor's degree (sometimes you can get an assoc. And bachelor's in the same area). But associate's degrees can also qualify you for a lot of jobs on their own. (Community colleges also usually have a lot of non-degree classes in things like foreign languages, first aid, or honestly whatever someone wants to teach, which are open to anyone.)

Oooh thank you for explaining! I've always had trouble categorizing college from what I've seen in US American media. So you can kinda choose whether going to college as a gen ed continuation, or the opposite to get specialized? Are there any Bachelor's programms you need Associate's degrees for?

I'm fairly sure something similar used to exist in Belgium for specific fields, but they were homogenized in the ECTS system introduced by the Bologna process (essentially making it easier to change fields without losing your credit, and making international recognition of diploma's possible). Now theoretically there are distinctions between institutions for more practical education (no options for Master's degrees in most cases but this is changin) versus more theoretical/academic studies. If you take a practical Bachelor's degree, it might be that you need extra credit to take a Master's.

[enbyeddiediaz]

I have,,,,a book report,,,,,due a week from now,,,,,and I haven't started the book,,,,,,and it's supposed to be a slide presentation on metaphors or some shit,,,idk I only read the assignment sheet once back in September when it was assigned,,,,,,,I forgot abt it until yesterday when my friend told me she finished her book,,,,,,I tried to start reading but as soon as my brain saw words it turned into a static tv,,

[ginnympotter]

to the garden

here it is, my betty inspired jily one-shot. to be honest i’ve been struggling to write this for so long i don’t even know if it’s good, but i finished it and i’m at least proud of that. i hope you guys enjoy it. thanks so much for reading 💗 p.s. this is a covid free universe

you can also read it on AO3 here.

Thursday Afternoon

“I fucked up,” James announced as he sat down for lunch.

No one looked up, but Sirius responded after a large gulp of his soda. “That’s nothing new.”

James growled, stabbing at his roast beef. “No, you don’t understand. I fucked up so bad, I’m not even hungry.”

Remus was kind enough to spare him a sympathetic look. “Well if it ruined your appetite, it must be serious. What happened?”

“Evans switched her homeroom,” he muttered under his breath, looking around to make sure she was not near. He spotted her at her usual table across the room, out of earshot. “And I won’t make assumptions but…I think it’s ‘cause of me.”

“I believe that was an assumption,” Remus replied. “And a ridiculous one, at that.”

“But it’s true! She knows,” James cried hopelessly. “She knows I got with Alison this summer.”

Peter laughed. “Well, the whole school knows that.”

James’s eyes widened. He felt his stomach drop. “What do you mean, Pete?”

“Inez,” Sirius answered, still not looking up, browsing through different motorbikes on his phone.

James groaned. Of course Inez ran her mouth. If Inez got word of anything, true or false, she spread it like wildfire.

“On the bright side, I also heard from Inez today that Snape and Lily aren’t talking anymore,” Peter told him comfortingly.

Despite all odds, James’s spirits lifted just the tiniest bit. “They aren’t?”

He shot his eyes back at Lily’s table and noticed that Snape wasn’t there. Mary was sitting next to Lily and Marlene sat across from them, animatedly telling a story. He forced himself to look away so Lily wouldn’t catch him staring.

“Regardless,” Remus said, looking pointedly at James. “Lily switched into my homeroom, and she told me this morning it’s because she’s taking AP Lit instead of regular English class, so she had to move some things around to make it work.”

“Classic Evans,” Sirius laughed, putting his phone down and taking a bite of his sandwich. “It’s going to be a tight race between you two for valedictorian, Prongs.”

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so maybe I’m not the sole reason she switched her homeroom, but she still hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Remus said impatiently. “But if you’re so convinced, why don’t you just apologize?”

James got a distinct feeling that Remus knew something he didn’t. “Did she mention me to you in homeroom today? What are you hiding?” he asked eagerly.

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m not hiding anything. Just talk to her yourself,” he responded, then gave a look that James clearly understood to mean ‘I’m done with this conversation,’ and dug back into his lunch.

Despite James’s conviction that Lily Evans hated him now, something about the way Remus was even more fed up with his antics than usual made him feel slightly less nauseous, and so he began to eat as well.

But only a moment later, the sound of Sirius’s voice made him feel sick again. “Just hook up with her at her party tomorrow night and it’ll all end well, I’m sure.”

James choked on his mashed potatoes. “Her what now?”

“Her party. You’re invited,” Sirius answered.

“I don’t follow,” James said, feeling as if very little air was entering his lungs. “How do you know she’s having a party? And that I’m invited?”

“She told me,” Sirius informed him. “We sit next to each other in AP Physics because of Vector’s alphabetized seating arrangement. You know that. That’s why you’re stuck with Peter.”

“I’m going to choose to ignore that,” said Peter.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued. “She told me she’s having a party tomorrow night at her house and to bring you guys along.” He lifted up his phone and shoved it in James’s face, a picture of a motorcycle on the screen. “What do you think about this one?”

“It’s fine,” James snapped, taking Sirius’s phone out of his hand. “Did she say my name specifically when inviting us or was she just talking vaguely about our group?”

“James, I don’t know,” he groaned reaching for his phone across the table. “I don’t analyze every word that comes out of Evans’s mouth! Now give me back my phone-“

“No-“

“Give it to him, James,” Remus said sternly.

James resigned, handing it back over. “Sorry, Dad.”

“Now, eat,” Remus ordered.

James was going to listen- he really was- but then Alison passed by with Inez. Alison looked at James and smiled sadly, offering a little wave. With regret in his stomach and guilt in his throat, he waved back, and then quickly looked back towards his friends.

“Coward,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

James gasped. If someone wanted to bruise James Potter’s ego, ‘coward’ was all they needed in their arsenal to defeat him. Above all, James has always prided himself on being brave. “How DARE you. Sleep on the street tonight, traitor.”

“Euphemia would sooner kick you to the curb for this Evans stupidity than depriving me of shelter for simply calling you out on your bullshit.”

“You don’t understand how painful my last conversation with Alison was…having to admit that I still had feelings for Lily…apologizing for not being more straightforward about it in the beginning…you can’t call me a coward after that.”

“Well, until you apologize to Lily too, I’ll continue berating you as I see fit.”

********

Friday Morning

James almost couldn’t complain; he knew he deserved this type of misery. But it still hurt.

Because as he walked into government class on Friday morning and spotted Evans, she was wearing a particular item of clothing that made his heart stop and his throat close up. Her white, knitted cardigan that it was definitely too hot to be wearing enveloped her like a hug.

“I like my sweaters oversized,” she had told him that night.

And now he couldn’t concentrate on a single thing Binns was saying because the very little self-control he had over his daydreaming was ripped away by that cardigan. He sat two seats to the left and one seat behind Lily and stared at the white material, remembering the feel of it through his fingers as he pulled her to him that night under the streetlight, as he took it off of her in his car…

He cursed himself for not treasuring that night more than he did…then maybe he wouldn’t have stormed out of the dance. Then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten in the car with Alison. Then maybe he would have actually had the courage to ask Lily to be his girlfriend when he had the chance.

Sirius was right. He was a coward.

He drowned himself in the memories of that night, letting his ego melt around him, suffocating him with regret. Out of the corner of his eye, waking him from his reverie, he noticed Snape a few seats away texting furiously and glancing at Lily, who pointedly turned her phone over on her desk so that she couldn’t see any messages that might be popping up on her home screen. She started tapping her pencil against her desk in frustration.

He smiled in spite of himself, knowing what each of her little quirks were, because he’d wanted her for so long, and he just made a mess of it all.

He didn’t know how, he didn’t know if he could, but he had to clean it up.

After far longer than he could bear, the bell rang. James was deciding whether or not to approach Lily, but before he could even make a decision, she threw her books into her bag, jumped up, and bolted towards the door. For a moment, James thought she could somehow read his mind and was trying to avoid him before it was too late, but he quickly realized that it was another man in Lily’s life driving her away.

Snape got up almost as quickly as her, his greasy hair blowing behind him as he followed her. James gathered his belongings and followed the class out, curious to see if Lily had made her escape or not.

She hadn’t. Rather, she was at her locker, rummaging through, as Snape stood at her locker door, speaking rapidly to her. As James approached, it sounded like Snape was pleading with her.

“Lily,” Snape said with urgency. “How many times do I need to apologize-“

“None,” she snapped, slamming her locker door. “Because I’m done forgiving you. Just leave me alone.”

“Will you please just listen-“

He strode over. “Snape,” he growled.

Snape turned sharply towards him, his features all narrowed in anger. “This is none of your business.”

“It seems like you’re harassing Evans. She told you to leave her alone.”

Lily finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. She kept her gaze on him as she spoke to Snape. “Please, Sev. Just go.”

But he remained rooted to the spot, his face red, yet seemingly unable to speak.

James adjusted his bag’s shoulder strap unnecessarily. He spoke to Lily. “You have art next, yeah? So do I. Come on.”

And without thinking much about it, he grasped her wrist and steered them away from Snape and down the hallway. He tried to ignore the familiar feel of the cardigan against his hand, noticing how Lily was striding along with him, quickening her pace as they turned the corner to enter the staircase. They walked down the stairs quickly in silence. As they reached the landing, Lily glanced up at him.

It was the first time he got a good look at her face since the dance. The summer sun seemed to have brought out her freckles. Her face was slightly flushed. Her red bangs had grown so long she had to part them in the middle so they wouldn’t fall in her eyes. Her eyes, as beautiful, as wide, as green, as lethal as ever.

When he processed all its parts as a whole, his stomach dropped; she looked… sad. Her eyes flashed to his grip on her wrist, and he removed his hand from her and ruffled his hair anxiously.

She spoke first, her voice not giving her away. “I appreciate the intention, Potter, but you didn’t have to do that. I can handle him myself.”

“I know you can,” he assured her, feeling the heat rise on his neck. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize…” she sighed, crossing her arms. “For that, at least.”

James’s stomach dropped. She stood for a moment, as if waiting for the implied other apology, but then offered a smile that was gone so fast that perhaps it was just his imagination, before turning out of the staircase into the hallway. Afraid to speak, he followed her into the art classroom. As they were the first ones in the room, Lily chose a table, and feeling reckless, James sat down next to her. “Sirius told me you’re having a party tonight.”

She nodded. “I am.”

“And that I’m invited.”

Her expression was suspicious. “You are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want me there?”

She yanked her sketchbook out of her bag, opening it up roughly. “Show up, don’t show up, your choice, I don’t really care.”

But her voice was impassive, whereas it was usually filled with inflection and passion and emotion, so the lack thereof was a giveaway that she did care. He almost wanted to call her bluff, but the rest of their classmates started trickling in, including Lily’s friend, Mary Macdonald, who sat down and gave James a scathing look. He nodded at her politely and then focused on his bag, taking out his materials. Sirius strode in and sat next to James, giving him a questioning look. James just shook his head as he doodled on the corner of his sketchbook.

“Evans. Macdonald,” Sirius greeted their desk mates. “Ready to get smashed tonight?”

“Always,” Mary said.

“How difficult do you think it will be to impose a three-drink maximum?”

“Maximum?” Sirius gaped.

“Impossible, Lil,” Mary told her.

“What for?” asked Sirius, seeming deeply offended.

Lily sighed, pulling on her cardigan sleeves. “I just don’t want anyone breaking anything. Or vomiting on anything. My parents would kill me.”

“Or worse than that,” Mary looked at her. “Petunia,” she and Lily said simultaneously, grimacing.

Sirius let out a laugh like a bark. “Your boring, uptight sister? I’d like to see her try.”

“Oh, she will try,” Lily assured him.

“She won’t be home though, right?” Mary asked. “She’ll be off with her loser boyfriend.”

“Well, I apologize in advance, Evans, but I am going to be having more than three drinks. I probably won’t throw up, but no promises about not breaking anything, especially if this one tags along,” Sirius said, elbowing James. “Becomes a complete klutz under the influence.”

Mary turned her head sharply towards James. “You’re coming? To Lily’s party tonight? Who invited you?”

“I did,” Lily informed her, looking at her friend pointedly as if trying to send her a telepathic message. “Well, technically, I invited Sirius and told him to invite the other three. But Potter hasn’t made his mind up yet.”

Mary looked like she was containing herself as she said quietly, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t come. We can’t risk anything being broken. Although maybe it would be fun to see James suffer from Petunia’s wrath…”

James offered her an obviously fake smile, to which she narrowed her eyes in response just as the teacher began to attempt to gain the class’s attention. As the room became quiet, James caught Lily’s eyes again. Her cheeks were flushed but she didn’t shy away, she held his gaze, as if daring him to do something. If only he knew what.

*****

Friday Night

“James, stop being melodramatic.”

“Have you met him, Remus?” Sirius laughed, which James did not appreciate at all. As if he wasn’t melodramatic himself. “It’s his lifestyle.”

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Peter urged them eagerly.

“I am unable to move,” James stated. “I have suddenly been rendered immobile. You guys go. I’ll just die here.”

Remus sighed heavily. “We’re two blocks away, James. Enough of your pretend psychosomatic syndrome and move.”

“Should I run back home and grab your skateboard?” asked Sirius, amused. “We’ll strap you to it and push you the rest of the way.”

“That could work.”

“No,” Remus refused. “Just be a man and go apologize to her. Excuse my gendered language.”

“You’re not excused,” James responded. But he grunted as he watched Remus turn and resume their route, so he forced his own legs forward, and he began to walk towards their doomed destination once again.

“Huzzah!” Peter shouted in celebration, scurrying after him.

“It’s a miracle!” Sirius gasped, throwing an arm around James’s shoulders. “Maybe I’ll convert from atheist to agnostic now.”

James chuckled nervously, fighting the urge to run very far away. He thought he could read Lily like a book, but with each step towards her house he felt increasingly doubtful of her intentions, how she would react when he arrived. It was the last time he could dream about what would happen when she sees his face again, and living in the best-case scenario fantasy was much easier than doing it in reality. But he knew if he didn’t seize this opportunity to apologize to Lily, he would never get another chance. And so he trudged on until they reached their destination. He could faintly hear the music that was blaring inside. Mary and Marlene were on the front porch laughing, Lily standing beside them.

Lily, who took his breath away with a singular glance, had her hair up the way he liked, wearing high-waist, denim shorts, a white t-shirt, and that damn cardigan. He felt his airways clog up with desire.

Mary gave James a similar dubious look as she did in art class. Marlene, who was protective of Lily but slightly more sympathetic than Mary, gave him a tight-lipped smile.

Sirius let go of James as Remus hugged Lily. James was filled with curiosity as he watched them quickly exchange whispered words in urgency. Remus patted Lily on the shoulder before walking in to her house. Peter and Marlene followed, but Sirius loitered outside, putting his arm around Mary.

“Come, Macdonald. It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk.”

“Where?” she asked him skeptically.

“To the other side of the porch,” he told her, winking at James as if to tell him I got you covered, before steering her away from James and Lily.

It was just them for now.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her. How beautiful she looked, how much he missed her over the summer, how sorry he was for everything.

“So, I showed up,” is what he blurted out.

“And so you did.” She gave him a once over. “You look nice.”

“So do you,” he responded in haste. “More than nice- great.”

She shrugged, playing with the ends of her hair. James looked over to the other side of the porch and saw Sirius chatting up Mary, who was touching his arm and laughing.

For fear of Sirius’s distraction skills only lasting so long, James looked back at Lily. “Evans, I…I really need to talk to you. Do you think there’s somewhere we can do that with, er, a little more privacy? Like the garden?”

She bit her lip as she contemplated it. He tried not to stare, he really tried, but suddenly he felt like he was sweating.

Eventually, she nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”

She turned into her house and made her way through the living room and kitchen to the backdoor, striding without once looking back or making sure James was close behind. He followed her out the screen door and into the garden.

He sat beside her on the bench beside the orchids. The same bench where he kissed her last.

“The Evans household has a thing for flowers, huh?”

“What?”

“Well the garden has a lot of flowers. You and your sister, both named after flowers. These orchids are really nice,” he rambled nervously.

“Thanks?” she responded, looking at him suspiciously. “So, you wanted to talk?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Uh, anyway. Thanks, yeah, I do. Honestly, I thought you’d tell me to go fuck myself.”

He could tell she was holding back a smile as she said, “I strongly considered it.”

“I’d deserve it,” he told her honestly, mustering up his courage. “I mean, I do deserve it. That’s why I’m here, I…I want to- no, I need to apologize to you for the way I acted the last week in school before you went away for the summer… I know you already know about it, but I…” he paused, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with her. He needed her to understand this. “I hope you can trust me when I tell you that what happened with Alison was just a summer thing…it’s over now.”

“It’s fine, James,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking off into the distance.

“No, it’s not fine,” he said in earnest. “It was stupid. Leaving the dance like that and not even talking to you and then only a few days later getting with Alison. It’s probably the worst thing I ever did. It wasn’t fair to Alison, because I was just trying to get you out of my head. But it especially wasn’t fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

The silence sat heavy around them before Lily sighed. She continued to stare at the flowers in the garden. “I just don’t know where it all went wrong.”

“I do,” he responded quietly. “At the dance, your favorite song was playing. ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift. Remember?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I wanted to dance with you to it-“

“I wanted to dance with you to it too,” she said, snapping her gaze back to his. Her look was fierce. “But I couldn’t find you!”

“I was sitting in the corner of the gym taking a break from the chaos. The dance was overwhelming. If it’s not a football game, I hate the crowds. You know that.”

“I do know that,” she replied, her face red. “Which is why I was trying to find you- I thought…God this sounds so stupid now. I thought we could dance to it outside or something.”

James tried to swallow, but it felt like his heart had jumped up into his throat. He forced more words out of his mouth. “It’s not stupid, that’s what I wanted to do.” They both smiled for a fraction of a second, but then his face dropped again as he told her, “But then I saw you dance with…him.”

Lily’s smile evaporated too. “You mean Severus?”

“Yes.”

Lily put her head in her hands. “Of course. Of course that’s what happened. God, how did I not put two and two together?”

“I know I was wrong now, I know nothing happened that night. Remus told me as much this summer,” he said, putting a hand through his hair, feeling the embarrassment spreading across his own cheeks. “But it was like my worst nightmare playing out before my eyes! I didn’t know you went looking for me at first, I didn’t know what you guys were talking about, I just saw his arms around you and was so angry I stormed out as fast as I could, so that I wouldn’t do something really stupid to him!”

Lily groaned, removing her hands from her face and pulling on her cardigan sleeves. “You could’ve spoken to me about it literally at any point after up until I left for my trip. I tried talking to you that last day in school and you gave me such a cold shoulder!”

“I know. And I’m sorry for that,” he apologized, hoping the sincerity was evident in his voice. “It’s not an excuse, but I was just hurt. We all know how obsessed Snivellus-“

“James,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, I know you hate that. We all know how obsessed Snape,” he corrected himself begrudgingly, continuing on, “is with you, and I know you two are like childhood best friends or whatever, so I jumped to conclusions when I saw you indulging him.”

“Well, you jumped wrong,” she almost spat. She was angry now, real angry, but James could not tell if her fury was directed at him or Snape. “I wasn’t indulging anything, he must’ve had his hands on me for fifteen seconds before I got him off me, told him off and stormed away.”

James felt a sense of relief and guilt tangled up inside him. “What happened?”

She fidgeted, exhaling deeply. “He was warning me about you for, I don’t know, the nine hundredth time at that point, saying how I should be with him instead, the usual bullshit. I went looking for you again but Sirius said you had left suddenly… And then you wouldn’t even look at me at school.”

“I was embarrassed. And furious,” he admitted.

“Yeah, I could tell as much.”

“But I still saw you talking to him,” James remembered, knowing it did not make a difference but wanting her to understand his entire thought process. “That last day in school. I saw you walk home with him. You two seemed fine.”

Lily frowned. “I was giving him one last chance to apologize, to salvage the small sliver of friendship I was still holding onto for only God knows why…we got to my house and he tried to kiss me. I had to physically push him off me, yelled at him like I’ve never yelled at anyone in my life, and he ran home. And that was the end of that.”

“Fuck,” James exhaled, feeling his anger burn every inch of his skin, boiling his insides.

“It’s ok, I’m fine,” she assured him, noticing how angry he looked on her behalf, and put the fingers peeking out of her cardigan sleeve on his hand to help level him. She let it linger for a few seconds in silence before bringing her hand back into her lap. “So that’s how my day ended before I left for Italy with my family. But I heard you had an interesting afternoon that day too, hm?”

It felt like a punch in the gut as she looked at him, her question pointed and knowing. His chest tightened as he asked, “Are you sure you want to know about it?”

“I’d rather hear it from you than Inez, so yes, if you’d please.”

He sighed, wanting so bad to look away from her but knowing he had to look her in the face so she’d see the remorse in his eyes. He summoned all the courage he had. “I saw you walking home with Snape, and was…besides myself. I took the long way home. Remember where we went on our date? That block with the broken cobblestones? I was walking there, thinking of you.” He paused and took a deep breath, Lily’s face still blank. “And then Alison pulled up in her car, noticed I was upset, told me to get in for a drive. It was like…a figment of my worst intentions. I thought you were with Snape, and Alison was throwing out hints left and right that she was interested, and so I went with it…we didn’t officially date or anything, but I spent time with her a bunch this summer. But it was so, so fucking stupid to think any other girl could distract me from you because…well, I dreamt of you all summer long. And so I told her that, and cut the whole thing off a couple of weeks ago.”

