#blame it on calculus 2

[lecfoscism]

ALL JOKES! anyways is this anything. i don't know. happy international break everyone.

bonus:

[myunghology]

THE LITTLE THINGS.

summary the little things they do for you, just because they love you. part 1/2 !!

pairings riddle, leona, azul, x gender neutral reader (established relationship)

tw none.. i think IDK

a/n — YAYYY I HIT 1.7K give me more clout pls ily all

✧ — RiDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Teaches you even though it's incredibly late at night. His eyes are already telling you that he's tired— and you try your best to tell him to go to bed.

But noooo, he cares too much about you to let you fail your worst subject. He casually waves his hand to dismiss your ideas for him to get sleep, putting you first before anything else. Well, at least he's learning more as well from teaching you.

Your head would be laying on his lap as he explains literal calculus at 4am in the morning, since you woke up in the middle of the night, making HIM wake up as well, why not torment you as well by making you learn with the time?

You give him such attitude early in the morning, saying "I'm sorry calculus sucks so bad, I'm sorry it's boring?" and yet he's completely whipped for you to the point that he's willing to sacrifice his sleeping schedule for you to learn. It's for your own good!

Riddle's possessive.. But in a good way! He just cares too much, not possessive to the point he's controlling, but possessive in a way that he's just overprotective of you.

He's the "Don't let anybody do this to you, unless that somebody's me." type of boyfriend. Can you tell he gets jealous easily? Gets extra snarky whenever someone asks about you, especially when they don't know you two are dating.

The type to pull you closer wherever just from being possessive, and makes an excuse that's basically just "Because you might get lost". Riddle.. The hallway is currently empty?

He will forever be your first and last love. The little things he does for you, it's everything. To you, and to everyone else who sees. The way he ties your shoelaces— which you didn't even notice that was untied.

When you make a mistake and a small "I'm sorry." comes out of your lips while your eyes get blurry, shaking his head as he shushes you and reassures you, everytime without fail.

The way he looks up at your pretty face right after, as smitten as ever and in complete awe, it's not that obvious, but you can see it in his eyes.

The way he's incredibly patient with you, the way you push your luck just to annoy him— luckily not getting beheaded by your own boyfriend. He has always fully believed time has brought you to him, hell, even fate itself maybe.

✧ — LEONA KiNGSCHOLAR

Leona always finds himself ending up with you, one way or another. At the end of the day, he's home. To you. And that's what matters the most to him.

The way he's burying his face in your chest, making a giggle escape out of your lips, a giggle he especially loves, but of course, would never really admit it directly.

This time, it's your turn to tease him for acting like this. But who could blame him? You're so comfortable.. And you're so.. Everything, really.

The soft sighs of relief he lets out when he feels your fingers thread through his long hair, indirectly asking you to not stop, and just keep going.

He compliments you without even realizing. Like it's a natural response to everything you do. From your little "Isn't this bow really cute, Leona?" with a soft smile as he goes, "Yeah. It'd be cuter if you'd wear it, though."

And you're left red and blushing, it honestly depends if he's going to tease you for it or not. But we all know, your blush is never going to get unnoticed by the prince himself.

Gets defensive whenever you bring this topic up. He will NEVER miss a day of complimenting you— even if it's something random. It's either that, or something completely heartwarming.

It ranges from, "You're really short, you know? Could barely even reach the top of the door even if you stand on your tippy-toes. But it's alright. I like it like that." with a smug grin.

To, "What's wrong with you? You're gorgeous. You're gonna be keepin' up with me in terms of persuasion, with those adorable little eyes of yours, are you?" sir this is a wendys

Can NEVER say no to you when you give him that special look. When you look up at him he absolutely melts— and it's painfully obvious it hurts physically (And by that, I mean butterflies.)

"If my significant other thinks they can just bat their cute lil eyes at me and get whatever they want, they're absolutely right." Type of mindset. He'd never admit it or say it out loud, either. We all saw that coming though, let's be honest..

Grits his teeth whenever you look at him with doe eyes, and it makes him weak because he especially loves your eyes, and how much they can say about you and how you're feeling.

✧ — AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Provides you with anything you need, without you needing to ask, almost everytime he notices. For other people, they'd need payment. But for you..? Ah, just forget about the goddamn contract at this point.

Actually, there IS a payment you have to do. Can you guess? It's definitely something cheesy or corny. Kills myself

Everytime you give him kisses all over his face, he's definitely all read. Who could blame him? We know he's not used to affection like this. And the fact that it's coming from you.. I don't know if that makes it worse or better at this point.