He paused, watching her face, hoping for a hint of what was racing through her beautiful brain. She was contemplative, searching his eyes. When she still said nothing, James reiterated, “I’m so, so sorry, Lily. About all of it…about Alison, about ignoring you those last few days at school, about assuming something was going on with you and Snape and storming out of the dance…”

Lily sighed, crossing her arms. “I understand. But it still hurts… I mean, I finally let you in and went on that date with you and I felt so… and then just so suddenly…” she trailed off.

“I know,” he empathized. “The thing I’m sorry for the most is not asking you to be my girlfriend the moment after you kissed me on our date. I was going to ask you at the dance, but obviously those plans got thrown out the window.”

“You were?” she asked, her arms dropping as her face softened.

“Yes,” he told her, needing her to believe him. “But not just that, I wanted to tell you how I feel, because I don’t think you really know, do you?”

She didn’t respond, so he took that as his cue to keep going.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve told you on our date, but I was trying to keep it cool, which was dumb, and I’m done with that. I’ve been…crazy about you since freshman year. I mean, I know I asked you out a bunch so you must have known I was interested, but it’s more than that. You are… the most special person I’ve ever known. You have a way of making everyone feel important. You’re so damn nice to everyone, I wish I had that kind of heart. And God, you are so smart it’s the sexiest thing-“

She started to laugh. When James’s eyes widened at this reaction, she shook her head. “I’m laughing because I think the same thing about you. Especially the smart and sexy bit.”

He smiled. “I mean, you’re so much more than sexy, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And when I’m with you I can just be myself. We just…fit, you know?”

“I know.”

“Evans, I’ll apologize for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. I’m an idiot, an absolute fucking idiot for the way I acted. I’m still trying to figure this all out, you know? I’m only seventeen, I don’t know anything! I have no idea what I’m doing!” he laughed. She smiled back, and he took that as permission to hold her hand, and so he did. “But I know I miss you. More than I’ve ever missed anything or anyone. And I swear, I’ll never hurt you again. The only thing I want to do is make it up to you. Please believe me. You don’t have to forgive me yet, but at least say you believe me.”

There was a beat, and then Lily intertwined their fingers. “I believe you,” she told him. “And I forgive you.”

When James exhaled, it felt like it was the first time he properly breathed in months, his entire bodily system recalibrating. “Really?”

“Perhaps against my better judgment, but yes, really. I missed you, too.”

He suddenly felt electric, looking at Lily, letting her admission sink in. “I missed you so damn much,” he told her again, and unable to hold back a moment longer, he disconnected their fingers, put both his hands on her face and kissed her.

To his surprise, she kissed him back with matched enthusiasm, grasping at his sides and pulling him closer so that their bodies were connected. The feel of her was better than he remembered, more than he dreamed it would be. He moved one hand to the back of her head, and she opened her mouth to him. The world fell away as she let out a soft moan at the gentle sweep of his tongue. He sunk into her embrace and never intended to leave, because why would he need to do anything else?

But at some point, a few minutes too soon, Lily pulled away, leaning her head against James’s shoulder and breathing heavily.

“Alright, Evans?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

She nodded against him. “Yeah, I’m just…hot.”

James chuckled, playing with her ponytail. “Well, that goes without saying.”

Lily snorted, picking her head up and looking at him, her eyes light and dazed. “No, I mean, I’m hot, like I’m sweating. Let me just…”

She pulled back just the slightest bit and unbuttoned her cardigan. As she shook out of it, her expression became mischievous.

“You wore that on purpose,” he accused her with an equally playful smile. “It was way too warm all day for you to actually need it.”

“Guilty,” she smirked, wrapping it around her waist. “I was hoping to spark something in your memory.”

“More like torture my memory,” he said, threading the sleeve through his fingers briefly. “You think I wouldn’t remember that you wore this on our date? The moment I saw you standing in your cardigan this morning, I knew I was fucked. I was distracted the rest of the day.”

“Too bad you didn’t see me sooner.”

“Well I would have if…”

He paused, contemplating whether he should ask her.

“If what?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ok, random question, just thought of it like, one second ago, haven’t been ruminating on it since school started yesterday or anything. Did you switch your homeroom ‘cause of me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so this is what you were bugging Remus about? No, of course not. I had to move my schedule around so I could take AP Lit.”

“Oh,” he exhaled in relief. “Well, good. But not good about you and my stupid friends conspiring behind my back-“

“There was no conspiring. You should be grateful for that stupid friend of yours; he pleaded your case rather convincingly.”

“He pleaded yours well too. Sometimes I don’t know whose side that guy is on.”

“Well mine, obviously,” she said. “Your assumption about homeroom was ridiculous. Did you think I was too afraid to see you or something? That I’m a coward?”

He tensed up again. “No! I would never- I just meant, I thought you were so sickened with me that the last thing you would want to do is start your day staring at the back of my head.”

She laughed, reaching over and running her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling, reveling in the familiar touch he last felt a few months ago, though it felt like ages. “Nah, I’m quite fond of the back of your head. An exceedingly annoying amount, actually.”

He sighed happily as her nails gently grazed his scalp.

“But as much as that may be true, and although I do forgive you, I do still feel hurt. And that trust needs to be rebuilt over time, you know?”

“I know. Lily,” her name left his lips like a whisper. Her hand paused on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes again and met hers, green and sparkling. He couldn’t blow it this time. “I really am so, so sorry. And I will do whatever it takes to make it all up to you. But can I do that as your boyfriend?”

She bit her lip, studied his face for seconds that felt like an eternity, and then nodded.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, smiling. “Let’s do it already. I’m in.”

“Finally,” he said, smiling ear to ear. Lily laughed, probably at the goofy grin on his face, before he swiftly swooped in, crushing his lips against hers again.

Her nails continued their work in his hair as she kissed him back fervently, pressing her body against his again, causing him to moan. He knew that every second he had with her was cherished, and he tried to cement them in his mind, but it was only a few minutes later a voice broke them apart.

“Lily!” Mary called out from a distance. They broke apart with a simultaneous sigh, turning to see her standing outside the back door, hands on her hips like an angry parent. Sirius pushed the screen door open, shouted, “Sorry, I tried!” and then retreated back into the house.

She marched toward them, a woman on a mission. “Really, Lil? Really?”

“Why, Macdonald, you look lovely tonight,” James tried.

“Do not test me, James Potter,” she snapped. “You can’t just-“

“Mary,” Lily called her friend’s name fiercely. “No need for the hostility. James and I hashed everything out-”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I can see!” she exclaimed in disgust.

“Could you give us some space, then? Please?” Lily asked. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Fine. But just in case you forgot, your party is happening in there without you. And you promised me a round of karaoke.”

“And I intend to keep that promise,” she told her firmly. “Just give us a few, alright?”

“Alright. I’ll be timing you though. And Potter, I got my eye on you,” she warned, pointing her index and middle finger to her eyes and then onto James.

He laughed, knowing that Mary always liked him before the summer and would soften up to him again eventually. “Understood.”

She nodded and walked off. They waited until the screen door closed behind her. Then Lily turned back to face him. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I get it,” he waved it off. “And I don’t want your friends murdering either of us, but there’s so much I wanted to catch up on, like your trip to Italy-“

“I know, me too,” she sighed.

He interlocked their fingers and lifted her hand to his lips. “Are you free tomorrow? Why don’t we get breakfast and take a drive, spend the day? That way no one can interrupt us.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“It’s a date.”

“It’s a date.”

Knowing his time was running out, he leaned forward and kissed her once more with all he had, feeling elated as she returned each kiss with her own, already excited at the thought of kissing her more in the car tomorrow. With as much willpower as he could muster, he pulled away from her, running the hand that wasn’t holding hers down the length of her arm until it reached the cardigan around her waist. He felt a shiver down his spine at the twinkle in her eye as she squeezed his thigh. “C’mon,” she said, pulling them upwards.

He walked dreamily alongside her to the screen door, hardly able to believe his luck. Before she could open it, he stopped her. “Hey. I just wanted to say…thanks. For giving me another chance.”

“It’s your last one,” she told him, kind but certain. “So use it well.”

“I will. I promise.”

[ughihategmail]

my morning so far through random thoughts

these thoughts are all related to school somehow and my brain is a hellscape

child of aphrodite gf and child of hephaestus gf, ugh my mind i’m so smart

hey dude are you an electron? because you’re so tiny that my chem and biotech teachers consider you irrelevant!!!! haha get rekt

i hate lana del rey as a person but i have really bad mommy issues so i can’t just not listen to her???

dude wtf why would you talk during the venice bitch guitar solo? so not cool

studying different religions is lots of fun, maybe i’ll think about a theology major

(ten seconds later) WAIT NO!!!! I’m already driving myself up the wall trying to choose between a writing/lit major and a biotech/stem major i DO NOT have the mental bandwidth to add theology into the mix

ooooh my lipgloss looks really good in this window!!!

yum coffee cake

why did i ever stop wearing barrettes?

how DARE AP classes use cornell notes of all fucking note taking methods i hate this

the barista gave me a decaf mocha but she’s really nice and i don’t want to make her redo my drink

that was probably the universes way of telling me to drink less caffeine

1 - Universe, 0 - Me

actually no i win because what ever higher power is out there has to put up with my constant bullshit so haha

i have no regard for coffee snobs let me have my caramel mocha in peace ty very much

[rabbithub]

Haunted Painting!AU: Day 4

(Oh? I make Diavolo have empathy? I make Diavolo have empathy like the doggo? Oh! Oh! Jail for author! Jail for author for one thousand years!

Also, (artist almost dies rip))

"First, you have to find five treasures." Diavolo explained. "You know what these treasures are."

"...Vanitas, right?" You ask. "I read up on those-"

Your phone buzzes. You know your devilish muse doesn't mind you looking at your phone at this point.

-

[Owner][Day 4]

'Vanita paintings are a style of still life paintings that represent the emptiness of life. These motifs may seem mundane, but can mean something profound. Many of these motifs have many interpretations, but I have a few examples.'

'A musical instrument (i.e. trumpet) means transience of life.'

'A candle or lamp represents life's fleeting length.'

'A book or scroll means the futility of earthly knowledge.'

'A crown or jewel means vanity of wealth.'

'Lastly, a skull may mean mortality or death.'

'Ah... I'm a fra id I am to o la te, m y sp iri t is at ex ha u st ed. He ru le s ov er de a th as the re ap er hi ms e lf, an d no ne ca n be st hi m at hi s ga me.'

'I wi ll at th e le as t gi ve hi m a pl ac e in my ga ll er y af t er a ll th is. An ar t is t sh ou ld fi nd h im th er e.'

'Ye s, my bo y. I ha ve a ni ce, da rk ro om f or yo u.'

[Landlord][Day 1]

'I don't know what possessed me. I took it.'

'I ended up here, in this familiar studio. Where I found this painting. I'm in a nightmare.'

'So why did I take it? Will I see my family again? He whispers to me, perhaps confusing me for the woman who's studio I plundered the painting from. Please, lord. Forgive me. I wish I had paid mind to my art lessons.'

-

You put your phone away and set to work. You go back to your room to sketch the lamp, but decided to take it with you as well when you finished. "It might come in handy." You muse, exiting the room.

You sketched a crown hidden in the vines, the trumpet held by a cherub, and a skull on a shelf in the studio. You notice a person shaped stain below the easel, but broke focus away to go through a door.

The room is dark, and you can't see. "Wait, my soul lights up when I paint, right?" You ask yourself. "Then I can use that to light the lamp." Gathering your soul onto the brush, you light the lamp. You feel a little weak and your chest hurts a little, but you can see better. There's a diary in the fireplace, and you sketch it before picking it up.

...There's a missing spot there? You set your dimming lamp to see frames of almost similar paintings, with a empty space between them.

You phone buzzes...

-

No matter how many I paint, nothing compares to him, nothing is his equal.

My time is running thin, please paint him before my time runs out.

-

You rush out before the light fades, the door slamming shut behind you. "I...I found all five." You say, turning to face Diavolo.

"...your face looks pale." He states. "What happened in that-"

"It's-" You sigh as you cut him off, looking down. "It's not really important right now." When you look up again, the canvas showed his feet.

"Put everything you gathered on the bed." He says, that worried tone still in his voice. "I'll let you choose the colors this time."

You raise the paintbrush, your soul alighting it...

-

Somehow, you felt an ache in your heart. Something didn't feel right...

You have been calling all morning, but your sister is not answering. You thought she overslept, and started to do your laundry.

Quickly, you reached your car and drove to the hospital.

-

You finish painting the motifs, trembling; you picked gold for the trumpet and crown, purple for the book, and red for the lamp and skull.

"Bene." Diavolo answers. "Take a short break while I prepare."

"O-okay." You respond, stepping away from the canvas and sitting down. You realized that you were feeling drained- perhaps painting was draining you life away? 'I'm not going down without a fight.' You tell yourself, looking up as you see Diavolo with the motifs surrounding him.

"I will hide one of the treasures, and you will paint it here." He explains as you stand up. "Shall we begin?"

You step up to the canvas, nodding. "Yes." You answer. "Let's."

-

You hold back from speeding as you drive to the hospital, the feeling growing worse and worse. You have to get there as quickly as possible. "Hang on, sis." You say under your breath. "I'm coming."

-

You pant growing more exhausted. The first round was over. You watch as Diavolo looks you over. "We've only just started." He says, his voice soft with concern.

"I'm getting tired." You say, looking at your phone.

-

[Researcher][Day 4]

'I've heard of spirits going into the possessions they loved in life- I've collected a good number of these items, as a matter of fact. Perhaps these motifs appear due to being a manifestation of his memories, and I'm starting to realize-'

'Of course! This may have to do with the painting's painting as well! But where is her presence in all this? My body is getting weak from all this?'

'Somehow, my soul is stronger than my body is... I have a feeling the black splotch might have to do with the artist. I will rest for now, but whoever is next might be able to lift this curse. Maybe I'll wake up again, one way or another.'

-

The dying text looked different this time, not glitchy but... Different. "You know, the others haven't been able you live through this." You answer. "You'll live forever, but I can't." Your voice sounded resigned, making Diavolo stare at you with indifference-

No. This wasn't indifference, it is concern. He seems to shake it off. "... let's begin the next round." He said, sounding... remorseful?

You nod, lifting your alighted brush.

-

You burst through the hospital doors to the receptionist's desk, rattling off you were a relative and your sister's room number. The receptionist calms you down and says she'll talk to the doctor.

You sit in the waiting room, nervous. You felt like throwing up, but you hadn't eaten anything. It felt like forever until you saw a chaplain approached you. You heart drops.

You barely process the events; you were explained what had happened, you were taken to your sister's bedside where she was covered with a white sheet, and found yourself outside the room, blindsided. You notice-

It's him. You have a suspicion about it as he seems to weep openly to the doctors, but as he looked over to you, he smirked.

When there was a quiet moment with just the two of you, you whisper; "Why?"

He- the bastard that your sister was like once in love with until she realized what a monster he was, is still smirking as he gives his answer:

"If I can't have her, no one can."

-

You almost collapse, almost exhausted. Your brush is dimly lit, earning you a concerned look from Diavolo. "Well, it's over for me." You say, your tone somewhat defiant. "You won- I'm sorry you're nowhere close to finished."

He looks at you, his arrogant look seemingly to have faded. "You... You're not giving up this easily, are you?" He asks.

"I wouldn't if it wasn't for my body." You answer, focusing on the inky, body shaped stain on the floor. "My only other regret is that sister is going to be sad seeing me so soon- oh well, I guess it's a win either way."

"..." Diavolo doesn't say anything, for a moment. "You and a couple others listened to me- and you never gave up. You remind me of another artist, she seemed to be as morose as you. I wonder where she went..."

Your phone buzzes. "I think I know." You answer, knowing that soon after, you'd join your sister...

-

'My fellow artist? Will you listen? Will you let me regale you a tale of this portrait of mine, of the vivid, horrible week we spent together, and our'

-

"No."

No? You look up, seeing Diavolo holding a skull with a dim flame in it; the flame growing brighter. "I'm not letting you die like this, with neither of our ends of this unfulfilled." He says, his eyes full of angry tears. "We're going back to the beginning."

You were confused; he was trying to torment you the past few days, and now he was trying to save you?! "Just rest now." He said, eyes defiant to your possible death. "I will fix this."

You pass out as you hear a woman's voice speak;

"...and of her final days...?"

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommate au :)

Chapter 8 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

CW: mentions of verbal abuse, homophobia, alcoholism, jail time. instances of smoking. 

some notes: I usually go through and italicize as necessary when I’m posting on tumblr because it doesn’t copy over from my og text, but this chapter is like 6200 words and i’m just not gonna do that. recommend reading on AO3 for the best experience!!

An Exercise in Futility

Three Years Earlier

Castiel was convinced that his life was one massive, cosmic joke.

He’d been considering the possibility for some time. Being the gay son of a homophobic pastor does that to a person. When he discovered, sometime around the age of twelve, that the girls in his Sunday school class were far less interesting than the boys, he could practically feel God laughing at him. Then there was high school, where the religious prattling was replaced by what felt like endless torment at the hands of his peers. 

He felt like college was quickly becoming the third punchline.

Not that things were bad. Things were good, actually, better than they’d been in years. He was learning about things he cared about. He passed his midterms with flying colors. He even had friends. He spent a weekend watching all of the Lord of the Rings with Charlie. He had switched seats in accounting to sit next to Meg.

And, of course, there was Dean. Dean, who dragged Cas to a football game and didn’t drink a sip of alcohol the whole time in solidarity; Dean, who, after Tombstone, insisted on movie night every Tuesday; Dean, who, demanded that Cas print out a copy of one of his short stories and sign it (“When you’re a famous douchebag, this is gonna be worth so much money”).

It seemed that, on all fronts, Castiel had finally capitalized on the collegiate promise of a second chance. 

But by his own estimation, he was doomed.

Because sometimes, his palms started sweating when Dean stood too close. Sometimes, his heartbeat skipped when Dean threw an arm across Cas’s shoulders. Sometimes, Cas woke up from a dream so vivid, he was disappointed to find himself alone in his bunk bed.

He could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Dean Winchester, what with the blond hair and green eyes, bright smiles and southern lilt, funny jokes and considerate actions. The prospect was utterly terrifying, and Castiel was doing everything in his power to stop dwelling on it.

He’d been down the “falling in love with your straight best friend” road before. AP biology class brought Cas a lab partner in Ben Wright. Soccer team captain, A-student, all around nice guy. Maybe Ben didn’t do anything to stop the constant verbal torment, but he never took part in it. At first, being around him was exhilarating. Sharing looks, catching smiles, trading inside jokes; Cas was intoxicated. He was so high on first love that he made the mistake of confiding in Bartholomew. Cas had always considered him to be a role model, friend and brother at the same time. But that night, when Cas came out, Bartholomew looked at him like one might look at spoiled food. He’d agreed not to tell their father, on the condition that Cas never speak about the matter again, that he figure out some way to “cleanse himself.” They hadn’t spoken since that night.

And so the feelings that once propelled Castiel to school with anticipation suddenly made him dread it. Not only did baring his soul to a brother get him a one-way ticket to estrangement, but Ben started dating someone else, a girl from his English class. Now every shared look was painful, smiles were false, inside jokes stopped being funny.

It was somehow worse, knowing Ben could never feel the same way. It certainly didn’t help the feelings of guilt and shame brought by his family.

Cas would do anything not to feel that way again. 

He started by insisting that Dean invite Benny and Charlie to more of their nightly dinners. And while he honestly liked the both of them, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that their presence was, first and foremost, a distraction from Dean. He took up running again, as a way to get himself out of the dorm when Dean decided to stay in. He spent more time studying with Meg.

Meg was shockingly easy to befriend. She wasn’t nice — Cas had watched in shock when, once, she dumped a hot coffee on a skateboarder who had knocked her down on accident — but she never said a mean thing to Castiel. She was like him: a black sheep, the child everyone wished they could forget. Only, where Cas had become an agnostic and gone to college, Meg had become a Satanist and gone to jail for arson.

But this was her new leaf, she told him. Maybe it didn’t matter why someone needed a second chance, only that they were willing to take one.

They had been working for an hour when she threw her pen at his head and said, “Cas, you should come with me to Sig Ep’s Halloween party tomorrow. Be my date.”

Cas took a moment to process the meaning of party + date + with Meg. “Uh, I don’t — well, um, parties aren’t really —”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re allowed to say no, hun.”

Cas panicked. Meg was looking at him expectantly, her resigned smile making it clear she was prepared for rejection.

“Well, I… It’s not because of you — you’re very beautiful, and smart. Actually, you’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve met here.” She grinned at that. “It’s just, I don’t really… Go on dates. With girls.”

She studied him a moment before understanding lit up her face. “Oh.”

Castiel fidgeted with his pencil, refusing to meet her eyes. He’d only ever done this once, and it hadn’t gone well. But he liked having a friend, and more than that, he liked having Meg as a friend. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested because of any fault of her own.

“Cas,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she poked him in the arm. “Castiel.” He raised his eyes. “It’s cool. It’s not like you can just choose to like girls when a pretty one asks you on a date.”

“I… Understand, if you would rather not be friends,” Cas said, cautiously.

“What?” Meg’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Why would I not want to be friends?” She laughed a little. “That would be super ironic, considering I told you I went to juvie and you didn’t bat an eye.”

“Because I’m gay,” Cas said quietly, looking down again.

Meg grabbed both his hands. “Cas, hun, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

He looked up again, eyes wide. “What? I mean, I know that, I just… Not everyone does.”

Meg smiled sadly at him and gripped his hands a little tighter. “Well, I do. No biggie. We’re going to be iconic together, you and I. Sexiest gay-straight alliance of all time.”

Cas smiled weakly, relief flooding his entire body. “Thank you, Meg. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make any judgements on your character. It’s just… This,” he motioned at the air between them, “has never gone well for me.”

Meg shook her head. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think I can tell that you — all the parts of you — are awesome.”

“You can still come to the party,” she added after a moment.

Cas shook his head, capping and uncapping his pen repeatedly. “Parties… They’re not really my scene.”

“All right. You know who to call if you change your mind.”

                   On Halloween, Castiel returned from his nightly run to find Dean pulling on a flannel. He checked his watch — he had barely made it. 6:57 pm.

“Right on time,” Dean said. “I was about to leave without you.”

“I would have never forgiven you if you did,” Cas joked. Then, “Are Charlie and Benny coming?”

“Nah, they’re both busy tonight. Halloween parties, you know.”

“Oh.” Castiel took a large sip of his water. “You’re not attending a Halloween party?”

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t really feeling it tonight. Plus, I have a feeling you’ve never seen The Exorcist?” When Cas shook his head, Dean rubbed his hands together. “Oh man, we are totally watching it tonight. Unless you’re busy,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Cas.

“I’m not,” Cas replied. Dean knew this already, of course, otherwise Cas might have made something up. The waters in which he tread got more dangerous each day. He couldn’t escape the warm feeling flooding his chest at the idea of Dean ditching the parties for a movie night.

It was precisely that feeling that caused him to hurriedly ask, “Would you mind if I invited Meg to dinner?”

“Who?” Dean asked, lacing up his boots.

“Meg Masters. She’s the friend from accounting that I told you about.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “Right. What, just me isn’t good enough anymore?” Cas thought he was joking, but it seemed forced.

“Dean —”

“I’m kidding, man,” Dean said with a short laugh. “Sure, she can come.”

Castiel hurriedly splashed his face with cold water and shed his sweaty t-shirt in favor of a hoodie. Dean feigned a sniff in his direction and made a face, to which Cas replied with an eye-roll. As they left their dorm, Cas sent a text to Meg.

CN (7:02 pm)

Would you like to get dinner with Dean and me?

CN (7:02 pm)

Unless you’re already at your party, in which case, be safe.

MM (7:03 pm)

Party not til later. hot roommate dean?

CN (7:04 pm)

...Is that a yes?

MM (7:04 pm)

Yes please ;) shocker dining?

CN (7:05 pm)

Yes. We’ll meet you there.

Dean grabbed a burger and an inordinate amount of fries while Castiel loaded his plate with spaghetti and a salad. Meg walked into the dining room just after he and Dean sat down, and Cas waved her over.

“Meg,” he said, offering her the seat next to his, “this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Meg Masters.” Dean smiled at her with a mouthful of french fries. Cas dropped his head in exasperation.

“Pleasure,” Meg said with a half-cocked smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean shrugged. “I am pretty awesome. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

Cas went bright red. He shot Dean a glare, then turned to Meg. “He’s joking —”

Meg’s grin only widened, and she giggled. “It’s all right, Cas, I’m not very interesting.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He became extremely intent upon eating his dinner.

Dean stared at her for a moment, chewing a bite of burger. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You know Cas from accounting?”

“That’s right,” Meg said brightly.

“So he’s your tutor or somethin’?”

Cas interjected. “Actually, Meg is far more capable than I am. She essentially taught me everything about liabilities.”

“Adorable,” Dean grumbled.

“Isn’t it?” Meg asked sweetly. “And you’re his roommate.”

“Yep.”

“Lucky you.” She gave him a wink. Dean choked on his diet Coke, and Castiel prayed to whomever was listening that he might cease to exist.

“Meg,” he said, giving her a pointed look, “did you finish the homework?”

She pulled her eyes away from Dean. “Yeah, I did.” She dropped her voice. “Did you want to go over it? At my place?” She winked at Cas, who stared at her in horror. Why was she acting like this? “You know,” Meg continued, “We can do other things too. Besides accounting.”

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “I’m gonna go grab some more fries. Do y’all want anything?” 

Cas and Meg shook their heads. When Dean had left the table, Cas gave Meg a death stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” He hissed. “I thought we covered this —”

“Yes, Cas, hun, I know you’re extraordinarily gay,” Meg said with an eyeroll. “I’m not actually interested. I’m just conducting an experiment.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What ‘experiment’—”

He closed his mouth abruptly and leaned away from Meg when he saw Dean returning from the buffet line. He returned to his seat, looking between Cas and Meg suspiciously. Cas downed his water in one swift action.

“So, Dean,” Meg said after taking a bite of her pizza. “I hear you’re educating our friend here on pop culture.”

Dean didn’t bother to look up at her while he swirled a fry in ketchup. “Guess so.” 

Cas cleared his throat to interject. This direction of conversation was much better. “Meg asked what my favorite movie was,” he explained to Dean, who still hadn’t looked up from his plate. “I told her about how much I liked Back to the Future when we watched it last week.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that movie’s friggin’ awesome.”

Cas turned to Meg. “We’re watching The Exorcist tonight.” 

Meg gasped dramatically. “So that’s why you blew off our date?”

Dean sputtered into his drink. “Date?” He said through a cough.

Cas looked helplessly at Meg, who unhelpfully smiled back. He was going to have words with her after this. 

“I asked him to come to the SigEp party, but he said he was busy,” Meg said, feigning a pout. “But I get it, parties aren’t really Cas’s thing, anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flickered quickly between Cas and Meg. “All right, am I missing something?” He asked. His leg was bouncing against the table leg, hard enough that Cas’s plate was vibrating. 

Cas looked at him, panicked, and stuttered out, “I don’t —”

“Like what?” Meg asked, sipping on her water.

“You his girlfriend or somethin’?”

This question delighted Meg. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Dean turned to Cas with an exasperated look. “Well?” He prodded.

Cas was sure he was about three different shades of red at this point. “What — I — no,” he sputtered.

Dean seemed to relax a little. Meg was still grinning like a madman. “There you go,” she said.

Castiel could not formulate a single coherent thought. He was confused as to how they even ended up here. The silence between the three of them was thick and awkward. Meg paid it no mind, just popped a strawberry in her mouth and gave Dean a sickly sweet smile. Dean excused himself to use the restroom, hitting his leg on the table and nearly tripping over his chair. Once he had left, Meg turned to Cas, her eyes sparkling.

“You are so in,” she said.

“What the hell was that?” He asked her. “What just happened?”

“He thinks I’m into you,” she explained. She took a bite of her pizza, then continued, “And he thinks you might be into me. And he hates that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cas scoffed.

Meg laughed, throwing her head back. When Cas fixed her with a glare, her eyes widened. “You really don’t see it?”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing to ‘see’. I already told you.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever, you’ll thank me later.”

“For creating what is perhaps the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had in my life?”

She waved him off. “Don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t that bad.”

Cas gave her a look that suggested otherwise. She sighed.

“Look, the way you talk about him…” Meg grabbed Cas's hand when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. You like him, and now you know he likes you too.” She sat up proudly. “I just did all the heavy lifting for you.”

“Right,” Cas said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Obviously, this interaction points to an inevitable romantic encounter. Except, and I think this is important, Dean is not gay.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Well, the way he looks at you, he’s not straight either. Plus, he apparently still thinks you’re straight, so you two haven’t had that conversation yet. He could be flamingly bisexual and you would never know.”

“This conversation is exhausting.” Cas felt like he was watching a Disney Channel Original Movie, and Meg was a fifteen-year-old matchmaker.

Meg laughed. “I’m sure you’ll survive. By the way, did you actually want to go over the homework this weekend?”

“Yes,” he said, relieved at the change in subject.

Dean returned then. “Are y’all done?” He asked, pointing to their plates. Cas and Meg both nodded, offering “thank you’s” as Dean took their plates to the dish rack. They followed him to the exit, the crisp air sending a chill through Castiel.

“Did you want me to walk back with you, Meg?” Cas offered.

She beamed at him. “You’re so sweet, but no. I’m getting an Uber to Sig Ep, anyway.” She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out something small and black. “Plus, if anyone tries anything, they’ll find themselves electrocuted. Just a little bit.”

Cas grinned. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“See you on Monday, Cas,” Meg said, giving him a hug that lasted just a touch too long. “It was good to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean muttered.

They watched her walk away for a moment. Cas wanted to avoid looking at Dean for as long as humanly possible. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain the previous interaction.

“So,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “She’s… Nice.”

“She is,” Castiel agreed earnestly. “Dean, I’m sorry, Meg can be a bit…” He struggled to find an adequate descriptor. “I think she enjoys others’ discomfort a bit too much, sometimes,” he finished.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It’s not a big deal, man.”

They stood in silence, Dean looking at the ground intently, Cas tugging on the strings of his hoodie. Dean kicked a rock, then sighed. “You, uh, you ready to head back?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

The walk back to their dorm was quiet. Castiel couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Dean looked bothered. He felt bad — he had honestly expected for Meg and Dean to get along. He had thought them to be similar in their confident and boisterous personalities. Now, he wondered if that was precisely the problem. Too much personality at the same dinner table. He winced internally at his own poor judgement. Meg obviously took no issue with the encounter, but he worried that Dean might hold it against him.

Dean let them into their room, then wrinkled his nose at Cas once more. “Dude, seriously, go take a shower. You’re gross.”

“Actually, I enjoy the feeling of my sweat drying all over my skin. I was thinking of going straight to bed like this. It’s not as if I didn’t take a shower because of your constant insistence upon eating meals at the same time every day”

Dean made a gagging motion. “Hey, we had an appointment, and you were almost late. How is that my fault?”

Cas just rolled his eyes and gathered his things to head to the showers. He let out a muttered, “Crap” when he realized nearly all of his laundry was dirty. He’d been busy this week, and running every day tended to render his clothes unwearable after a single use. He made a mental note to do laundry first thing in the morning. He was able to find an old pair of gym shorts, but not a single t-shirt remained in his closet. Cas groaned inwardly. So he would simply have to sit next to Dean for approximately two-and-a-half hours, shirtless. Fantastic.

When he returned from his shower, Cas found Dean cooking two bags of popcorn, the title menu of The Exorcist already on screen. Dean stood up from the microwave when Cas entered, and was halfway into a thumbs-up when he did a double take.

“Uh… We goin’ shirtless tonight, Baywatch?” He said, tugging at his collar.

Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, dude.”

Cas sighed as he sat on their beanbag. “I have a lot of laundry to do tomorrow,” he said by way of an explanation.

Dean didn’t respond, but made his way to his own closet. He ruffled through it for a moment before Cas was hit in the face by a t-shirt.

“Here, just wear one of mine,” Dean said. He coughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “‘S kinda cold in here, anyway.”

Cas held up the shirt. It was a Led Zeppelin graphic tee, vintage, from their tour in 1977. Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean.

“It’s pretty awesome right?” Cas donned the t-shirt. “Sammy got it for me from a Goodwill a couple years ago. Another of my prized possessions.” He looked at Cas with feigned scrutiny. “Looks good on you,” he said.

Cas played with the hem as he said, “Thank you.” Dean coughed again and walked back to the microwave to retrieve their popcorn. The air was palpable with awkwardness.

Dean turned out the lights. They settled onto the beanbag, as had become custom in the last few weeks. 

Not even thirty minutes in, Dean’s phone began to ring. “Hey, my brother’s callin’, can you pause it?” Dean said.

Cas obliged, and Dean stood as he said, “Hey, Sammy, how’s it goin’?”

Cas sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap, doing his best not to eavesdrop on Dean’s conversation. Though, he supposed if it was private, Dean could have moved to the hallway. Instead, he leaned against the door, twisting the beaded bracelet on his left hand. 

“He did what?” Dean suddenly yelled, and Cas jumped. Dean shot him a quick apologetic look. “

“Sammy, calm down, it’s okay,” Dean said, and Cas couldn’t pretend to not listen anymore. He looked at Dean with a silent question, but Dean was staring hard at the wall, his free hand balled into a fist. 

“Put him on the phone,” Dean said in a low voice. A pause. “What, so now he’s allowed to treat you like shit whenever he wants?” Another pause. A slow exhale from Dean. “No, you’re right. I don’t… I won’t make it worse.” Pause. “Do you want me to come down there? Because I will, you know I will.” 

Dean was silent for a long moment before asking, “Are you sure?” He sighed at whatever his brother said on the other line. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, I guess. And Sam? I’m really fucking sorry. I should’ve stayed, I don’t…” He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. Yeah. Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” 

Dean lowered the phone from his ear. He stood silently for a moment, angry gaze directed at the floor. Then, causing Cas to jump once more, he turned and hurled his fist at the door. 

There was a loud thud upon impact, and then Dean was yelling “Fuck! Goddammit!” as he cradled his hand. Cas stood abruptly, but had no idea what to do. He walked toward Dean, cautiously.

Dean’s eyes were closed, and he was heaving deep breaths. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “Dean?” He ventured.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, still not looking at Cas. “I just — Fuck, that was so stupid,” he said, shaking out his affected hand. “Sorry,” he repeated to the wall. 

“It’s fine,” Cas said, even though he thought it definitely wasn’t. “What happened?” 

Dean just shook his head. Cas’s hand remained on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, a little nervous that Dean might shove him off. “Dean,” he persisted. “You can tell me.” 

Finally, Dean looked at him, and Cas thought if that level of rage was ever directed at him, he would promptly die. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?” 

“No,” Dean growled. “I gotta — I don’t know, I need to calm down. I don’t actually want to break something,” he said, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna go for a smoke.” 

Cas dropped his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Cas —” Dean started, but Cas silenced him with a look. He grabbed one of Dean’s flannels from his desk chair and threw it at him. Dean caught it with a cross between surprise and irritation. Cas grabbed his own windbreaker and put it on, looking expectantly at Dean. 

“Are we going?” He asked. 

Dean looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether arguing was worth it. A sigh confirmed that it wasn’t. He silently pulled on his flannel and opened the door, ushering Cas through before exiting himself. 

They walked in silence, despite the fervor of Cas’s concern and curiosity at Dean’s outburst. Dean’s jaw was set, and he took a long, slow breath when they hit the crisp fall air. When they reached the Impala, Cas silently moved to lean on the hood while Dean retrieved his lighter and a cigarette. 

Dean joined Cas as he took a long draw. He exhaled the smoke upwards, his eyes closed. His face was still turned to the sky when he asked, “This really doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

Dean brandished his cigarette in answer, turning to raise an eyebrow at Cas. 

Cas shrugged. “It’s not particularly comforting. But, there are worse things.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up thoughtfully. “Besides, you’ve been smoking for years. If anyone could convince you to quit, your random college roommate isn’t the most likely option.” 

Dean gave him a strange look before exhaling another plume of smoke. He coughed a little. “I think you have long passed the line between ‘random roommate’ and ‘new best friend.’”

Cas gave a little chuckle. “That’s good to hear.” Inside, his world was falling down and rebuilding itself anew. Dean thought of Cas as his best friend. Cas had never known that feeling, to have someone care about him like that. Cas wondered if that could be enough, being Dean’s best friend.  

He didn’t say anything more, though, just let Dean finish his cigarette. After throwing the butt on the pavement and stomping on it, he heaved a sigh. 

“My dad…” He started, but paused. “He, uh, he said some stuff to Sam. My brother.” 

Cas nodded, doing his best to keep his face neutral. Talking things through wasn’t Dean’s strong suit, and Cas didn’t want dramatics to make it more difficult. 

“What did he say?”

Dean shifted and rubbed his hands together. “Bunch of bullshit. ‘It’s your fault your Mom’s dead, it should have been you instead of her.’” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I mean, he used to say that to me. He gets into these moods when he drinks, says a bunch of shit he doesn’t mean.” 

Dean shoved himself off the hood and began to pace in front of Cas. “But I could take it, you know? Sammy’s just a kid. He doesn’t need to hear that.” 

“Your father says things like this often?” Cas asked, a tinge of horror in his voice. 

“He used to. But only to me. Never to Sam.” 

Cas took a deep breath, trying to discern how best to proceed. “Dean,” he said slowly, “he shouldn’t say those things. Ever. Not to Sam, and not to you.” 

“I’m just confused,” Dean said. “And pissed. Sam and him are usually okay. I mean, they’re not buddies or anything, but Dad leaves him alone for the most part.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” Cas said, “But it seems like your father used you as an outlet for misplaced rage. A punching bag, if you will. And now you’re gone, so Sam is the next best thing.” 

Dean met Cas'seyes with a horrified look. “God. I didn’t… You’re right. Shit, this is my fault, I can’t believe I —”

“No, Dean,” Cas growled. He stood and grabbed Dean by both shoulders. “This is your father’s fault. Not yours.”

“But I left Sam, alone, with him,” Dean said, and Cas could see panic rising in his eyes. “How could I do that, why —” Cas interrupted him again. “Why did you decide to attend college, Dean? What’s the real reason?”

“What?” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t know.” 

Cas tilted his head down, skeptical. 

Dean let out a long sigh. “Okay, all right. I went because Sam is smart, and he needs to go. But we don’t have any money. So I figured if I came and got a degree or some shit, I could make enough to throw him some cash while he goes to school. Get some summer internships and save up for his college fund. He’d probably still have to take out loans and stuff, but if I got a good job, I could help him pay them off.” 

Cas wasn’t sure what answer he had expected, but it wasn’t that one. He felt his heart break for the man standing in front of him, who did everything he could and more for the people he cared about and never felt like it was enough. 

“Would Sam ever hold that against you?” When Dean didn’t respond, Cas continued. “I know I wouldn’t. I have four older siblings, and not a single one of them has ever done something like that for me.”

“But—”

“You’re making yourself miserable over something that isn’t your fault,” Cas said. “Did you have anyone protecting you when your father went on a tirade?” 

“No, but—”

“Is Sam incapable of handling himself?”

“No, but Cas—”

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas insisted. “You can’t live your whole life as his shield. You’ll break yourself trying.” 

Dean was silent, and wouldn’t  meet Cas's eyes. Cas dropped his hands and leaned back against the Impala. “Did you ever think that Sam might have wanted you to go to school simply so you could get yourself out? Did you ever think that Sam hates the way your father treated you as much as you hate what he did to Sam tonight?” 

Dean pursed his lips together, but his jaw relaxed slightly. Finally, he muttered, “I guess I never thought about it like that.” 

Cas felt relief wash over him. He’d never seen Dean like this — angry and frantic. Cas wondered if Dean always did this, shouldered the blame for every bad thing his brother had to endure. The thought made his chest hurt. 

Dean’s hands were hanging limply at his side. He looked exhausted. Against his better judgement, Cas grabbed Dean by the forearm and pulled him into a hug. Dean was still for a moment, but then sighed and rested his head on Cas's shoulder. 

“Sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean to act like that, punching things and shit. I just get so angry, and I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Cas was trying very hard to form a coherent thought. “There’s no need for apologies. I understand.” 

A chuckle escaped Dean’s lips. “You must think I’m a complete nutjob, huh?” 

Cas tilted his head in consideration. Dean’s hair tickled his cheek. “No. I think your father spent years verbally abusing you, and you’re doing your best in spite of that.” 

Dean broke the hug abruptly. The sudden space between them felt criminal. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s abuse…” He started, but, at Cas's look, he trailed off. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, Cas,” he said quietly. “Honestly, dude, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

Cas's cheeks warmed, and he shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. Cas’s heart nearly broke with relief. “I’m beat,” he said. “Bed?” 

Cas nodded eagerly. “Bed.” 

When they reached the stairs, Dean broke the heavy silence.

“So…” He began. There was a false brightness in his voice; he was obviously searching for levity. “You hanging out with your girlfriend tomorrow?” 

“If you’re referring to Meg, she’s still not my girlfriend,” Cas replied vacantly. “And yes.” He suddenly felt exhausted. First the mortifying dinner with Meg, then the heavy conversation with Dean. He hardly had it in him to field jokes about Meg being his girlfriend.

“She’s not your girlfriend yet,” Dean amended, giving Cas a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. 

And what was Cas supposed to say to that? Meg was funny and smart and beautiful. She and Cas studied together on the regular. There was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t be interested in Meg from Dean’s perspective. 

Of course, if Dean knew he was gay… 

Cas didn’t know if he could face the consequences of coming out to Dean. Would he be upset that Cas hadn’t told him earlier? Would he be uncomfortable with a gay man as his roommate? As his friend? Cas may have expanded his social circle, but he still couldn’t bear to lose Dean. 

But, then again, Dean had defended him once already, without knowing whether or not he was gay. He’d sounded indifferent to the possibility then. And just tonight, he’d called Cas his best friend. Dean cared more deeply for his friends and family than anyone Cas had ever met. Cas was in that group. Dean wouldn’t shove him out of it because of who he loved.

Right?

As they reached the entrance to their hall, Dean poked Cas in the shoulder. “Hey, Earth to Major Tom,” he said. “You okay over there?” 