But of course, this will always come with a payment. More of a punishment— maybe. Having to wipe all your faint lipstick marks off his face when he has to be in the mostro lounge, making him just a few minutes late.

He picks up your habits. From talking or texting, no matter how different it is, he'll pick it up. From how much time you two spend together, I can't really say anyone's surprised..?

So, don't be surprised when he randomly responds to you with your usual attitude, or even just talking or texting a little bit like you as well.

The best part is, he doesn't even notice himself. When someone brings it up, he raises an eyebrow and acts like he doesn't know what they're talking about at all.

Gets all flustered when someone mentions you. It wouldn't even be about your relationship and he'd still be a blushing mess. Why? Um.. I dunno..

They probably wouldn't even realize you two are dating until they see Azul's wallpaper is you two, and when he opens his phone, most of the widgets there are your little selfies you send to him for fun.

Whether it'll be a literal thirst trap ("He's getting all red, please stop?" - Jade). Or a 0.5 picture of you sent by a mutual friend, or even Floyd who practically towers over you.

note — 𝔹𝕌ℝℕ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔾𝔸𝕐𝕊 𝓑𝓤𝓡𝓝 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓖𝓐𝓨𝓢 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝚈𝚂 ꃳ꒤ꋪꋊ ꓄ꁝꏂ ꍌꋬꌦꇙ ฿ɄⱤ₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳Ɏ₴ ᗷᑘᖇᘉ ᖶᕼᘿ ᘜᗩᖻS [̲̅B][̲̅U][̲̅R][̲̅N] [̲̅T][̲̅H][̲̅E] [̲̅G][̲̅A][̲̅Y][̲̅S] BURN THE GAYS ßÚRñ †HÈ GÄ¥§ B̶U̶R̶N̶ T̶H̶E̶ G̶A̶Y̶S̶ вυяη тнє gαуѕ ᏰᏬᏒᏁ ᎿᎻᎬ ᎶᎯᎽᏕ ᴮᵁᴿᴺ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴳᴬʸˢ БҴЯҊ ꚌӉЄ ԌДҰЅ ႦႮჁႶ ႵႹჹ ყმჄႽ B̤̮Ṳ̮R̤̮N̤̮ T̤̮H̤̮E̤̮ G̤̮A̤̮Y̤̮S̤̮ B̷U̷R̷N̷ T̷H̷E̷ G̷A̷Y̷S̷ B̲U̲R̲N̲ T̲H̲E̲ G̲̲A̲̲Y̲̲S̲ B̳U̳R̳N̳ T̳H̳E̳ G̳A̳Y̳S̳ B̾U̾R̾N̾ T̾H̾E̾ G̾A̾Y̾S̾ B͎U͎R͎N͎ T͎H͎E͎ G͎A͎Y͎S͎ B͓̽U͓̽R͓̽N͓̽ T͓̽H͓̽E͓̽ G͓̽A͓̽Y͓̽S͓̽ B҈U҈R҈N҈ T҈H҈E҈ G҈A҈Y҈D҈ B͙U͙R͙N͙ T͙H͙E͙ G͙A͙Y͙S͙ B͒U͒R͒N͒ T͒H͒E͒ G͒A͒Y͒S͒ B̻U̻R̻N̻ T̻H̻E̻ G̻A̻Y̻S̻ ḄỤṚṆ ṬḤẸ G̣ẠỴṢ

[smizzy]

Take A Chance With Me

Ib Niki but motivated by last week of school jitters 🏆

This emoji is so cute🫩🫩🫩🫩🫩

Sophie and you are plain friends..well if we just ignore the subtle flirting from you two, the secretive staring at one another during a night out, the way your limbs are always touching, the awkward silences added with the awkward cute smiles trying to soften the blow because you can’t even function correctly.

just a pure hot mess, honestly

you never pushed more than what you felt was right, sometimes she’d be cool, and others she’d just need a hug and some quiet time. You never blamed her for it, you knew she was running on 30 minutes of sleep and constant cameras and mics in her face. So you offered a place where she could just drop the weight and worries off her shoulder right at your doormat.

And she always took the opportunity even when you weren’t home. Your home felt like hers and for some reason she found herself driving down your street in the early hours of the night, this wasn’t a daily routine but it was frequent enough to know that she preferred being with you than being alone with her thoughts in her dim apartment.

You knew about her nightly visitations; so you made sure to leave her a copy of your house keys, this very night you were out with some friends from your calculus class, you had just finished a long week of final exams and projects and what better way to celebrate than grabbing shots.

You had gotten a notification about movement in the front of your door before you could open it. Sophie had sent a photo of her making a milkshake with the ice cream and milk from your fridge. You replied to her picture with a couple of emojis telling her to make herself comfortable and you’ll be home soon. Your place wasn’t new to her; she had been over plenty of times, both invited and uninvited.