Cas realized he hadn’t said a word since they started their ascent up the stairs. He sighed heavily.

Perhaps this was as good a time as any. 

“Dean,” he said, but closed his mouth. He should just say it. He had nothing to worry about. This wasn’t Bartholomew. He knew that, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“What?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Cas,” he prodded, waving a hand in front of Cas’s face. 

“I’m not…” Cas swallowed. “I will never date Meg,” he finished, with a pointed look. 

Dean side-eyed him as they walked to their door. “What, she’s not your type?” 

Cas gave him a lopsided smile. “You could say that.” 

“I dunno, man, maybe you should reconsider, you two are pretty adorable, in a gross way —”

“Dean.” Cas was about to rip his hair out. He wasn’t taking the hint. “She’s not my type. She’s a girl.”

Realization dawned on Dean’s face. “Oh,” he said.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner,” Cas said, bracing for the worst. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand —”

“What?” Dean practically shouted. At Cas’s look of surprise, he lowered his voice. “No, Cas, are you kidding? I thought I told you, after all that shit with Cole. It’s not a big deal.”

“Knowing your roommate might possibly be gay and knowing he is, indeed, gay are two very different things.”

Dean looked at Cas like he had just made the worst joke in the world. “I’m not gonna, like, try to move out.” As they approached their room, Cas stared resolutely ahead, walking with purpose. But Dean jumped out in front of him, a hand on Cas’s chest to stop him in his tracks. 

“Dude, it’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me. I lost my shit and punched a door, like, an hour ago, and you barely even blinked.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Cas met Dean’s eyes and found unparalleled sincerity.

“I don’t… You’re not the least bit upset?” Cas asked, slightly incredulous. 

Dean shrugged. “You’re my best friend, Cas,” he said as he straightened. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” He pulled on his bracelet. “I do feel bad though, for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Not that you had to, or anything,” he added in a rush.  

Cas shook his head vigorously. “It has nothing to do with you, Dean. I’m… I’m new at this,” Cas explained. “The first time, with Bartholomew… I believe he was, as you would say, a dick about it.” 

Dean’s eyes turned stormy. “Bastard,” he said. “I’m sorry, Cas. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” 

Cas nodded. “You’re right. It was rather unfortunate. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I told him I was gay.” 

Dean moved back to Cas’s side and slung an arm around his shoulders. “His loss,” he said. “You’re friggin’ awesome, dude.” 

Cas smiled. Dean patted him on the back and let the two of them into their room. 

Cas brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Dean returned minutes later from a shower, and he flipped off the lights as he made his way to his own bunk. 

Cas pulled off Dean’s shirt and threw it across the room. Dean’s head caught it, and he yelped.

“Thank you for the loan,” Cas said, smiling. 

An odd expression crossed Dean’s face before he threw the Zeppelin shirt back to Cas. “Keep it,” he said. When Cas gave him a confused look, he put a hand on the back of his neck. “I meant what I said. Looks good on you.” 

---------

tagging @nguyenxtrang :)))

[sinnamonn]

Now and Then, Here and There

The Secret Society free a former member of the Justice League, one who has seen multiple worlds and have lost just as many.

Warnings: Uhhh suicidal ideation towards the end

“...If I could do that for her,” Grodd gestured to Giganta, “Imagine what I can do for you.” The ape set down the picture frame. Clay face wondered if it was worth it for a minute, sure he wanted to be normal again, but the idea of keeping his powers plus being normal was too good of an offer. it’s not like Sinsetro, Killer Frost, Shade, and Parasite would just follow any villain blindly. He had to have been offering them something just as good.

“I’m in.” He replied, normalcy, sweet normalcy, Clayface could almost taste i

“Perfect. But to do that, we need to pick up one last friend.” He said.

“Wait a minute! You never said anything about another member.” Parasite exclaimed,

“I’m getting impatient, Grodd.” Sinestro added, “Just how long until we take down the league?!”

The group began to become restless, but Grodd remained calm. He was smarter than this whole group combined, after all, he could control them.

“Now, now, If we want to bring down the league she is integral to that.” Grodd said.

“She?” Killer Frost repeated.

“I can see you’re curious. Standing here arguing won’t get her here faster, now, let's take a little field trip to CADMUS.” Grodd started towards the exit. The others held back, exchanging looks.

But Grodd hadn’t lied to them.

So they followed.

“So how are we getting in exactly? CADMUS Labs aren’t exactly a cakewalk.” Shade asked, squeezed into the back seat with the others. Giganta’s car was spacious enough, but it was no minivan. Shade had been sandwiched between Parasite and Sinestro with Clayface and Frost at either windows.

“I’ve been sending out waves to a security guard there, he’ll let us in easy.” Grodd replied

“You really thought of everything, huh?” Giganta smiled at him.

“Of course.”

The lower levels of Cadmus were creepy. Lit by red LEDs and metal walls, the group’s footsteps echoed within the hallways. The red also illuminated...things, dead things preserved in formaldehyde. Aliens maybe? Failed experiments?

“Creepy…”

“The one we’re getting is alive right?” Shade asked, “ I’m good with a lot of things but carrying around a corpse isn’t one of them.”

“Not to worry, our new friend is very much alive, she’s just sleeping.” Grodd answered.

“That’s what my folks told me when my dog died when I was a kid, you sure about that Grodd?” Clayface questioned him.

“I’m absolutely positive, why would CADMUS keep a dead body under lock and key?”

“Touché.”

A door with a passcode lock, reinforced with steel.

“Frost?” Grodd said, not taking his eyes off the door.

“On it.” She placed her hand on the lock ,freezing and then destroying the keypad. With the security system broken, the inner locks released, revealing a small room. It was barren save for a few small tables towards the back surrounding a single cryogenic sleep container.

“Is that a kid in there!?” Clayface asked, squinting into the chamber’s small window. He was correct, floating inside the chamber was a small girl with an oxygen mask attached to her face. What had to be the most eye-catching thing about this girl was her hair, vibrant orange floated around her face, but the roots and bangs were a stark white in comparison.

“They just locked her up and left her here?” Giganta turned to Grodd, he nodded, a grim look on his face.

“Unfortunately yes, probably for years, the extent to which CADMUS is willing to go is horrifying.” He explained, “But before we free our new friend, it’s imperative that from now on we call the Justice League the Justice Lords.”

“Justice Lords?” Shade repeated, “Why the change?”

“You’ll see.” Grodd simply replied, inputting the code to the container's keypad. The sound of air letting out of the container filled the room, opening and fully revealing the girl. She looked so fragile and pale, her skin nearly pure white from the lack of sun .

Giganta was the one to catch the girl before she hit the ground, gently removing the oxygen mask from her face.

Oh, she had freckles.

Still, the redhead didn’t move and for a moment Grodd though that she was actually dead. Maybe CADMUS really did keep a dead body under lock and key?

The girl’s sleep-filled groan proved otherwise, and once again Grodd was right.

“Wha…?” Bleary, half lidded eyes scanned their surroundings. Seemingly upon realizing the company, the girl yelled and scrambled out of Giganta’s hold, shakily getting to her feet. “Who are you!? What world is this!?” Her eyes shot manically around the room, “Where am I!?”.

“Hey, calm down! What are you talking about?” Parasite said.

“ What’s happening in this world!?” She reiterated, only to be met with silent confusion. She sighed, “Are Themyscira and Atlantis at war?”

“Uh, no?” Clayface answered.

“Is Darkseid on earth?”

“Nope.” Shade replied

“Is Superman a communist?”

“Wha-? I don’t think he’s a communist?” Parasite answered confusedly.

“I’ll take that as a no, what about the Justice League? Are they still the league or are they a crime syndicate?” The redhead pressed.

“No, they don’t call themself that.” Grodd replied before anyone else had a chance to, the girl let out a sigh of relief.

“Ok, good, The Flash in that world was a major creep.” She replied, the soft smile she held faded when she saw Grodd’s expression.

“They don’t call themselves the Justice League either…” He trailed off. A manipulation tactic meant for the girl to fill in the blanks herself, and it worked.

“No...they’re calling themselves the Justice Lords, aren’t they?” She raked a hand through her hair, “ Damn it! I was so close this time…”

Grodd nodded, “I’m afraid so, they’re also the reason you were held by CADMUS.”

“Checks out. So I take it you guys are a resistance group now?” She questioned, turning her attention back to the others. The gorilla smiled down at her,

“You catch on fast. We call ourselves the Secret Society, I am—“

“Gorilla Grodd,” She interrupted and turned to the others, “and you’re Giganta, Shade, Parasite, Clayface, don’t know you but judging by the uniform you’re a red lantern, and Killer Frost. Some of us have met in other worlds.”

Awkward silence, the society looked between themselves, not knowing how to react to that.

Shade cleared his throat, “well, you seem to already know us, that just leaves you then.”

The girl chuckled dryly, “The only thing that truly stays consistent...Call me Illusium. Now let's get out of here before those fascists realize I’m out. ”

As if on cue, an alarm went off.

“Little late for that.” Giganta stated, looking from the door to the girl. Illusium merely smirked.

“CADMUS’s foot soldiers are no problem.” Illusium’ s hospital gown rustled as she walked out, facing the coming security officers, “Thought you could keep me locked up?” She glared at them, pupil’s beginning to glow red, “Idiots.” A simple wave of her hand, the guards stopped, looking wide-eyed at nothing. At least, that’s what the rest of the society thought. To Illusium and the guards, in front of them was one of Darkseid’s paradooms. Of course, only Illusium knew it was an illusion, what kind of League member would she be if she didn’t have control of her powers?

Besides, paradooms didn’t scare her anymore.

Yelling, blind shooting, bullets flying in the opposite direction; the guards were distracted, giving the others ample time to escape.

“Let’s go before they realize it’s a fake!” The redhead called back to the others before taking off.

“What did ya do to em’!?” Clayface asked, Illusium laughed.

“Made ‘em see something scary!”

They burned rubber speeding out of CADMUS, the first phase in Grodd’s plan going smoothly and with no interference from the League. This time around, in this world, the Secret Society was practically guaranteed to win.

“This is familiar.” Illusium stated, walking around the Society’s base; taking in all the computers and tech they had managed to compile. She had changed out of the hospital gown, now wearing a comically oversized sweater originally belonging to Giganta.

“So you’ve been here before?” Killer frost asked, Illusuim only shook her head.

“Not here exactly, but similar.”

Shade chimed in, “I gotta know what you did back there, you made those guards look terrified of thin air.”

“It’s a part of my power, I can project pieces of my memories onto whoever I choose to,” She explained, “the other part of it is immortality through quantum death. You guys know what that is, right?”

“Familiar with the concept, but who am I to explain your power?” Grodd replied.

“‘Kay...So it’s like this: you’re sitting on the ledge of a cliff, you decide whether or not to jump, but in the end you jump. The very moment that decision is made, a parallel universe where you didn’t jump is created, and here’s where my ability comes in,” Illusium swallowed, “Everytime I die I’m transported to a different world, all my memories of the previous one stay intact.”

“So that’s why you were freaking out about what world this was?” Parasite asked, she nodded.

“Yep, I call it the Death Loop.” Illusium.

“That sounds...intense.” Gigianta said, “How did you even figure that out?”

“Well, At first I thought I could temporarily shift to parallel realities. In that first world, myself and the League went to fight Darkseid, but little did we know he had planted spyware on one of us and...he...he killed everyone.” She scratched at her wrist, laughing nervously, “Including me. One minute I’m being torn apart by paradooms and the next thing I know. Amazons and Altlantians are killing each other and Wonder Woman is running a sword through me!”

“It was so weird. Sometimes it was minor changes, the league was fully intact except for a different Green Lantern or different Flash, and other times it was completely haywire, like they weren’t the Justice League at all but instead they were a crime syndicate and everyone looked and acted so different. The worst part was constantly seeing people you’ve known most of your life look at you like an enemy, or even worse a stranger.”

Killer Frost put a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her manic talk. “Don’t worry, this world’s gonna be different , for everyone.”

“Yeah, we’ll make it right!” Gigianta added.

Grodd and Shade stood away from the group, both of them watching as Illusium chatted away with the rest of the group.

“What’re you planning?” Shade asked, looking to the Gorilla

“Oh, it’s nothing elaborate. Illusium is a former league member, she knows how they think, how they fight. With her thinking they’re the bad guys our victory will be as easy as taking candy from a baby.”

“True, someone from the inside gives us an advantage, but what if she realizes that you’re lying.”

“She won’t. She’s lost so many worlds that she’ll cling to the first semblance of allyship offered to her.” He turned to rejoin the rest of the group, “So make sure all of you play nice.”

That night, Illusium lay on top of the Society’s hideout. They couldn’t sleep, probably because they’d been in cryogenic sleep for god knows how long. The stars were different here, they were always different depending on the world.

She wondered what the stars would look like in the world after this one?

Illusium could find out if they were to jump. It would be easy, they’d die from shock before hitting the ground and—

She shook her head, no, no suicide. Illusium needed to stay here, she needed to help the Society , she needed to find a world without losers and this one had barely even started. She needed to fight.

“Hey there.” Without noticing Killer Frost had taken a seat next to her, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve been asleep for god knows how long,” Illusium replied, not taking her eyes off the sky, “what about you?”

“Curious, I wanna know the dirt you have on the others. You know, from the other worlds?” Frost elaborated.

Despite looking different, Frost still acted the same as she did back in Arkham. Illusium gave them a half smile,

“Looking for dirt on the rest of the Society or just other villains in general, ‘cause I’ve seen so many versions of everyone.”

Killer frost shrugged and Illusium took that as the latter.

“Well, for starters, the two of us met back in Arkham.” Illusium started, “We were on Task Force X with Quinn, Copperhead, Deadshot, and some other guys.”

“Task Force X?” Killer Frost repeated.

“A suicide squad.”

“Oh. So we…”

“Yeah, we died.”

“Lame.”

“I know right?” Illusium chuckled, “ but that world was fun. You and Harley made it fun.”

The two stayed up for hours, talking about the past worlds Illusium had been, how in one Harley Quinn had her own villain league, the “superman is a commie” world, and one where there was a new Batman, one that was much more spry than the original.

Illusium had to stay here. Stay and fix this world, maybe once they had taken out the Justice Lords she could find a way to prevent Darkseid from coming here.

She wouldn’t let this world end in tragedy like the others.

[pictureswithboxes]

Chapter 6 of Understanding The Heathers is up.

AO3 Link [x]

There was a phenomenon where if a domestic cat was left on its own long enough, it would revert back to its feral state. Her father had told her that this was referred to as going ‘house feral.’ After seeing and hearing about how often The Heathers’ parents were out of the house, Veronica was sure that The Heathers had gone house feral. That was the only way to explain the horror show that was the game of Monopoly Veronica found herself part of. 

Though, she was less of a player and more like a referee. 

“Heather, get off of Heather!” Veronica exclaimed when Chandler had tackled Mac onto the floor after she had bought ‘Pennsylvania Railroad.’ 

“You know that it’s my strategy to buy all the Railroads!” Chandler growled. 

They paid her no mind as Mac wrapped her legs around Chandler’s waist and reversed their positions handily. “It’s everyone’s strategy to buy the Railroads! You’ve already got two, I couldn’t let you get them all! It’s just good sense!” She pinned Chandler’s hands above her head with one swift motion.

 Veronica averted her eyes, feeling rise to her cheeks. Her mouth went a little dry, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was intruding on a private moment. Especially with how close Mac and Chandler’s faces were, their noses were practically touching and their lips were mere inches apart. 

“She’s right, Heather and you know it. We’re all in it to win.” Duke said, she looked more interested in reorganizing her money than with whatever the hell was going on right next to her. “If you guys fuck up the board, you’re going to have to fix it.”

“Oh my god, fine, Heather!” Chandler rolled her eyes. “Just let me up!”

Mac sat up, not taking her eyes off Chandler. “Just remember, I can do this any time I want.” 

Veronica cleared her throat. “Heather, it’s your turn.” She said, nodding her head toward Duke. 

If Veronica had known that playing a game with The Heathers meant that there would be acts of violence, she would have thought twice about betting against them. So far Chandler had already torn the three property cards in half, Mac was balling up her bills and throwing them at the people she owed money to, and Veronica already had to wrestle a hammer from Duke. She didn’t even want to know what Duke was going to do with the hammer. 

Duke rolled the dice and let out a loud cheer when she saw the result. She’d landed on the Free Parking space. 

“Fuck you entirely!” Chandler shouted, slamming her hands against the coffee table. 

Duke laughed as she collected the bills from the center of the board. “You’re just mad because half of this came from you.”

“That’s exactly why I’m mad!” Chandler snapped. “Just you wait, you’ll land on my hotels and I’ll get all your fucking cash.” 

Veronica looked at the board and had to admit, Chandler was right. Each Heather had their own different strategies, Chandler had elected to buy and develop around one of the corners of the board so it was almost impossible to avoid landing on a property owned by her. Duke aggressively bought up properties as quickly as she could, she didn’t even bother with the Utilities. Mac’s strategy looked like she only wanted to sabotage the other two more than she wanted to win. 

Meanwhile, Veronica was simply trying to survive.

“I’m so scared.” Duke rolled her eyes. 

“It’s my turn.” Veronica announced, rolling the dice. She was at the point where she almost wanted to go bankrupt. It was exhausting to be the banker, babysitter, and to actually play the game. 

She rolled a five and landed on ‘Luxury Tax.’ 

“Tough break.” Mac said as Veronica doled out seventy-five dollars. 

Veronica shrugged and passed the dice to Chandler. “Your turn.”

Chandler didn’t roll immediately, instead choosing to take a few moments to assess her properties.”I want to put a house on Kentucky Avenue.” She said, passing Veronica the appropriate amount of money. 

“Sure thing.” Veronica took the money and handed Chandler one of the tiny, plastic houses that came with the game. 

Chandler rolled a seven and landed on a Chance square. “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” She muttered under her breath after reading her card. 

Veronica was about to ask what the hell that meant when Chandler cut her off. 

“Enjoy the charity.” She rolled her eyes and tossed a fifty dollar bill at Veronica, Mac, and Duke. 

“Gee wiz,” Duke rolled her eyes. “This is life changing.” 

“Shut up, Heather.” Chandler snapped, handing the dice over to Mac. “It’s your turn, Heather.” 

The game continued and this level of hostility never wavered as time wore on. The closest thing to a fight that happened was when Mac took Duke’s plate of pizza and frisbee tossed it across the room when Duke started a housing crisis. Veronica was less horrified by the sound of the plate shattering, and more so by the way The Heathers had disregarded the sound. Going bankrupt was a blessing, if Veronica was being honest. 

Two hours in and they were still going strong. This had to be a world record. 

“Please.” Veronica groaned, she was now laying on the floor and blindly doling out the cash as requested. “Please tell me it’s almost over. I’m so tired, you guys.”

“Fuck off, Veronica.” Duke snapped. There wasn’t a trace of exhaustion in her tone. “I’ve got Heather on the ropes.”

“No you don’t!” Chandler growled back. 

“Please, Heather.” Mac scoffed. “The only reason you made it to this round was because you were in jail for so long. “If you roll a one through five, you’re paying me. And you barely have any liquid assets left as it stands. You’re going to have to start auctioning off your properties.” She let out a little laugh. “Well, more of your properties.”

Veronica didn’t bother to look at the board to see what Mac meant. 

Chandler eventually went bankrupt and the other three had to physically stop her from flipping the board. It was another half hour after that before Duke ran out of money and Mac took home the victory. Veronica wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened, seeing as Mac’s main goal from the beginning was to simply hinder the others’ progress. 

“I can’t believe it’s over.” Veronica murmured as she, Duke, and Chandler cleaned up the game board. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.” She turned to the two of them. “You’ve scarred me for life, I never want to play Monopoly again!”

Mac yawned from her spot on the sofa. The winner never had to clean up the mess, apparently. “Now that I think of it, Monopoly is kind of a trash game.”

“We should play Ticket to Ride, next.” Chandler said as she carefully counted the houses to make sure there weren’t any missing. 

“No way, we should play The Game of Life.” Duke argued. 

Chandler scoffed. “Please, Heather, you always try to sell your kids when you get in a pinch.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Veronica found herself saying. She glanced at the clock and was horrified to see that it was nearing one in the morning. “How the hell did you three manage to stretch a monopoly game for almost four hours?”

“We all really wanted the bragging rights.” Mac replied easily. “Which reminds me, Heather, Heather, is there something you wanted to say to me?”

The other two sighed before chorusing “You are a titan of industry” to Mac in an annoyed tone. 

“Am I a pretty titan of industry?” Mac asked, batting her eyelashes. 

“You’re beautiful.” Duke and Chandler sighed together.

. .

Veronica sat at the lunch table, looking over her study guide for her AP Lit class. She wasn’t worried about the test that day, but it was still important to have a bit of a refresher. The Heathers, who had that class during second period, assured her that it would be a piece of cake, but Veronica would rather be safe than sorry. 

“Honestly, if you even read the back of the book you should be fine.” Chandler said, looking bored out of her mind. “All you have to know is that Edna is trapped in her little gilded cage and wants to bone Robert.”

“The hardest part is trying to spell the names right.” Mac added offhandedly, she was working on her math homework and therefore not paying much attention. “Ms. Fleming said she’d mark us down if we spelled the names wrong.”

“I think that was directed at us, specifically.” Duke said. “She was still a little miffed that Heather called Mademoiselle Reisz an old crone.”