She knew you guys were friends but she couldn’t help the smile breaking through her face once she saw how open and caring you were with her. Yeah, you could’ve never make her a key, or not leave the heater on low because you know her car has a hard time switching the AC, or not leave the porch light on because of her clumsiness.

you could’ve just done none of the stuff you do, but you do. “Why?” Was the question that popped in her head. She thought maybe you just really love home decor and the whole home-y vibe but the poutine you left with the note of the fridge ‘saved you some poo-tine 💩🇨🇦’ made her heart beat and her cheeks flush like crazy.

While you were trying to sober up on a nearby table you couldn’t get the girl out your head. You know can have fun without her but it just isn’t as fun with her and you didn’t care to deny it so on short thinking you just got in the car and went on your way home.

”Sophie? Are you still here ?” “kitchen!”

As you two shared a hug you couldn’t help but stay in place, while she did the same. And that was the only thing she needed to completely let her worries go out the door.

“are you drunk?”

“Eh, just 2 mojitos and a Shirley temple”

she laughed in the hug “you know Shirley’s are mocktails, mock as in it’s just juice, right?”

You nodded slowly understanding “that..actually makes sense why the bartender laughed at me for saying on the rocks”

When you turned your head you read the time of the microwave ‘1:45 AM’

“did you eat the poutine I left for you?”

shaking her head “no, not yet but thank you love”

you blushed and looked down at her hand that fell below you two, trying your best to focus that you didn’t see the way she’s basically burning holes through your head.

She snapped out for her thoughts when you walked away and stopped at a shelf filled with music, you pulled a vinyl out its disc cover and placed it on the record player you ask for her hand which she gives almost instantly and you two began to slow dance around

When the giggling and snickering quieted down, she placed her head on your chest; in the midst of the silence she realized how easily comfort washed over her by hearing your heart and to hear the vibration ring through her body is to know you’re really there and this isn’t just the perfect person she made up in her head. Geez no, she tried to shake her from the thoughts

“How was finals week?”

“Please I’ll only bore you to death” you shook your head with a smile

“Oh dear lord please no, butttt I meant like how are you? I barely got to see you this past month and I missed you”

“Aw, I miss you everyday you’re not home”

Her eyes widen as she sways; shes pretty sure you can feel her heart beating like a drumline

She lifts her head with an amused smile already plastered on her face, “is that so, officer nonchalant”

You broke out into laughter remembering when you broke down slang in tiktok comments

“please don’t ever say that again, you sound like an elderly”

you start to walk into the hall with your laughter as she flips you off, she walks around your living room shelves her heart is still fluttering though and it drove her downright crazy; your laugh wasn’t new, and you especially weren’t new to her so why does she feel like this?

She doesn’t count the time she couldn’t sleep next to you because she was too busy looking at the way your lashes looked so long and how slow you were breathing while her heart was ramming at her chest that night. She gave a side eye to an imaginary camera just thinking about that night

Or the time she spent back in Montreal with friends and just could not get you off her mind, she cringed at the thought of the memory and if she wasn’t at your house she’d scream into her bed in agony and embarrassment for hours.

“you okay? You been holding that pic for some time”

she turned her head to the side seeing you in a fresh set of clothes, tbh she felt like hugging you again just to smell you once more. You walk beside her to see what she was holding; you see the picture of you and Sophie that was taken when you first met and had dinner with her parents and sister.

“ohh yes, I remember this just like yesterday because I was shitting myself into nervousness” you recall the whole afternoon being spent as nervous wreck

“What? Why?? My parents weren’t even as bad as my sister when it came to the ‘are you dating question?’”

silence fell upon the comfortable living room

“because that was the night I knew I loved you” you smiled softly not wanting to make it weird

before you could brush it off she turns your face towards her planting a careful kiss to your lips, she looks at you to see you’re smiling like crazy

She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight

“Well now, we sure aren’t beating the allegations”

“you know it’s legal now right?”

“Oh hush”

[stevie-petey]

Had an idea and wanted to pester you about it (I’m kidding, I hope I’m not actually pestering you). What if you were to write a cute snow day blurb for Stug? Set in between S3 and S4? I ask because it’s currently snowing where I’m at and just thought “dang, that’d be so cute.”

you could never pester me i loooove answering blurbs <33 now if i may pester you i changed the timeline to between seasons 2 and 3 because i couldnt resist the idea of pre-dating steve n bug playing in the snow together n being all shy n cutie ugh

enjoy !