Chandler laughed a little. “In my defense, I thought it was funny at the time. How was I supposed to know that the sewer witch that is Ms. Fleming would go off the handle?”

“She’s more of a gutter hag.” Duke said after a moment of thought. “Her being a witch implies that she has powers.”

“But I’d rather be in a gutter than in a sewer.” Chandler frowned before taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “Let’s go with sewer hag. That way she’s in a sewer with all the rats and shit and piss, but also she can’t cast spells.”

“It’s decided, Ms. Fleming is a sewer hag.” Duke said as she and Chandler high-fived with a smile.

“Of course you guys would have a committee to create insults.” Veronica found herself laughing. 

Chandler and Duke grinned at each other. 

“So, Veronica,” Chandler said, leaning forward and resting her weight on her elbows. “As much as I hate to change the subject, Halloween is fast approaching...”

“And?” Veronica furrowed her brow.

“And,” Duke rolled her eyes.  “We, as in Heather, Heather, and myself,  always do a group costume. Now that you’re part of the group, we figured we’d see if you wanted to... you know, be part of the group.”

Veronica thought for a moment, usually she and Martha gathered up the worst, most D list, scary movies they could find and make a night of it. This year, however, Martha’s grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary was on the second of November and she was to go out of town with her whole family for the long weekend, starting right after school on Halloween. Veronica was planning to just stay home and pass out candy with her parents. 

“Sure thing.” Veronica shrugged. 

“Cool.” Chandler looked at Mac. “It’s Heather’s turn to pick a group costume, by the way.”

“You guys don’t go trick or treating, do you?” Veronica asked. She couldn’t picture the three of them going door to door begging for candy. 

The Heathers looked at each other. 

“Not quite.” Mac replied. “We’re doing that volunteer thing through the school where you take a few kids trick or treating around the neighborhood and then their parents come get them.”

“You should sign up if you want.” Chandler added. “We always need more people and it’s an easy way to get volunteer hours. The kids do whatever you say, it’s basically just going for a walk around the neighborhood. You don’t even really have to look at them.”

“We’re gonna watch our favorite scary movies after, you should come.” Duke said, looking over to Mac. “Do you know what we want to be, Heather?”

“I’m gonna need some time to ponder.” Mac said, closing her math book. “I don’t know any iconic groups of four off the top of my head.”

The first group that came to Veronica’s mind was The Teletubbies. There was no way in hell that she was going to tell The Heathers that, she didn’t want to risk it. 

“We need an answer by Wednesday.” Chandler said, pointing at Mac sternly. “Halloween is fast approaching and we need to look good.”

Mac mock saluted Chandler. “I’ll start brainstorming tonight.” 

“Speaking of making plans.” Veronica figured this would be the best time for a subject change. “My parents want me to have you guys over for dinner.”

The Heathers looked at Veronica like she’d grown a second head. 

“Why?” Mac asked. 

Veronica’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with you guys, is it so weird that my parents would want to get to know the people who are taking up some real estate in my life?”

“I guess not.” Chandler frowned. “Do they think you’ve... you know... gotten in with a bad crowd? Or something?”

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “Well, my mom thinks you’re all weird as hell, but they don’t think you guys are bad seeds.”

“So... They just want to meet us?” Duke asked. 

“Is it seriously so weird that my parents are taking an interest in my life?” Veronica exclaimed. 

“... Yeah, kinda.”

. . 

Veronica was nervous as she helped her mother set the table. The Heathers would be over any minute and while Veronica was sure that her friends knew better than to be inappropriate or rude to her parents, she was terrified that they might start bickering at the dining table. Her parents already thought that The Heathers were weird as hell and they had barely interacted, Veronica was sure that if The Heathers were themselves in front of her parents, she would be banned from seeing those girls ever again. 

“I’m so excited to get to know your friends a little better.” Veronica’s mother said as she put out the napkins. “I already know Martha so well, I feel like getting to know them will help us get to know you more.”

Veronica laughed. “You might want to run and hide if you get to know me too much.” 

Her mother sent her a fond smile. “I certainly hope you’re joking.” 

Just as Veronica was about to speak, there were three sharp knocks on the door. Veronica froze, half expecting to hear her name being screamed from outside. It was jarring to say the least. 

“I’ll get it.” Veronica’s father said as he walked to the door. 

“Is that them?” Veronica’s mother asked. “No one’s screaming.”

“Yeah,” Veronica nodded. “It’s kind of an inside joke between us.” She shrugged. “Heather Chandler does that to all of us.”

“What a card.” Her mother said with a confused look on her face. 

“To say the least.” Veronica nodded, turning toward the door as her father led The Heathers into the dining room. “Hi guys.” 

The Heathers had all elected to wear something more conservative than their usual outfits. It was like they were trying to look business casual. 

“Hi Veronica.” They chorused together. 

“Thank you so much for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.” Chandler said as they entered the room fully. “Is there anything we can do to help out before dinner?”

Mac and Duke both smiled and nodded, looking at Veronica’s mother expectantly. 

“You’re just in time, actually.” Veronica’s mother smiled. “Dinner is ready and Veronica and I have got the table all set. Why doesn’t everyone sit down and Mr. Sawyer and I will bring dinner out.”

Veronica moved to the dining room table while her parents entered the kitchen. “Take a seat guys.” Veronica said, gesturing to the table. 

Mac and Chandler sat on one side of the table while Duke sat beside Veronica on the other side. They sat ramrod straight, like they were awaiting a job interview or something. Veronica had to admit that it kind of felt good to know that they were taking this as seriously as she was. 

“I know we just told you to tell your mom to make your favorite,” Mac whispered, she looked a little concerned. “But what did she make?”

“Spaghetti with extra oregano.” Veronica replied. 

Mac let out a sigh of relief. “Okay cool.”

Her parents returned and they began to break bread and eat. They made some small talk for a little while, Chandler and Duke led the conversation a little more than Mac did. Veronica was surprised that Chandler hadn’t ordered Duke to shut up at least once since dinner had started. She was expecting it. 

“So, Heather.” Veronica’s father paused. “Uh... Heathers. What do you do outside of school? Are you part of any groups? Any hobbies?”

“Well, I’m the senior class representative to the PTA.” Chandler said, sitting up straighter. “I'm also a member of the NHS. I used to be on the debate team, but it conflicted with student leadership. So I had to drop it in my sophomore year.”

“We’ll it sounds like you keep busy.” Veronica’s mother said with a smile. “And what do the rest of you do?”

“I’m head of the yearbook committee.” Duke said. “It’s a lot of work, I assign most of the stories and me and the advisor are going to edit and put the yearbook together. I’m also in the NHS with Heather. And I do a lot of reading.”

“What kind of books do you like?” Veronica’s father perked up. “I, myself, like spy novels.”

Duke smiled and nodded. “I’m more of a fan of the classics, myself. Moby Dick is an old favorite, but right now I’m reading Of Human Bondage.”

Veronica frowned at that. “I’m sorry, what are you reading?” 

“Of Human Bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham.” Duke said, turning to Veronica. “It was written in like nineteen-ten or something, and it’s all about this orphan with a clubfoot living in London.” 

“Oh, I think I’ve read that with my bookclub.” Veronica’s mother smiled. “It’s a little wordy, don’t you think?”

“So far, it’s pretty good.” Duke shrugged. “It’s no Moby Dick, though.” She turned to Chandler. “Heather has some opinions about Herman Melville.” 

Veronica watched Chandler fight an eyeroll. 

“And Heather, what about you?” Veronica’s father prompted.

Veronica fought the urge to laugh at her father’s poor attempt at a subject change. He only ever read trash books and beach reads, the classics didn’t hold his interest in the least. 

“Oh,” Mac looked a little like she had been taken by surprise. “I’m head of the cheer team. It’s my job to help the coach put together stunt formations and choreograph routines, I also run the pre-practice drills. I’m also part of NHS.” 

Veronica had almost forgotten just how perfect these girls were on paper. They were every parents’ wet dream, people sent their children to school in the hopes that they would fall into The Heathers’ crowd. And here Veronica was, in their crowd, completely on accident. 

“Wow, you girls certainly keep very busy, don’t you?” Veronica’s mother sounded very impressed, and also a little concerned. “You are making sure to take time for yourselves, right?”

The Heathers looked at Veronica’s mother with confused faces. 

Chandler recovered first. “Of course we do.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s just important to be well rounded, you know?”

“It looks good on a college app.” Duke added. 

“I’m just full of school spirit.” Mac grinned. 

Veronica laughed at that. 

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch. The Heathers were perfectly perfect in every single way. Veronica wasn’t sure what had her so anxious in the first place, if The Heathers knew anything, it was how to put on a show. They’d even offered to clean up after dinner. By the time they’d left, Veronica was sure her parents would be under the same spell as the students of Westerburg High. 

“You liked them, right?” Veronica asked after she’d watched them leave in Duke’s Jeep. 

“Oh, they’re lovely girls.” Veronica’s mother said. “A little stiff, though. Were they nervous?”

“I don’t think they are physically capable of feeling nervous, Mom.”

. .

“I’ve decided what we’re going to be.” Mac said, sitting down on Veronica’s desk once their Econ teacher gave them independent work time. 

“Oh really?” Veronica asked as Duke sat beside her and Chandler perched herself on Duke’s desk. “Was today’s lesson about resources and scarcity inspiring?”

Mac laughed at that. “No, I wasn’t listening to that at all.” She set her text book on her lap and began to fill out her worksheet. “I was too busy thinking about Rose McGowan in Jawbreaker.”

“I don’t understand the logic.” Veronica said. 

“She watched Jawbreaker last night and loves Rose McGowan.” Duke said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“We had a whole conversation about it last night.” Chandler added. “I swear, Heather went on for hours about how she’s in love with Rose McGowan. I was getting kind of jealous, if I’m being honest.”

“Why would you be jealous?” Veronica asked, earning an annoyed glare from Chandler. 

“As I was saying,” Mac cut in. “I’ve decided that we’re going to be the Flawless Four from Jawbreaker.” 

“The original Flawless Four or the one with Fern?” Duke asked. 

“The original, duh.” Mac replied with a grin. 

Veronica frowned and tried to remember the last time she’d watched the movie, Jawbreaker. She’d watched it with Martha, who had a habit of talking through movies, and was never really able to get into it. She remembered being entertained, nonetheless. 

“And who’s gonna be who?” Chandler asked. 

“Well, I want to be Rose McGowan, obviously.” Mac said. 

“Heather, you don’t have brown hair.” Duke pointed out. 

“Wig technology exists.” Mac turned to Chandler with a pout. “Please let me be Rose McGowan. I never get to be the mean one.”

“They’re all mean, Heather.” Chandler was averting her eyes from Mac’s. She was desperately trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Come on, Heather.” Mac leaned into Chandler. “Please!” 

“Just let her be the bitch.” Veronica sighed. 

“Veronica is right, Heather.” Duke said, earning a glare from Chandler. She met the glare, not backing down. “Please.” She scoffed, smirking a little. “Heather already had you in her back pocket, it was just a matter of time.”

“It’s true.” Mac nodded. She whispered something into Chandler’s ear that made Chandler’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “I had you on the ropes.” She said at full volume. 

“So who are the rest of us gonna be?” Duke asked. “I don’t want to be the dead one.” 

“No one wants to be the dead one!” Veronica had to struggle to keep her voice down. 

“Veronica has to be Rebecca Gayheart.” Mac said quickly. “She’s the tallest, and so is Julie.” She looked between Duke and Chandler. “One of you has to be the dead one.”

Chandler and Duke stared each other down for what felt like almost a full minute before Chandler spoke. 

“I sure as hell am not going to be Foxy.” She said confidently. “So I guess I’ll be the murder victim.”

“You’d rather be dead than Foxy?” Veronica asked, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. 

“I just figure that at some point during the night, you guys are going to have to carry my limp body around during the party.” Chandler shrugged. “And I, for one, think that sounds very fun.” 

“Oh yeah, we’re definitely gonna haul you around!” Mac nodded excitedly. “We have to make you a jawbreaker lump and everything!”

“Well, now that we have that settled,” Chandler snatched Duke’s worksheet from her and began to look it over. “Let’s get this assignment done.”

“How many times have you guys even watched Jawbreaker?”

. .

Signing up to chaperone kids while they go trick or treating turned out to be a better idea than Veronica had originally thought. The rules were simple, each chaperone was to be assigned four kids, sent out with their group for two hours, then had to return their four kids to the adult in charge. She didn’t even have to deal with parents, and it was even encouraged for groups to go together. 

“I can’t believe that this was basically a two hour walk through the neighborhood with my friends.” Veronica asked Chandler for clarification as she and her group joined The Heathers’. “It can’t possibly be this easy.”

“It is.” Chandler nodded, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “All we have to do is not die of frostbite.”

“I told you to bring mittens.” Mac said, turning around. She had been walking a little ways in front of the group and had to walk backward to show off the thick, yellow mittens she was wearing. They each had a little, red triceratops on them. 

“Yes, I know, but I didn’t listen, so here we are.” Chandler rolled her eyes. 

“I wore mine.” Duke said from Chandler’s other side. She showed off her own pair of mittens, they were green with bears on them. “You should have worn yours.” She looked at Chandler with a smirk. “Your Nana worked so hard on them.”

“Your Nana made you all mittens?” Veronica couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought. She couldn’t picture what Heather Chandler’s grandmother was like. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, her Nana’s pretty cool.” Duke shrugged. “She’s way better than my grandma.”

“What’s wrong with your grandma?” Veronica asked. If Duke’s grandmother was anything like her mother, she could understand why Duke didn’t care for her.

“She’s really sweet, but also really religious.” Duke replied as they stopped outside of a group of houses. “When she came to America, she got really into Jesus. And she’s really hateful about the weirdest stuff. Like she’ll go off about women with short hair and we always have to be like ‘What would Jesus say about you having so much hate in your heart?’ And then she gets all teary eyed.”

Veronica frowned. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” 

“Her grandma doesn’t even look at me whenever I’m around her.” Mac added. 

“That’s because she hates the Irish.” Duke shrugged. “I told you not to use your last name when you first met her.”

“I was nine. She threw a potato at me before asking me if I liked being a part of the IRA.” Mac grimaced. 

“This is really putting a lot of pieces of the puzzle together.” Veronica laughed. “It just explains so much.” She turned to Chandler. “Please tell us more about your Nana that knits you and your friends adorable mittens.”

“Hers have stars on them.” Duke smiled. 

Chandler sighed. “She’s a ridiculously old and rickety lady who’s horrible to everyone except for me because I’m the baby of the family and I have the most pinchable cheeks of all her grandchildren. And my complexion is perfectly peaches and cream that she could just eat up.” She smiled a little. “I’m her favorite.” 

“Every answer brings more questions.” Veronica couldn’t help but laugh. 

Veronica watched as their groups of kids returned to the four of them with grins on their painted up faces. The smallest one, a girl who was dressed as a witch, ran up to Veronica. 

“They gave me two pieces!” She said with a smile that showed off her lost tooth. “Do you want the other one?”

Veronica felt her heart break a little at how cute this kid was. “That’s so sweet of you!” She took a fun sized candy bar from the little girl’s hand and gestured to another group of houses. “We should try and hit as many houses as possible before we have to get you to your parents. Don’t you want a huge haul?”

The little girl and the rest of the group all nodded. 

“Then we’d better motor!” Mac announced, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. 

The kids cheered as Veronica and The Heathers led them toward the next group of houses. 

“We need to think about heading back soon. We don’t want the kids to be late.” Chandler said. 

“Good, every minute I spend not watching the first or second Scream is a minute wasted.” Mac said, earning a nod from Duke. 

“And I Know What You Did Last Summer.” Duke added. 

“Do you guys just really like movies that have Sarah Michelle Gellar in them?” Veronica asked. 

“We love SMG.” Chandler said. “Heather changed her house’s voicemail to ‘Omega Beta Zeta, you’ve reached The McNamaras.’”

“My dad still hasn’t noticed.” Mac grinned, turning around as their groups ran up to them. “Whatcha guys get? Anything good?” 

Veronica watched in horror as the children slowly pulled toothbrushes out of their candy sacks. “Now that’s just awful.” She said. 

“People like that need to be stopped.” Chandler said, crossing her arms. “What do you guys say we head back to the school? Maybe hit some houses we might have missed on the way back?”

The kids let out a little cheer before heading off in the school’s direction. Veronica and The Heathers trailed behind them, they were chattering about how excited to get back to Mac’s place. Veronica listened as they walked, she’d normally love to join them, but when she’d asked her parents if she could go over, they’d told her that just because it was a holiday didn’t mean it wasn’t a school night. Her curfew was still in effect unfortunately. 

They made it back to the school a few minutes before eight and filled out their child return paperwork. It almost felt like they were returning books at the library. Except instead of a fine for a late return, she would be suspended and probably charged with child endangerment. 

“Your parents said it was okay for you to come to Kurt’s party, right?” Chandler asked while Duke and Mac turned their children in. “Because we’ll look really fucking stupid without you.”

“Don’t worry.” Veronica said, leaning against the lockers. “My mom was actually kind of worried that I’d be depressed and lonely because Martha’s gonna be out of town this weekend. And my dad just kept reminding me to call him if anything happens and that I wouldn’t get in trouble if I did.”

“You know that’s a lie, right?” Chandler crossed her arms. “That’s what they always say, then you call them and next thing you know, you’re grounded into next month after being screamed at for an hour straight.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Not the kind of family bonding I was hoping for.”

Veronica almost told Chandler that her parents, unlike Chandler’s, were good and normal parents. Almost. Instead she just hummed an acknowledgement. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Chandler nodded. “I look ridiculous in my costume, by the way.” She said after glancing toward Mac and Duke. “Heather’s lucky she’s cute, otherwise I would not have agreed to be a murder victim wearing skimpy pajamas for Halloween.” 

Veronica smiled a little at that. “What did you want to be?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chandler shrugged. “It was Heather’s turn to pick.”

“You guys are kinda cute, you know.” Veronica gently shoved Chandler’s shoulder.

“Of course we are.” Chandler scoffed. “Don’t let it get around though, we’ve got a reputation.”

“Cross my heart.”

. .

Stepping into Kurt Kelly’s Halloween party was awkward to say the least, and not just because their terrible date was still in the back of Veronica’s mind. It was mostly due to Heather Chandler’s insistence that she, the dead body of the group, should be carried into the house like it happened in the movie. So there Veronica was holding Chandler’s legs, while Mac supported her middle and Duke had her under the arms, hobbling up to Kurt Kelly’s front door just so Chandler could get the entrance she wanted. 

It was so dramatic and stupid that Veronica didn’t even really mind it. 

People turned to watch them as they carried Chandler over the threshold and into the house. A few guys wolf whistled at them as they hobbled by, Veronica was sure it was more due to Chandler’s outfit, or lack thereof. The girl she was dressed as only wore a pair of panties and a tank top in the scene Veronica and The Heathers were recreating, and Chandler was definitely going for accuracy with her outfit. It had taken the combined efforts of Veronica and the other Heathers to convince Chandler to wear a pair of flesh colored tights,

“Aren’t you glad you wore those tights?” Duke grunted as she readjusted her gip. “It’s cold as fuck outside and you’re basically in a tanktop and panties.”

“Shut up, I’m supposed to be dead.” Chandler replied, not opening her eyes.

“Then stop wiggling.” Veronica demanded, trying to maintain her grip on Chandler’s legs. “When can we put you down? I swear, you are the worst murder victim ever.”

“I don’t mind carrying her.” Mac said, she was smirking a little. 

“That’s because your hand hasn’t left my ass since you guys picked me up.” Chandler snapped. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I swear to god I’m going to drop you if you don’t shut up.” Duke groaned. 

“So, uh, what’re you supposed to be?” Kurt asked, approaching with a tray of jello shots. Veronica had no idea what his costume was supposed to be, but it involved being shirtless. “No wait, let me guess... You’re...” He paused and took a closer look at Chandler’s neck. “What the fuck is on your neck?”

“It’s a jawbreaker.” Chandler replied, kicking her legs a little. “Veronica, put me down.” 

Veronica obliged and dropped Chandler’s legs so she could stand up fully. The giant lump on her throat was unsettling due to the amount of time Chandler had spent making it look as real as possible. She looked like a real choking victim. 

“Well, you ladies look great.” Kurt said, not taking his eyes off Chandler. “Maybe I’ll be able to unmask you later? See the woman beneath the costume...?”

It had to have taken all of Chandler’s self control not to vomit all over Kurt at that line. He must have been thinking of that since before the party. 

“Anyway,” Kurt continued, shoving the jello shots forward. “You all need a jello shot! I made them myself!”

Veronica almost scowled at the memory of her first jello shot, but took one anyway. Maybe this time she wouldn’t end up spilling half of it down her face. “Thanks, Kurt.” She said as he wandered away, offering his shots to anyone with an open hand. “How the hell do I eat this thing without spilling all over myself?”

Mac laughed and took Veronica’s shot out of her hand. “First you have to loosen the mold.” She said, squeezing the shot container before passing it back to Veronica. “Then you either use your finger or your tongue to guide it into your mouth and slurp it into your mouth.”

“You could use a spoon too, but then you’d have to make the walk of shame to the kitchen.” Chandler supplied before downing her shot. “I use my tongue because I don’t want to have to deal with having a mess on my hands.”

Duke followed suit. “Same here, but you might want to try using your finger for your first real try.” She looked like she was trying not to laugh. 

Mac rolled her eyes. “Just finger the shot a little, it’ll loosen it up.” She started poking at her own shot to demonstrate. “Once you have it nice and loose from the fingering, you tilt your head back and just let it slide down your throat.” She downed the shot quickly before smiling. “See? One day, you’ll be able to just do it with your tongue, but you need to get used to it.”

Veronica did as Mac instructed and poked her shot probably a little too roughly before tipping her head back and letting it slide into her mouth. It tasted a lot better than the first one she’d taken, that was for sure. And she didn’t lose half of the shot either. It still tasted like crap though.

“Kurt cannot make a jello shot to save his life.” Duke said with a shake of her head. 

“It’s because he doesn’t let them cool long enough.” Chandler said, linking arms with Veronica and pulling her toward the backyard while the others followed. “They don’t set properly and they start to separate.” 

“And it’s gross.” Duke scowled. 

“Where are we going?” Veronica asked. 

“We’re going to the keg!” Mac grinned, throwing an arm around Duke. “Gotta get this party started!”

Kurt’s Halloween party was very similar to the party at Ram’s house earlier in the year, except everyone was in some kind of costume. There had to be at least fourteen Batmans running around and twice as many girls dressed as cats, what surprised Veronica the most was how many bumble bees there were wandering around. She didn’t know that was a popular costume at all, and yet there they were. 

“There are a lot of bees.” Mac said, passing Veronica a red solo cup. 

“And Batmans.” Veronica nodded, taking a big swig of her beer and scowling. It was god awful. “Will beer ever taste better?”

“No.” Duke shook her head. “It’ll always taste like death. Sorry. Don’t worry, though, we’re not staying here all night.”

“What’re we doing after this?” Veronica asked. “A seance in a graveyard? Break into an abandoned house?”

“First off,” Chandler said with a scoff. “Did you learn all of your pastimes from teen movies?” Veronica’s cheeks heated up a little. “Second of all, it’s not even actually Halloween, so spooky shit isn’t even really on the table at this point. We’re going to take advantage of my parents being away and after-party at mine.” 

“Oh cool.” Veronica nodded. “How come we’re here then?”

“Because I look fucking good.” Chandler gestured to her outfit. “And it would be a waste not to show off a little.” She took a sip of her beer. 

“Why didn’t you throw a party then?” Veronica asked. “You’d be able to take advantage of your parents being out, and show off.”

“I don’t want all these people at my house.” Chandler replied, gesturing around her. Everything was a huge mess already, there was trash everywhere and someone was vomiting in a decorative vase. “Look what they’re doing here. I don’t want that at my house. I’d be the one who has to clean it up!” She looked disgusted at the thought. 

“And I don’t want to have to help you.” Duke added, grimacing when a junior boy ran into the room shouting. 

“Heather!” He pointed at the group. “Down in one!” 

The phrase inspired everyone around them to start chanting. “Down in one! Down in one!”

Mac shrugged and tipped her head back, finishing her drink in one gulp. She gave Duke a little shove. 

Duke rolled her eyes and followed suit, looking to Chandler when she was done. “Down in one, Heather.” 

Chandler wrinkled her nose and finished her drink. This earned a large cheer from everyone before they went back to their own business. 

“I hate that.” Chandler scowled, filling her cup again. 

“What’d Kurt even get, PBR?” Mac passed her cup to Chandler for it to be filled again. 

“I don’t know how you can even tell, all beer tastes like asparagus piss.” Duke grumbled as she held her own cup out for a refill. 

Veronica’s nose wrinkled at that. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, Heather.” She said. “Congrats.”

Duke raised her cup in a mock salute with a dry smile. “Glad to be of service.”

The party was pumping and it looked like Kurt and Ram were being kept entertained by a pair of cheerleaders. Or a pair of girls who were dressed as cheerleaders. Those two seemed to be the only two guys at the school who felt confident enough to approach The Heathers, so they were mostly left alone during the party. This allowed them to do shots without someone making a blow job joke, Veronica had even been able to watch Duke do a body shot off of Chandler without having to hear a threesome joke being made. By a guy at least.

“I would love to get in the middle of that.” Mac muttered, Veronica assumed it was to herself. 

“I don’t think there’s anything stopping you.” 

. .

Veronica stumbled into Chandler’s house, her legs sort of felt like jelly and she had to use Mac and Duke for support. She was definitely drunk, she’d done a lot of tequila shots at Kurt’s party, it took her a few tries to remember what order she was supposed to do them in. Just the thought made her break down in a fit of giggles. 

“What’s so funny?” Mac asked with a little smile as she and Duke started to drag Veronica up the stairs. 

“I don’t know how to drink tequila.” Veronica giggled, putting all of her weight on Mac. “How c-come I’m just... so thrashed and you’re not?”

“Because you insisted on taking shots until you got it right.” Chandler said as she locked the front door. “Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”

Veronica laughed again. “I-I never got the shots right... d-did I?” She paused. “Salt, lime, shot. Right?”

“Wrong.” Duke grunted. “Why is it that I’m stuck carrying people around all night? First Heather and now Veronica? Next year, I’m the one who’s getting carried around.”

“What am I, a pack mule?” Mac muttered. 

Veronica was led into a spare bedroom before Mac and Duke all but threw her onto the bed. “Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner before you take me to bed?” She giggled. 

“Do you want some pajamas or not?” Chandler demanded. “I’m not asking three times.”

“Why do I need pajamas?” Veronica asked, trying to sit up before falling back down again. “Whoops.” She giggled at that. “We’re supposed to be after-partying!” She sat back up and threw her hands in the air.

“I’m going to push you back down and if you can sit up again, we’ll after-party.” Mac said before shoving Veronica’s forehead back. 

The rest of her body followed head and she fell back onto the bed. She tried to get back up, but every part of her, not just her legs, felt like jelly. Besides the bed was so comfortable, there was no point in getting back up. 

“I live here now.” Veronica mumbled, closing her eyes. “This is my life.”

“Heather, go get a big t-shirt from my dresser.” Chandler sighed. “We’re gonna have to get her into some pajamas or she’ll bitch about it in the morning.” 

The last thing Veronica heard before she fell asleep was Duke and Mac agreeing before a door slammed shut. 

[adhdtoomanycommas]

ADHD, Gifted Programs, and Accidental Accommodations

So one big thing has been on my mind pretty consistently since I got diagnosed last year at the age of 30—why did it take so long to figure this out?  At no point in my K-12 education or my 4 year bachelor’s degree schooling did any teacher or counselor question or suggest I may have ADHD, despite the fact that I check nearly every single box on every diagnostic criteria (both inattentive and hyperactive!)

One obvious reason is sexism.  Pretty early in my reading on the subject, I learned that ADHD is dramatically under-diagnosed in girls and women. Partly this is because of different presentations, but a lot of it is just that the stereotype people have in their heads of what an ADHD kid looks like is always a boy.  

But the other big reason, and the one I want to talk about today, is the fact that one of the few ADHD diagnostic boxes that I didn’t check was “bad grades.”  So really, the question is, why weren’t my grades bad?

That’s not to say I was especially good at school work. My backpacks, desks, and binders were always a complete mess, and I NEVER did the homework.  I would do the big projects (at the last possible second, of course) but daily homework just straight up didn’t happen.   If there was time left at the end of class I would sometimes quickly do the homework for the next day, and occasionally jot down some approximation of it in the minute or two before class started, but when I was actually at home, I never touched it.

But here’s the thing with ADHD brains:  We can focus on things with no problem, as long as we find them interesting.  And I’ve always read quickly enough that doing the reading for class was usually interesting. And for the most part, the class content itself usually seemed interesting enough.    But probably most importantly, I consider tests interesting. There’s always been enough of a challenge racing-the-clock game-like aspect to them to me that I would stay engaged on the tests, and even if didn’t completely know the material, I was good at using logic to get a pretty good guess (like using all those tricks they teach for standardized tests—narrowing down the options on a multiple choice question, looking for answers in the other questions, etc.)

So even in the classes where turning in the daily homework counted for part of the grade (math and language classes mostly) I was usually able to scrape a B with only the occasional C thrown in,  and everything else was A’s.  

But part of my saving grace was the “gifted” classes.  I was very lucky that, despite not knowing about her own (probable) ADHD,  my mom knew enough about how she worked as a student to know that me (and my brother) really needed to be engaged and challenged in order to thrive.  Because of this, she advocated for us hard—she insisted we be allowed in my elementary school’s “gifted” program in kindergarten (based on our test scores of course)  even though the “gifted” program officially wasn’t even available until first grade.  And when we moved to a different state, she advocated for us again and got us included even though the “gifted” class was “full.”   She knew that nothing would make us fail faster than being bored in class, so she made sure that there was at least one day a week when we would be challenged and actually get to engage with material we found interesting.  

Aside,  despite how essential they were for me to thrive in school,  the entire concept of “gifted” programs and “gifted” kids is problematic as hell.  Half of the screening is basically just looking for class signifiers and seeing whose parents had enough free time to give them a head start (or whose parents have the time to advocate for their kids the way my mom did for me).  Not to mention there’s likely a massive racial bias. So in all this discussion of why I did ok despite my ADHD, it’s important to note that there’s a lot of privilege at play here determining who gets access to these types of programs.  

This is also why I keep putting “gifted” in quotes--  I don’t think there is anything inherent about academic ability. Also, academic ability, reading ability, testing aptitude, etc. are definitely not indicative of intelligence. Plus the entire concept of the measurability of intelligence is based on eugenics ideas, so clearly one should take the whole thing with a huge grain of salt.

Nowadays the term all the parenting blogs like to use for kids like me, with ADHD (or dyslexia, or autism, or whatever else) who also test well enough to be flagged as “gifted,”  is “Twice Exceptional”  which is a term that makes me immediately want to punch whoever uses it. Seriously,  it makes me gag.  Like, it doubles down on the “special” euphemism and seems entirely designed to make parents feel better about their kid without any consideration to how the kid feels.  No kid wants to be singled out, especially one who’s already probably pretty socially isolated (which I could digress about but that’ll be another essay for another day), and being Twice singled out certainly doesn’t help anything.  

But ultimately the teaching in the “gifted” class itself wound up being really good accommodations for ADHD. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if they were better than the accommodations in the separate classes actually intended for kids with ADHD and other learning issues, though since I wasn’t diagnosed as I kid I can’t actually speak to that as I don’t have any experience there.  But in the gifted classes, firstly, we were given more specific subjects as opposed to the overviews we got in regular classes.  And it’s way easier to be engaged on specific subjects like ice age mammals, or the wreck of the Titanic, than it is to be engaged with a broad list of dates or categories.  We did logic problems that were presented as games, but that were indirectly teaching us the basics for higher level math. In 6th grade, we did research projects and got to pick our own subjects completely, so we could write about whatever we were hyperfixating on at the moment (mine was on medieval warfare as depicted in the Bayeux tapestry).   And if we happened to get excited and blurt out an interesting fact vaguely related to whatever was being discussed, that was likely encouraged instead of reprimanded like it would be in the normal classroom. This continued into high school, as honors and AP level classes tended to be a lot more discussion based rather than the top-down approach at other levels, as well as affording more opportunity to choose one’s own subjects.

The story you’ll hear from (or about) a lot of ADHD kids (especially undiagnosed) flagged as “gifted” is of hitting a wall at some point, academically speaking.  That did happen to me briefly, in middle school. We started being assigned a lot more long-term projects, and there was a bit of a learning curve while I figured out how to put things off Until the last minute and not Past the last minute.  But thanks to some patient teachers who believed in me (which I might not have had outside of honors classes), I managed to pull out of it and improve my grades (with the exception of the only report-card F of my entire academic career, from a sadistic gym teacher who seemed to think that enough berating would cure asthma).

Even more stories I’ve read and heard from people who were diagnosed with ADHD as an adult say they hit that wall academically when they started college—the first time they were really self-guided in their studies.  But again, there, I was saved by an honors program.  In this case,  it was the Honors Tutorial College,  a truly strange program at Ohio University.  I was tracked into HTC by one particular professor who very much wanted HTC to expand into the art program and decided that because I had both strong test scores and a strong art portfolio (and probably, lets be real, because I was the daughter of one of the other professors) that I was the perfect person to be the first student in the new program.

OU’s website describes HTC as “flexible curriculum and one-on-one tutorials with renowned faculty that allow your curiosity to take the lead in your education.” It’s rigorous, but comes with a lot of perks, like waiving certain gen-ed classes,  being able to take classes without first taking the required prerequisites,  and designing one’s own independent study classes individually with instructors.  And those perks are (as far as I know entirely accidentally) the perfect accommodations for an ADHD student (and probably pretty good for Autistic ones as well, based on some of my peers in the program).

A lot of the gen-ed classes I waived were ones I probably would have been bored in and thusly not done well.  Being able to skip pre-reqs meant that, for instance, for my English requirements I was able to take far more interesting classes like Shakespeare’s Comedies,  YA Lit,  and Playwriting instead of English 101, 102 etc.  If I wanted to learn about something in particular, I had help finding a professor willing to help me in an independent study/tutorial class.  Being the pilot of the program meant I was able to shape it so that I could get an art degree without ever having to choose one medium (which as far as I know is still an option for anyone pursuing an HTC Studio Art degree).  And at the end of the program, when we were required to complete a massive thesis project and paper (at basically graduate level), not only could I choose my subject to meet my hyperfixations, but I had individual help from a professor keeping me on task on the less-fun parts at every step of the way.  

HTC students are required to keep their GPAs above a high threshold. At one point one of my grades (in Latin class) was low enough to hurt my average, and I was called into HTC headquarters for a check-in meeting.  I was asked why my grade had fallen, and I explained that the class wasn’t that interesting (at that level it was mostly grammar) but that it was getting better as we were moving up into translating more actual historical material. That explanation was entirely accepted.  Imagine if “it’s not interesting enough” was considered a valid excuse for grades slipping for everyone, how much less stressful school would be for ADHD kids!

So ultimately it’s pretty much been having the luck and privilege to get myself flagged for “gifted” classes that kept my grades up throughout my school years.  Accidental accommodations have continued into my adult life as well. At my most recent office job, for instance (which I lost due to covid layoffs), I had a pretty hands-off boss who just didn’t care if I doodled, got up to stretch my legs every once in a while, and listened to audiobooks at my desk all day as long as the work got done.  

I didn’t need a diagnosis to get these accommodations, because they were given freely, which meant I was able to succeed even without knowing about my own ADHD.  If I had been diagnosed, and had had to ask for accommodations, I wonder if I would have done as well as bias against people with ADHD means people wouldn’t have expected as much from me.  

So if you’ve made it this far, I’ll ask for the same for others that I got for myself.  If you are a teacher (or a manager in an office setting),  I strongly encourage you to consider how to make your classroom, office, etc. more accessible in general, without someone having to disclose a diagnosis or be singled out for accommodations.  The biggest easiest one you can do is to allow (or even encourage) doodling in lecture settings. Even for neurotypicals,  there have been plenty of studies proving people retain information better when doodling, so everyone should know by now that someone doodling doesn’t mean they’re not listening.   If at all possible, encourage discussion and contribution.  Give everyone breaks to stretch and move around.  And give as much freedom as possible on what to learn about.  You might be surprised what people are capable of when these reasonable steps are taken to give everyone room to thrive.  

That’s all for now,  hopefully you got something out of this unwieldy ramble.   I’d be curious to hear if you’ve run into any accidental accommodations in your life and how they’ve helped.  Until next time!

[whump-it]

Rory Confronts His Boss

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @iaminamoodymoodtoday @kawaiiloverofanimu @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @saphemme @slaintetowhump @whump-tr0pes

What do you do when your chest wakes you in pain at 2am and then you finally calm yourself down and convince yourself that you're actually going to be ok and yes, you can breathe? You write this at 3am of course.

TW fit mentions of torture, some threatening posturing. Rory stress swearing. I think that's it?  Also Rory is actually a bit of a badass and I love him,

The locality training facility was dark and shut up for the night when Rory got there. The car park was empty save for his car and one other, much more expensive, much newer car. He pulled up into a space far away from it. For whatever reason, he didn't feel much like being close to it.

For the second time that day he thought back to the question that Callum had asked him when he had donated himself. Had Rory ever been to the facility. And the answer had been no because it was invite only. Both the interview to become an AP and the job training took place at the locality collection box itself. He certainly had his invite now. And he couldn't have wanted it less if his life depended on it.

Rory heaved a huge sigh out as he turned the ignition off, pulled up the handbrake, and stepped out of the car. He didn't know his way around here but the front entrance seemed like the most sensible choice. As he approached it, a light flickered on inside and the door swung open. His boss, Mr Newman, stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Frowning. Scowling. Foot tapping.

"Rory," Mr Newman said curtly as Rory drew level with him. "On your own I see."

"I told you I would be," Rory said. "I told you I wasn't going to bring him here and I meant it."

"Mmm. You always were a stickler," Mr Newman said, turning and walking back into the building. "Follow me. The door'll lock behind you."

With no other options, Rory stepped into the reception area and let the door swing shut behind him. It clicked as he did and he glanced back, relieved to see that there was a push button to exit as opposed to any sort of swipe or key card exit. He followed along behind wishing all the while that he could be at home with Callum instead. The thought of him being there on his own made Rory restless. He'd only just got him back. He'd made the worst mistake of his life when he'd followed the rules and let Callum donate himself. Callum had had the most terrible three years imaginable until Rory had got him back. The universe had somehow given Rory what he considered to be an underserved second chance. And he was at the locality facility instead of where he should be. At home. Holding Callum. Cleaning Callum. Feeding Callum. Comforting Callum.

He walked the barely lit corridors a few steps behind his boss until they finally stopped at a door. Mr Newman took a key card from his pocket and swiped it down a pad to the side of the door, lighting up a tiny green light and releasing the lock on the door with a quiet click. Inside the room was Mr Newman's lavishly appointed office. A name plaque on the desk. On the very large desk. Bookshelves and certificates and family photos. Two comfortable chairs near a huge window that showed nothing but darkness outside, and a small table between them with a vase of flowers. Mr Newman motioned to one of the comfortable chairs.

"Take a seat," he said, going to his desk to gather up a small stack of papers. Rory did as he was bid although he would have preferred to stay standing. To stay near the door. Every inch further away from Callum was an inch too far. Like a physical ache that his body was tired of feeling.

"So," Mr Newman said, sitting opposite him and looking at the papers. "Callum Morris."

"Morrow," Rory said.

"I'm sorry?"

"His name's Callum Morrow. Is that even the paper work that I submitted when he donated?"

"It's the paper work we have."

"Then I'm just going to go ahead and assume that it is, in fact, not the paper work that I submitted. You know something? It might have taken me more than a few days to actually find Callum again? But it's taken me all of one conversation with you to lose all faith in this system."

"This system employs you and pays your wages so if I were you I'd be keeping a civil tongue in my head," Mr Newman put the papers on the table with calm ease although Rory strongly suspected that it was because he now knew that it was a useless pile of paper. Rory sighed and bent his head forward to run his fingers through his hair. He was tired. He wanted to go home to Callum.

"I should've checked more thoroughly," Rory said, sitting back up straight. "Checked that he really wanted to go through with it."

"That wasn't your job Rory. You know that."

"Well maybe it should've been," Rory said, his voice a little louder. His fingers back in his hair and twisting a bit. Mr Newman stood and walked to one of the bookcases to take down a decanter and glass, pouring himself a drink of some sort of honey coloured liquor.

"Look," Mr Newman said, taking a sip of his drink. "It's the Titanic effect." Rory frowned at him from his seat. "You don't know there's a problem until something goes wrong. That's when you can make improvements."

"Improvements!?" Rory shouted, standing and shoving the chair back as he did, teetering it on two legs before it righted itself. "You think this needs "improvements"!?"

"I can see you're angry..."

"You're damn right I'm angry," Rory shouted, stepping around the stupid little table with its stupid vase of flowers. "Do you know how long Callum was out there? Do you? Three fucking years, that's how long..."

"... and he will be brought to the facility and reconditioned..."

"Like hell he will," Rory said, trying to control his temper and his voice. "He's staying with me."

"You can't do that Rory,"

"Can't I?" Rory shouted, entirely failing in his attempt to maintain his calm. "You show me in your fucking contract where it says what happens when a collector tortures the ever living fuck out of you for three years and then dies. You show me where huh!?" Rory breathed deeply in and out, his chest heaving from his sudden outburst of anger. He spoke more calmly. More quietly. "Just some compassion. Please. It's not as if he's in any state to be speaking out against your programme."

"It's not my programme Rory," Mr Newman said, as calmly as ever. He sipped his drink again and Rory imagined shoving the glass into his face with the heel of his hand.

"That's just splitting hairs," Root said. "You know exactly what I mean. He's hardly in a state to speak at all. And whenever he does it's to beg to go back to be tortured some more because he thinks he deserves it or some shit. So please. Leave him be. Please."

"If his selector is dead," Mr Newman said, draining his glass then refilling it. "Why does he keep asking to go back?"

"He...uh... he doesn't know."

"Well now that is very interesting," Mr Newman drank some more.

"Don't you even think," Rory hissed. "Don't you even think about putting this on me. I did everything by your book. I checked everything."

"And yet we have this poor boy being tortured, as you tell it, for three years by the Selector that you provided him to. And now he's in your apartment locked away and you're refusing to bring him to the safety of his locality training facility."

"I know the Programme inside out," Rory said, stepping closer to Mr Newman. "I have read and re-read every piece of paper work. I have checked every form. It all checked out at the time."

"Yet suddenly it didn't anymore," Rory stepped closer still, making Mr Newman break off his sentence with a nervous laugh. "You don't want to threaten me Rory."

"Like you threatened me on the phone? But you're right. I don't want to. I want to go back to Callum which is exactly what I'm going to do." Rory stepped back and felt the briefest surge of pleasure at the look on his boss's face as he did so.

"Have it your own way," Mr Newman said as Rory pushed the door handle down and opened the door. "You just be careful." Choosing not to answer, Rory stepped out if the office and resisted the urge to slam the door behind himself. He traced his way back through the corridors and out to his car, all the while resisting the temptation to check if he was being followed.

He barely remembered the car ride back to the apartment, the only proof that it happened being that he'd made it and not crashed his car doing so in such a rage filled haze. He fumbled his keys until he finally managed to get into his apartment, cursing at the keys for being so difficult and throwing his jacket on the floor in a fit of temper.

"Callum?" Rory called out. He couldn't see him but he could swear that he smelt food. He walked through to the living area and peered around the corner to see that his dining table had been cleared and cleaned. And that there was a steaming dish of pasta with sauce on it. Accompanied by what looked to be a tumbler of vodka, a glass of water, and a piece of kitchen towel folded neatly as though it were a real napkin.

"Cal?"

"Uh...uhhh....ummm.... I'm sorry...umm... I'm sorry," He could hear him but he still couldn't see him.

"Cal where are you?"

"Umm... I'm sorry. I'm...umm..." Callum peeked out from under the table, cluthing on to his filthy teddy tightly. "I mm... made you f...food and I've waited. I p...pr... promise. I haven't had any."

Rory crouched down and slowly worked his way towards where Callum was still half hiding.

"I've been good," Callum whispered. "M...m...mmm...master Hayden can know I've been good." Rory let his head fall forward as he sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. You've been the best sweetheart. Ok? The best. What do you want me to do? You can say. I want you to say."

"Umm..." Callum nudged closer to Rory, haltingly, stiltingly. An inch at a time and bending as he went until his cheek was pressed to the floor by Rory's knee. "Please eat... please... I'm sorry it's not better. I'll try harder next time."

Rory sighed and gently rubbed his fingers through Callum's hair. "No pain for this ok? And then I'll eat."

Beneath his fingers he felt Callum nod.

[bloodydamnit]

You went to MICA, right? I’m currently going there and it’s good (stressful as fuck, but good) and I wanna know; what did you hate and what did you love about it? (Oh my god I sound like those end of year surveys they give you)

Hello there!!! Omfg I’m literally on campus right now for pride!!! LOL just got myself a smoky burger from OTH what what. okay okay okay good questions. 

MICA has changed quite a bit since I was there. Like, my freshman year was fucking lit. If you take the shuttle and get Mr. Robert or Ms. Yvette, ask them about the nudists. Shit was wild. 

Our freshman/foundation year was different in general too? Like

Okay. So. lol. Our classes were:

Elements of Visual Thinking - Which was a chance to explore concepts, mediums, learning how to properly critique, etc. 

Critical Thinking - Which was just critical theory, but more on your own practice I guess? I don’t really know how to explain it. 

EMAC - Which was exploring different forms of digital media and how to use them (Premier, Photoshop, Audacity, recording devices, etc)

Sculptural Forms - Which was a chance for you to explore 3d media. So it was held in what used to be 15/15 and it was woodshop, plaster, 3d printing, and cardboard. 

Then, this is where I get pissed off and seriously fucking angry about this change. 

But we USED to have Painting and Drawing. Now, if you got a 5 in AP art, you gained an extra credit and could skip Drawing/Painting 1. HAH. IMAGINE THAT. HAVING A PAINTING AND DRAWING CLASS AS A FOUNDATION FOR YOUR ART. BECAUSE IT’S KIND OF NECESSARY. 

can you tell im a bit fucking salty?

They were separate classes and I think, they were extremely fucking important to the development of not only my art but my peers. For example, I fucking hated painting when I went to MICA. Literally fucking refused to touch the medium. 

I went to my first class with Latoya Hobbs, tried oil paint, and everything fucking changed. I was a GD major (or that was my plan) and I immediately switched to Painting and I never looked back. 

Unfortunately, yall don’t have that opportunity anymore. Especially since when you choose your major, you tend to stick with those classes. Which really fucking sucks, because you can tell the variety of art has gone down since this change happened. And I think that’s the thing that I dislike about MICA NOW the most. I had the chance to take things, was required to take them, and then I knew how to do a variety of things BECAUSE of those changes. And from what I understand, you don’t have those opportunities anymore. Which really fucking sucks. Because you also miss out on the amazing fucking professors in other majors as well. For example, Karen Warshal. I HIGHLY recommend taking her Portrait class and her Anatomy class. I swear to god, those were the best, more useful classes I’ve ever taken. Is she crazy? A bit. But she’s the most genuine, caring, supportive, and one of the hardest professors I’ve ever had. And thats what you WANT. You don’t want someone to butter you up, tell you your art is poppin when it’s not, and to try and let you off easy because you look upset. Karen tells you how it fucking is and that’s so god damn important. no matter what major you are, TAKE HER FUCKING CLASSES. They’re important and they’re necessary to your development as an artist. Even if you’re not into figural art. - also she makes food and brings it in. and if you’re sick she might make you chicken noodle soup. shout out to karen

Honestly, Karen was probably one of my favorite things about MICA. Along with Mark Karnes,  TONY FUCKING SHORE. LISTEN. YOU NEED TO TAKE A CLASS WITH TONY SHORE (PAINTING). I think he might be doing a class on race (which haha he knows hes white as fuck) and i think it will be fantastic. so keep an eye out, AND RUTH TOULSON THE ANTHROPOLOGY TEACHER. IT MIGHT STILL BE A REQUIREMENT. HER CLASSES HAVE AN 80+ WAITLIST. IF YOU GET ON. ITS SO WORTH IT FUCKING TRUST ME. SHES OUT OF THIS FUCKING WORLD. PAUL LONG, HE’S AN ACADEMIC TEACHER (TEACHES POETRY AND SOME OTHER SHIT. HE’S GREAT. BRINGS SNACKS EVERY DAY), and others?? if you want to know more, please message me and i’ll give you them!

Anyway, I havent really answered your question!

Dislike:Housing situation fucking sucked. getting a room was fucking ridiculous. They ran out of room for us because they started accepting more (this happened when sophomore housing was required. My year was the first year that went into effect and they had to buy out bolton hill apartments. people had to break leases, etc. it was fucking ridiculous). 

The MICA store is eh? It used really good and held in dolphin. But it was literally falling apart. Now its too.. idk. It’s fine. I prefer artists and craftsmen. 

Access to studios and equipment is eh too. Because of time constraints. 

How the student body treats the fucking faculty is DISGUSTING. One girl literally called one of the sweetest security guards the ‘help’. Ms. Gloria (senior in security) is fantastic, Officer Green is everything, Ms. Yvette is so fucking sweet, and Mr. Robert makes my heart sing. 

The student body in general LOLOLOLOLOL. ‘Surround yourself with good juju’ - Former MICA Grad (my best friend) The fucking student body mica page is a fucking dumpster fire lol. 

I don’t like how white MICA is and how entitled a good part of the student body is. The amount of entitlement is fucking ridiculous. And the amount of ignorance is astounding. Also the obviousness to what fucking city you're in, is so wild i cant fucking even. Like. MICA is deceptively beautiful (the MICA bubble). Which is why it is high in crime lol. Just be alert and don’t be a god damned dumbass walking around at 3 am with your fucking headphones in, smoking a cigarette, and acting like you’re fucking immune to being mugged. Just saying. Take the shuttles and you’ll most likely be gucci. 

I don’t like how MICA spends its money (our money). And what they choose to invest in - like buying random fucking buildings and not telling the students what it’s for, and fucking raising the price of tuition and living in order to compensate. 

The total and utter lack of transparency, etc. It felt eehhhh I don’t know how to explain it. 

NOW. I KNOW THIS SOUNDS LIKE A LOT AND THAT IM JUST SHITTING ON MICA. BUT MY MICA EXPERIENCE WAS THE BEST OF MY LIFE. I LEARNED SO MUCH. AND I FIND WHAT I LEARNED THERE TO BE INVALUABLE (except for the fact that I’m 56k in debt. just saying)

But really. I loved MICA. I wish I could go back. I met so many amazing people, made great connections, and I don’t think I would have had the same love at any other art school. (I have friends in SAIC, Pratt, Parsons, FIT, SVA, RISD - they all complain about the same things. they in the grand scheme of things, are material. Which important because, hah, money. But, material nonetheless. If you have the means, I don’t think these things I explained are deal breakers)

Now what I loved about MICA. Because honey. I fucking LOVED MICA:

When I was touring schools, I was kind of eh about them? Not in the sense that I wouldn’t have a good time or be ungrateful, but I didn’t get that feeling. Does that make sense? For example, I took a tour at SVA and I have very very strong opinions about SVA, I had no feeling. When I stepped on MICA’s campus, that was fucking it for me. Not only was I comfortable there, but the professors that were at the tour, made it their duty and went out of their way to make myself and the other potential students feel welcome. They were personable, they were kind and welcoming, they were warm, and that continued even after I decided MICA was the place for me. 

My class at least, had no drama lololol. Again, my freshman year was a hell of a lot of fucking fun. We didn’t have any big racist shit going on like other years (ahem ahem 2018, 2019). INSTEAD, we had the nudists, we had carrot videos (ask around about that), it kind of felt less cliquey? Because everyone was generally interested in being friends? Idk. Like we definitely had groups and they became more evident as majors really clicked in, but in the beginning, everyone was pretty much together (this was the first year that the grill opened and leake was a thing. So we were all figuring out the dorms together). I mean we had drama but it wasn’t... idk. It wasn’t like mica student body (maybe its because we didnt have that to fuck shit up lolol). 

On The Hill was my shit. Still my shit. I fucking love on the hill with a fucking passion. Pom Iced Teas, where you at. The neighborhood in general was really nice. Baltimore is one of my favorite cities and the stigma of it will be broken as soon as you start exploring it. HOWEVER, BE FUCKING SMART. DONT BE A FUCKING IDIOT. IF YOU DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE SOMEWHERE, YEET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. TRAVEL WITH OTHERS. DON’T BE THOSE DUMB ASS WHITE GIRLS FROM RURAL FUCKING TOWNS THAT THINK THEY CAN WALK AROUND AT 4 AM OR JUST WHEN IT’S DARK OUT, ALONE, AND BE OKAY. TAKE. THE FUCKING. SHUTTLE. 

The studio spaces were really nice so as they’re taken care of. the equipment is really nice. take advantage of it while you can. because once you’re out of school. hah. you’re screwed. 

Networking was nice. 

Being close to the Walters was amazing and the ability to go to DC for the day only spending 8$ on the Marc train to get there was amazing. Having Penn right on campus. 

Again, the professors were in majority, fucking amazing. 

Some professors had classes outside of MICA (karen has model drawing classes at her studio) take them! They’re really worth it!

I actually didnt mind the dorms. 10x better than most colleges. 

Accessibility was amazing. Especially since its not a closed campus, but everything is in one place. That’s not the case with a lot of Art colleges. 

And most of all, I just loved being there. I loved learning. I loved the people. I loved baltimore, i loved the professors. MICA 10000% shaped how I am as an artist in the best way and I think it’s an amazing place to be despite the downfalls. 

Don’t take everything I said as gospel. like I said, these are just my experiences as well as a few of my friends in the same fine arts department. The others, I’m not sure about. But yeah. I hope this helps! You can always message me and I’d be happy to refer you to classes, professors, etc. Good luck with next year!

[eerythingisshaka]

Mr. and Mrs. Stevens

This is my submission for @hoopshoney and @purple-apricots Black Panther Anniversary/Valentines Fic Fest!  Not sure if this fic goes with the theme of the fest and if its a bit....I don’t know, however I did a thing and that’s that on that!

Warnings:  Violence, Language, Sexual Situations

Word Count: 4k

Erik Killmonger x Black!OC

Prompt: “Try not to get blood on your clothes. We have dinner reservations in half an hour.”

Her phone trills in her bra as she checks herself out in the mirror.  The shift she picked up for a friend starts in 15 minutes and she hates when he calls beforehand.

Picking up the call she answers.  “Hey Erik.”

“Wassup baby girl?  You at work?”  His voice carries extra loud in her ear and kind of scratchy.

“Yeah actually.  So why are you calling?”  She asks in annoyance while applying her lippie.

“Aww, now don’t be like that.  You -- money tonight e--?  So don’t trip!”  His voice crackles in her ear.

She takes a step back to look over herself in the mirror, pushing her braids back and turning around to check her behind.  “The only thing I’m tripping over is why you obviously aren’t using the new AirPods I got you last month?  I can hear the 10.99 drugstore quality in my ear, it’s bringing down my mood.”  A loud sniff interrupts her train of thought as she sees a brunette leaning over the rim of a sink with a rolled up dollar bill.

Erik tuts at her.  “Come on, you know I’m a traditionalist when it comes to the audio experience!  I gotta, I gotta have, you know, an immersive, like, surround sound type of thing and like, the cords help-”

She leans on the sink in front of her.  “You lost one at the gym today huh?  When I called you and you said ‘shit shit shit!’ that was you dropping my money down the drain, huh?”

“Your money?  Since when is it your money only?”  Erik asks out the side of his mouth.

A girl taps her on the arm, wiping her nostrils as she holds out the dollar bill with a line left on the sink.  She shakes her head with a polite smile.  “Since I been doing all the work here.  These long nights, planning my own appointments, working these guys for tips with only my own damn wit, when they obviously want more!”

“Pssh, aight aight, calm down.  You know I appreciate this.  It’s OUR thing though, so don’t get your butt on your back with me.  I know you nervous cuz a high roller comin in today.”  Erik says calmly.

She picks up her bag and stuffs it in a locker, slamming it closed.  “Yeah, it’s basically now or never, Erik.  If I’m not what he’s looking for, he’s moving on and then we ain’t got shit!”

Erik shushes her softly.  “Chill, trust me.  You what he’s lookin for.  Guys like him love bitches like-”

“You better be kind and rewind that for me!”  She demands.  Erik always slipping his tongue at the wrong times, ignorant self.

Erik laughs.  “I don’t mean you!  He likes ‘females’ like you.  He studies them the most, you know?  That better?”

She sighs, choosing to ignore the still derogatory term.  “Fine.  You just be here when it’s all said and done.  I need you in times like this.”

“You do, huh?  I need you too, if you wearin whatever was in that bag you packed.  Shit looked tiny, so you ain’t covering much.”

She cackles out loud, her laugh bouncing off the walls of the room.  “Shut UP!  Don’t be silly right now!”

“Ain’t nuthin silly!  WE ain’t playing, you feel me?”  Erik says authoritatively.

She kicks her heel at the ground, biting her lip.  “I might be in a mood to see my friend backstage tonight.”

“Oh, so you claiming this dick right now?  Cuz, I thought this was MY dick!  Since I put in all the work around here, getting hard, staying hard, breaking your fucking back so all you gotta do is take it and you can barely handle that-”

“Oh Erik, fuck on with that.  Buh-bye!”

“You get it now?  Be good, DeDe.”

---

Johnny Rocket’s Adult Entertainment Club has a reputation for high profile clientele and catering to every kink imaginable.  Politicians, celebrities, CEOs, and anyone with a 7 figure or more annual salary has the possibility of getting in any night, however the waiting list was 6 months back, minimum.  If your name is powerful enough, you may receive a bump for the inconvenience, but there’s no way that list would move, as people kept looking for a chance to have an extravagant night inside.

One did not have to be looking for a touch from a stranger in order to enjoy themselves there, the club scene is just as hopping with exquisite seating, expensive liquors and miscellaneous party favors for the bold.  Tonight, Johnny Rocket’s is packed wall to wall for a birthday party of the man who runs the Upper West Side of Las Papeleras, of that’s what he would call it.  Mark Foley is the embodiment of greed; a shark tank businessman with a lust for power.  His monopoly of the financial district kept his pockets running over and the local law enforcement’s lined to keep his shady dealings going at an accelerated rate.  

His dealings started off with drug trades across the southern border of the United States, renting out the time of immigrants on the promise of Visa documents and safe keeping of their families on the road to citizenship.  This was a messy business however, as many of his vulnerable employees would be caught shortly after a drop or killed for being intercepted to ensure the details of his operation remained unknown.  It wouldn’t take much to cover his trail with his buddies in DC anyway.  Even with a successful run, Foley would instruct his subordinates to drop off the grid, leaving his pushers high and dry until ICE came for them eventually.  

But he was out of that game, now it is all about real estate.  Foley knew exactly where to upstart businesses for friends and confidants that would make him the richest man in America.  

“The rundown, dangerous, and poverty stricken  neighborhoods are nestled so conveniently between downtown and the burbs.  We just need to get those low lifes sucking off the teat of our taxpayer dollars to get off some extra dough, or get the fuck outta there.”  Foley slurs his words, picking up his tumbler of 12 year old whiskey.  

One of his associates respond, shaking his head.  “Ahh, come on, Foley.  Those people have been living there for so many fucking generations!  How could you uproot them like that, changing there way of life at the drop of a hat like that?  Where’s your heart?”

Foley blinks his eyes a couple of times, staring at his acquaintance from across the room for what seemed like hours.  The flashing, multi-colored lights of the club blur his vision as the bass of A$AP Rocky pounds at their temples.  

“Really?”  Foley asks loudly over the music, frozen with his drink in his hand.

The man laughs out loud, banging the back of the couch as he leans his head back in blissful humor.  “Fuck no!  I’m just fucking with you Foley, come on!”  He boasts, picking up a bottle of whiskey, clanging it against Foley’s glass.

Foley shakes as his hoarse laugh builds in his gut.  “Ohh, man, you had me going there for a second!  You can’t joke like that with me man, you’re still on probation with me.”

The associate combs his hair out of his face, adjusting his tailored, chocolate suede jacket.  “Let me have some fun, huh?  Anyway, you know what to do.  Call up Johnson to get in touch with Hesson about his eminent domain clause on the block, and kick those sons of bitches out on the concrete.  They’ll find a way, roaches never die, you know?  They just skedaddle on to a new nest to infest.”

Foley lights up a cigar, pointing it his way.  “Exactly.  I consider this motivation to do better for themselves.  Hell, once I clean up the pigsty, they can bring their credit score and occupation info, if they have one, and make a deposit with 6 months rent to settle in to the swanky new digs I transform those rat traps from!”

A waitress comes over in a leather miniskirt and thigh high boots with a fringed crop top that rests off her shoulder.  Half of her braids are bound on top of her head, with the rest cascading down her back.  Even in the dark room and the intensity of the strobing lights, her melanin shown beautifully rich, bringing the table to her full attention.

“Can I get you gentlemen another round?”  Her voice said with a sultry timbre, leaning forward to pick up bottle and adjoining glasses.    Some of her braids fall in the face of a hypnotized Foley who reached his thick hands through them, sniffing.

“Mmm, if you mean the juice, that’s not what I need another round of, sugar.”  Foley says wagging his eyebrows.

She looks over at him, pulling her braids back and out of his hands.  “You are Mark Foley, correct?”

He nods slowly, mouth half hanging open.  “I like the way you say my name, doll.”

“My name is Sade.  Your friend here made arrangements for us to...get to know each other a little better…”  Sade bites her lip, using her almond shaped eyes to invite Foley into the possibility.

He didn’t need too much convincing as he clapped his hands looking over at his associate.  “You sly dog!  You planned this for me?”

He shrugs. “Nothing but the best, for the man who holds my old hood in his hands.”  Raising the bottle up again in solidarity, Foley springs up out of the booth, grabbing Sade by the waist.

“This EXACTLY what I need!  Let’s not delay, drop those glasses at the bar and let’s boogie!”  Foley exclaims, leading Sade along and leaving his associate with the bill.

Foley’s hands were lit up over Sade’s body, feeling her soft and firm portions of her body with no shame as she led him to the quieter, private rooms in the bottom level of the club.  A black door marked with the number 8 in gold is where Sade took them before pausing to turn around and face him, snapping her fingers to regain his sober attention.

“Once we cross this threshold, you will need to behave yourself.  I won’t ask you again, otherwise consequences will be set.”  She says calmly.

Foley looks around the hallway, rubbing his hands together before whispering.  “Whatever you say, mistress.  I am at your command.”  His Dad-bod practically vibrated with excitement as she opened the door.  As it closed with a clang, Foley peers around to inspect the various chains, harnesses, chairs with binding mechanisms that decorated the room.

“Whew, this is-”

“SHUT UP!”  Sade yelled with a crack of a whip.  Foley turned around quickly in shock.

“Sade, I wasn’t-”

“Are you speaking out of turn after an order?”  Sade snarls.  In the midst of Foley looking around the room, she has put on a black lace mask covering her face and a nine tailed whip in one hand with ropes in the other.  

Foley shakes his head excitedly.  “My apologies!”

“Turn around and get on your knees.”  Sade says walking around the perimeter of the room like a lioness tracking her prey.  Foley does as he is told, fitting the profile of sub perfectly as he avoids eye contact.

“You are a stupid, worm-grubbing quim aren’t you?”  Sade says matter of factly, playing with the nine-tails in front of him.

Foley nods aggressively.

“ANSWER ME!  Don’t you have a tongue?!” Sade demands, this time cracking the whip across Foley’s arm.  

He shrieks.  “Agh!  Yes! Yes mistress, I am!  I do!”

“Hm, we’ll see about that later...Do you have a problem with authority?”  Foley stammers, not sure how to answer.  “A man of such wealth and status must know a thing or two about breaking rules….Are you going to break mine?”

“No mistress.  I’ll listen to every word!”  

Sade puts her heel into his chest, leaning against him on her knee as she speaks in his face.  “Have you ever let a Black person tell you what to do?”

Once again, Foley is at a loss for words as Sade runs a gloved hand through his thin, short strands of hair, before bringing the palm of her hand square across his cheek with a hard SLAP.

“That ends today.  Tell me Black Lives Matter.”  Sade commands with a dig of her heel that makes him wince.

“Ahh, Bl-Black Lives Matter.”  Foley says hesitantly.

Sade takes her foot off of him before cracking the whip on him again.  “LOUDER!”

“Black Lives Matter!  Thank God, they matter!”  Foley says more enthusiastically.

Sade looks him over with disgust.  “Take off your clothes as you recite every Black person you know that has contributed to the fabric of our nation.  Go!”

Foley starts with the buttons on his jacket and an ode to Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr.  (Sade had to whip him for leaving off the Jr.)  getting down to his briefs before stuttering on names, giving up before after he said Bill Cosby, holding his hands in front of his manhood.

“It’s not cold, put your hands down!”  Sade demanded.

He does do quickly, looking embarrassed at the small protrusion he can’t seem to control.

Sade shakes her hand tutting him.  “I’m glad you’re having fun.  It’s a shame though, how little you know.  The American private school system really failed you.  However I am in a generous mood and have every  intention on catching you up to speed.  With a little help from a friend.”

On cue, the door opens and in walks his associate.  

Foley protests.  “Whoa, hey, this may have been incorrect info you got.  I’m not into THAT.”  

Sade grips his hair at the root.  “Have my boot as a snack while the adults talk.”  Stomping her foot in front of him, Foley bends down on the concrete floor to kiss and lick her shoe.

Sade sighs, wiping her brow.  “Babysitting is so hard.  What took you so long Erik?”

He unbuttons his jacket sighing.  “His fucking card wouldn’t go through upstairs.  So this muthafucka owe me his life and some change now.”  

Erik picks up Foley’s pants, ruffling through his pockets for his wallet.

“Whoa, bro, what are you doing?  You aren’t a part of this!”  Foley says.  

Sade was not pleased with this interruption, bringing her boot around to land it squarely with his chin.  The crack of the impact echoed in the room as Foley flopped on his back, writhing in pain.

“What...the….FUCK!”  He yells out, blood starting to coat his fingers.

“Damn, Sade!”  Erik exclaimed, staring at his girl.

Sade inspects her boot.  “Shit, he got a damn scuff in it, now I’m really pissed.  Tie his ass up so we can move on.”  

Erik handles Foley like a ragdoll, turning him over and using Sade’s ropes to tie his hands behind his back.

“You fucking niggers don’t know who you’re dealing with!”  Foley says through clenched teeth.  

Erik pulls him up by his arms over to a part of the wall with a collar and chain attached to it.  Turning Foley around, he hooks his neck up to the contraption.

“You really want them to be your last words, bitch ass cunt?”   Erik says, tightening the collar on the last possible notch.   “Gotta use they language to get to em sometimes.”  Erik says to Sade.

Foley laughs nervously as tears fill his eyes.  “I could make you rich, man.  Get your mom out the ghetto.  You got any siblings?  You could take them anywhere!  I’ll turn your life around in ways you never seen, just let me out of here with this bitch!”

Sade sits on a stool trying to buff out the mark on her shoe.  “Erik, his voice is annoying me…”  She says in a sing-songy manner.  

Erik pulls out Foley’s phone from his pants pocket, holding it up to his face to unlock it.  

“Fuck!  I shoulda known that facial unlock would bite me in the ass.”

Erik opens his camera to take some pictures.  “Aww, shit!  You finna be the Belle of the Ball once these circulate through your contacts.  No way your bros at the Capitol can clean this mess up.”  Erik laughs, showing the gallery to Foley, who is whining for mercy.

“Come on!  Don’t do this!  Let’s talk this over!  You need some money?  Let me give you something something, and we can work this out.  No harm no foul!”

“Give him your bank login, we’ll handle the rest.”  Sade instructs from across the room.”

Foley shifts, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.  “I-I mean, you don’t wanna give me a figure first-”

Erik sends a strong blow to Foley’s gut, knocking the wind and dignity out of him.

“O...k…” Foley rasps as he coughs through his username and password for Erik to set up a transfer.

“Thanks for the paycheck, bro.”  Erik, takes some leather gloves off of a table, sliding them, flexing his fingers.  “No way in hell you can help me while you still got breath in your body.  And ain’t shit you can do for me.  That neighborhood you wanna run over so fuckin bad ain’t yours to take.  White folks can’t never miss out on a land deal, fuckin colonizers.”

Foley struggled against his bindings, becoming agitated.  “I am providing a service!  Something that will make their world better!”

Erik punches the wall next to his head, cracking the concrete.  “A world you ain’t got no plan to let them in?  They already got a place to stay, and you want them outta there cuz the living is too cheap and they barely affording that.  So instead of working for them, you’re just gonna build shit that they can’t afford, segregating them even more until they gotta leave.  Turning half the shit into fucking parking lots any damn way.”

Foley breathes heavily, swallowing hard.  “It’s so disappointing to hear you settling for less, bro.  It really is…”

Sade comes up behind Erik, handing him a club and brass knuckles.  

“I don’t need that shit, I got this.”  Erik insists with a wink.

Sade rolls her eyes.  “Try not to get blood on your clothes.  We have dinner reservations in an hour.”

As Erik takes off his jacket and dress shirt. Foley says, “Aye, what was it you said before?  Roaches always surviving?  What’s it to you when they’ll find another hole to crawl into?  Making babies and killing themselves, it’s the circle of life.  I'm just tired of seeing your Black asses fucking with my city.”

Erik reaches behind his back near his waistband to swiftly take take out his military issue knife, grabbing Foley by his neck, slamming his head into the wall.  As Foley neck folds sheath his hand, Erik brings the knife slowly to his eye socket as Foley closes his eyelids tightly.  That only makes the process more messy as he screams in excruciating pain while Erik skillfully gouges him.

“There.  Now you aint gotta see shit. That better?”  Sade says, walking away at this point when all she heard was the pounding of Erik’s fist in bone.  Foley’s feebled cries in pain didn’t last long when Erik socked him in his mouth, making him swallow his own teeth.  Sounded as if he even indulged in the knuckles and the club after all, as he dared Foley to say something again, until it was impossible to do so Sade sat in her seat, reviewing her manicure as the cacophony of pounds into Foley’s body turned soft.

Erik’s breathing was the only thing left as he made his way back over to Sade with a wild nature in his eyes, and blood coating his knuckles and face.

“Ohhh, look at you!  You’re never careful when I ask you to!”  Sade scolds him as she pulls out a handkerchief and water, wiping down his hands.

“You know how I get carried away in the moment.”  Erik says, voice gravelly as he stares at Sade.

Sade finishes off his hands, reaching for his face to clean.  “Mhm, I know.  Lucky for you, I brought a spare undershirt to change.  What about your pants…”  Sade brushed some dust near his crotch, feeling his dick twitch under her touch.  “That is enough!  I’m not cancelling this dinner.  It's been weeks in the making!”

Erik bites his lip, leaning over Sade as she digs through her bag.  “You blaming me when you out here dressed like that, kicking white folks in the face and not expecting me to wanna fuck you for that?”

Sade reaches for the collar of his shirt, tearing it halfway off his him with a blade between her teeth.  She takes it and aims it over his chest.  “You know how we celebrate…”

Applying pressure, she drags it slowly across his skin, red liquid bubbling along the length of the cut as Erik seethed.  The satisfying release of his skin allowing the penetration of her blade made her breath hitch in her chest. “We got another one, we mark the occasion.  Without him contacting his people in DC, no way they can settle a vote to gentrify now.”  

Sade runs her thumb along the blood trickling out, wiping it clean before bring her face in his chest to lick his wound.  The soft, muskiness of his skin is too tempting for her to let go as she caresses his chest.

Erik sighs deeply, taking one hand to grab her ass and the other wraps her braids around its knuckles pulling her face back as he devours her mouth hungrily.  Erik lifts her up and onto a nearby table with a thud, pulling her skirt up to her waist as she reaches to free him from his trousers.

“Ooh, dont make me scar your back up now.  This is lucky number 57?”  Sade chuckles as Erik brings ankles to his shoulders, leaning over her.

The way Erik looks at her, one might think she was his sworn enemy.  But this is Erik’s favorite time with Sade.  Not just fucking, but taking out white folks that aren’t doing shit for anyone but themselves, leaving a trail of dead brown and black bodies behind them.  Doing this vigilante justice together never got old.

“Try me. And a lot more to come.”  Erik promises as Sade kisses his keloid riddled arm, biting down once he entered her.

Sade peppered Erik with affection as they fucked.  Their roles easily switched from business to pleasure.  Sade being the brains behind most of the operations, and Erik being the muscle, all he needed was to be told where to go and he had the rest.  But as lovers, Erik took control of her, and she needed that change of pace.  

As Erik reaches for her throat, he put his weight on her, lapping at her neck as he digs her out desperately.  Sade gasped with each stroke he dropped inside of her, seeing stars as her breath quickened.  Her head fell to one side as she got a full view of the damage Erik did to Foley’s body.  The bruising, the bone jutting from his skin, blood pooling near his collapsed skull was all too much for Sade.   She came so hard, Erik nearly slipped in her wetness flooding between them, tightening up on Erik until he contributed his own fluids to their celebration.

Erik lays still on top of her panting.  “How much time left we got on the room?”

Sade rubs his back, still smooth but hopefully not for long once they continue their mission.  “45 minutes.”  She smacks his shoulders, willing him to roll off of her.  “You’re cleaning up by yourself this time.  Your dick is making me miss dinner, I’ve suffered enough.”

Erik laughs slow and deeply as he rubs his face, satisfied all the same.  “You need a mop-iana?”

RagTag  (it’s been so long since I wrote, I’m forgetting who likes to be tagged)

@chaneajoyyy @bidibidibombaclaat @wakanda-inspired

[187days]

Day One Hundred Fifty-Six

C’mon. This is adorable:

That was one of many Teacher Appreciation treats from today. I also got candy, cards, fun trivia games, and a big hug from a former student who’s home from college. I love my job without this stuff, but it’s all really sweet, and it makes me happy.

I had most of my APUSGOV students in class today- a handful were taking the AP Lit exam- so we cheered the fact that the exam was over, DID NOT DISCUSS IT, and launched into the final unit of the course: state and local government. There’s actually a state law governing at least some of what I teach in this unit, which was a fun fact to lead with. Once I went over the unit outline, I assigned the first reading: the NH state constitution. It’s kind of a beast, so I’ll lecture on the main points next class.

In World, students continued their Multi-Genre Project research, and some even started outlining and drafting, which is fantastic. I think the talks Mrs. T and I had about work ethic and utilizing class time have registered with them; so far, everyone is really engaged and enthusiastic. I’m getting great questions, as well. I’m just hoping they maintain this momentum through the whole project. 

Every year, there’s a topic or two that a lot of students choose for their projects. Last year it was gun violence because of Parkland and the subsequent shootings, and so far this year the popular topics all deal with science. Like, a bunch of girls in my Block 2 class are researching developments in medicine, and everything they’re discussing is wicked complex, so it’s really cool to listen in on their conversations. Pollution- particularly ocean pollution- is another popular topic because lots of students have seen images of those trash islands on the news. A bunch of my student-athletes chose doping in sports, too. Some of the stats on that are mind-blowing.

Practice was short today because we had a middle school meet to officiate, which we- us young assistant coaches and our athletes- did while wearing face paint in our school colors (because why wouldn’t we?) My sprinters ran 150m repeats, then we played a game of duck-duck-goose on the infield before the meet started. Yes, that’s actually a great game for sprinters to play, and it’s been a while since I’ve done it at a practice, so it had to happen. More fun will be had tomorrow!

[ontherockswithsalt]

The Fortunate Fall

aka I Don’t Know Why I Wrote This.

A/N: Hey, was a highschool!Joble AU missing from your life? No? Well here’s one anyway lol. This is the first part of a two-part short story (a two-shot?) that I felt like writing. 

This one’s in Noble’s POV and I appreciate that his ass needs saving no matter the universe. Language warning applies. Word count: 1,821

“It's just fucking stupid, that's all,” I complain.

Jamie glances up at me from the spiral notebook on his lap as I pace his room.

“What, you think I'm an idiot? You think I'm not gonna graduate just because of some paper?”

“I didn't say that,” he maintains. “Mr. Craig said that.”

“Yeah well Greg Craig can suck my dick,” I mutter, glancing up the tower of Jamie's CDs sitting next to his stereo.

I hear his mumbled “Nice” from the floor behind me. “What do you normally do?” He wonders. “Bullshit your way through your assignments, or do you actually read?”

“There's something to be said for the art of bullshitting,” I argue. “It'll probably get me farther in life than understanding Paradise Lost. You like Radiohead?” I turn and hold up the jewel case for OK Computer.

He lifts his gaze once more. “Yeah.”

I look at him and consider it for a moment. Not what I would have guessed.

Jamie only turns his gaze back down for a second before it self consciously finds mine again. “What?” He exhales a soft laugh.

“Can I put this on?” I propose, feeling the curve of a persuasive smile at the corner of my lips.

His cheek twitches a little before he returns a faint shake of his head. “Sure. And then this draft is back on you, alright? I'm almost done.”

“What do you think so far?” I question as I eject the disc and switch it with my pick. “You're awfully quiet.”

“... A flawed contradiction of a villainous hero,” Jamie recites. “--The Devil glorifies freedom but remains the prisoner of his own ego.”

His voice with my words makes some kind of heat flicker in the pit of my chest that I tell myself to ignore while I concentrate on finding the track I want.

“Did you write that?” He asks. “Or was that Amy?”

“What do you mean was that Amy?”

“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” He murmurs. “Thought she wrote all your papers for you.”

I swallow hard, reaching up to scratch the back of my head while I turn around. “She's not my girlfriend. We broke up a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

I shrug. “I wrote it. Is that so hard to believe?”

He lets a moment -- filled only with the mellow hum of the dreamy song -- hang there before he shifts back against the side of his bed. “It's pretty good.”

Breathing out a quiet laugh, I lower my weight to join him on the floor. “Pretty good.”

“I mean compared to some of your horseshit I had to read earlier in the semester.”

My brows pull together, half offended, half amused that Jamie would attempt an insult when we hardly know each other. Outside of forced tutoring sessions at the library, and this particular time, at his house, we run in completely different circles.

I scoff but a smile surfaces on my face anyway. “Look, I know this shit. I just have better things to do.”

“He knows it, but he had better things to do,” Jamie echoes. “Cool, maybe they'll print that on your diploma.” He glances down as he crosses out a line on the notebook, then writes something in the margin. “You know it doesn't make a difference when it comes to your transcript, don't you? Whether you don't understand and can't do the work, or you do know and just choose not to work, either way, you fail. So if you can do the work, why let yourself fail?”

“Believe it or not, not everybody cares about their fucking transcript.”

“Then what's the point, Noble?” He shrugs, tossing my notebook to the floor before he stretches back. “I mean why even show up to school at all? Why are you here wasting my time?”

“Your time?” My eyebrows raise.

“You think I don't have better things to do? You have one AP class, I have six. And varsity track. And I work. And somehow I've been in charge of making sure your ass graduates.”

“It's a heavy burden, huh?” I quip. “What, am I supposed to have sympathy for you?”

“I don't want sympathy.”

“You think any of that matters ten years from now?” I narrow my gaze at him. “AP classes and your transcript and how far up your teachers’ asses you got in high school?”

“I don't know. Look me up in ten years and we'll see.”

Adjusting, I scoot down to rest on my side, propping my head up on my hand and I have to laugh. “I will. I'll call you when I get out of rehab and see how you're doing.”

A reluctant grin grazes his face, pulling at his cheek and it amuses me. He shakes his head. “Good to know you have a plan.”

I study his face for a moment, the way it changes with his smile as he glances away. I reach out for the pen that he dropped and tap the end on the notebook. “So what's the verdict? Good enough?” Then I slide the pen behind my ear.

Jamie glances over at me and tilts his head. “I made some corrections. I think you need to expand on your argument in a couple of the paragraphs.”

“But overall--” Then I blink up at him from where I lay across the floor, my eyebrows jumping with a convincing grin. “Thumbs up?”

Another huff of amusement blows out from him. “You need an A on this paper to bring your grade up.”

“Yeah.”

“It's not there yet.”

A frustrated grunt escapes me and I turn to roll into my back. Reaching over, I undo the top button on my rumpled white uniform shirt that I'm still wearing before I manage to sit up.

“I know you have better things to do,” He reminds me. “But--” Then he picks up the notebook and tosses it in my lap. “Don't just drop it. Because it's good. Get it done, alright?” 

With a bored nod, I grasp the notebook and slowly get to my feet. “Awesome.”

Jamie shifts to stand up and without a thought, my arm reaches out. His hand clasps mine and with a flexed tension in my forearm that he matches, I tug him upright. From his own momentum, his chest collides with mine before he works his way a step back.

I swing my hand out to smack the side of his arm but somehow, damn that got my heart all hot. 

“Ah… I'm gonna take off,” I announce before I bend over to retrieve the beat up paperback.

We make our way downstairs, through his big, quiet house. His kitchen glows, warm and dim from a single lamp on a far counter and I glance around for signs of anyone else. I know Jamie has a few brothers or sisters or a few of each, I can’t remember. But I know they’re all older and out of the house.

I hear shifting and movement from a room across the way and figure his parents are still up.  

“Jamie?”

“Yeah mom.”

“You wanna come in here?”

I glance over at Jamie and point a thumb to the door, shooting him a hopeful look that I can just slip out.

He wordlessly reads it and shakes his head before tipping it toward the adjacent room, giving me a murmured, “Come on.”

Leading me to a study, he stretches into the doorway and I peer in from behind him to see his mom and dad sharing sections from the newspaper between two arm chairs.

“This is Noble Sanfino.” Jamie introduces with a quick gesture over his shoulder.

“Hi, Noble,” his mother smiles.

I see his dad lift his chin over the paper before he folds it closed. “Sanfino,” he echoes with this contemplative note that I definitely don’t miss.

My mouth is suddenly parched and I swallow hard standing just opposite this imposing man who everyone knows is some big deal police captain or Marine or both. I don’t know, but I’ll pass on divulging any more information. Instead I silently summon some kind of will that he isn't able to figure out the joint I smoked on my way over here… And the other one in my pocket.

“Uh, yes,” I confirm. “Noble. Nice to meet you.”

“He's in my English Lit class,” Jamie explains. “We were working on a paper.”

“Is that your Nine-Eleven outside?” His father questions.

I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”

Blinking hard, he merely responds with a nod. “Quite a car.”

“What's the paper on?” His mom cuts in.

“Um, Paradise Lost,” Jamie pipes up. “John Milton.”

“Oh boy,” she retorts and reaches out to take the section from Mr. Reagan.

“Felix Culpa,” his father muses.

His wife hums a soft little laugh as she folds the paper. “The fortunate fall, huh?”

The fuck?

Jamie drops a hand hard on my shoulder and starts to turn me out of the room. “Exactly,” he mutters. “It’s pretty brutal. Come on.”

I manage a some semblance of a goodbye before I head to the door in the kitchen. With a simple see ya later, take it easy exchange, Jamie sees me out, closes the door between us and I blow out a heavy breath as my hand dips for my car keys.

Out on the driveway, I tug open my black Porsche and sink inside. There’s a heat along the back of my neck, in my throat that I can’t get to go away. Cops make me tense in general, so it’s no surprise that Jamie’s dad gets me all uptight, just sitting there. But it’s something else.

Something about Jamie’s quiet confidence in class. He has this way of making everybody feel like an asshole. But when I’m alone with him, he elicits some kind of… calming honesty from me and it’s like he doesn’t even try.

I struggle with what that means for a moment. Why I go home and wish I could keep talking to him when up until this year, I’d never bothered.  Like maybe there’s some other tie I have to him that I can’t remember.

With a shake of my head, I push my key in the ignition and twist my wrist to start it. But I’m only met with a gritty, unpleasant rattle and I let go. A brief wave of dread dips through me and my brow furrows at the unfamiliar noise. I stretch my fingers and take hold of the key once more, turn it and the engine fails to come alive, stuttering a hopeless scratch once more until I release it.

“Goddammit,” I whisper and sink back against the leather seat.

My gaze flicks over to the book on my passenger seat, then the brick house in front of me. Drawing a deep inhale to my chest, I push open the driver’s side door and sigh, “Quite a fucking car indeed.”

...part 2 for another day...