"its snowing," steve leans your desk chair back, nearly tipping over completely as he peers out your window. "like. a lot."

theres a mound of assignments on your desk and you only spare a quick glance outside. "oh," your absent minded tone doesnt go unnoticed by steve. "thats nice."

he narrows his eyes. "i thought you loved snow."

"i do," this time more genuineness comes through your voice. you look outside again and ache when you see just how snow has fallen. "but..."

your head tilts down to the work scattered between you and steve. youre insanely behind on calculus assignments and steve has a lab report three weeks overdue and today is the first real day your injuries from demodogs and billy have healed enough to even attempt to understand what a derivative is.

jonathan is stuck at home taking care of will and promised you hed help you with the math as soon as he was able, but now, with all the snow that inevitably will block the roads, you know youre doomed.

steve sees the stress that tenses your spine and an idea pops into his head. he snatches the homework from you and is running out of your room.

"what the-?" but hes already gone, annoyingly fast when he wants to be.

you run after steve, having no other option, really, and find him and dustin rushing to put their coats on.

"shes here!" dustin screeches when he sees you. he shoves at steve, urging him to hurry up, and your mother watches fondly from the kitchen.

you push past your brother. "what is happening?"

steve zips up coat and winks at you, giving no response other than flinging the front door open and chasing dustin through the snow. theyre gone in a heartbeat, giggling like children as they fucking prance through the falling snow.

"id join them if i were you, y/n." your mom says with a slight chuckle. "steve told me to hide your homework until you were 'soaked in snowflakes'."

your jaw drops. "mom-"

"im sorry, sweet girl." she laughs at you now. "blame that handsome boy of yours and go play with your brother outside. itll be good to get some fresh air!"

"but-"

"wear a coat!"

and then your mother shuts her bedroom door, leaving you to watch steve tackle dustin into the snow as they shriek and wrestle in the slippery ground.

"my eye!" steve squeals in pain, rolling around, and dustin giggles menacingly. feeling your eyes on him, steve flings a distressed hand towards you. "y/n, help a guy out here, would ya?"

even though he cant see you, you still roll your eyes at steve. dustin echoes his own sentiments of wanting you to join. the boys plead with you over and over and youre weak to them.

sighing, you grab your heaviest coat. "if either one of you even thinks about tackling me, youre dead."

dustin salutes you. "yes, ma'am."

you help steve up. his hand is cold and his nose red and eyes shining and you cant help but giggle slightly at the sight of him. theres flecks of snow that line his brown hair and hes a delicate kind of pretty that rivals the spiral of snowflakes.

"saved me again, angel." he winks at you again, causing you to blush.

"shut up." you shove at his chest, avoiding his tender eyes. they reveal more to you than you know hes ready to admit.

steve laughs and dustin throws a snowball at your face and everything is warm and soft.

“COME HOME” BLURB MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[ashtxrie]

we stay locked in

— alternatively, enhypen as (my) high school classes!

PAIR. high school! enhypen x gn!reader (rest under cut) GENRE. humor, high school au, blurbs WORD COUNT. 1.3k total NOTES. hello enhablr i am BACK. sorry guys this is alternatively known as a super self-indulgent enhypen as my classes this year so i don’t crash out in semester 2 post

이희승 — lee heeseung

philharmonic orchestra. he’s there for the vibes (and to fulfill his performing arts graduation credit requirement) but he’s secretly super invested in music theory. the type to say “i didn’t practice at all lol” the day of the audition but still eat that shi up anyway?? people tell him to stop the cap but honestly, he has the raw talent to pull it off as well so nobody really knows. he WILL be that person clocking people who use the restroom for the nth time in the middle of the firebird suite though, but man, sometimes people really do need that bathroom break for their mental and physical wellbeing. as his stand partner, he’s really good at covering for you if you make a mistake and even takes mutual blame for coming in early even though it was definitely your fault for taking a nap during your 5-measure rest... he’s that one student who gets to conduct the orchestra when the conductor is absent (or “sick” on a vacation to disney world) and the ensemble actually respects him enough to take him seriously.

박종성 — park jongseong

ap us history. we all know this man loves history; he would actually be the type to read the textbook for fun and not just search up summary pdfs or upload the whole dang thing to chat gpt! i feel like quizlet would be his best friend and would probably terrorize all his other friends to build their quizlet flashcard streaks with him. lowk he’s just in this class so he can flex random history facts on uninformed people I’M SORRY he secretly enjoys somewhat resembling the “umm actually!” meme. but honestly you go jay, being educated IS rightfully a flex. i feel like he’d actually talk to the teacher after class just to ask a clarifying question or just to confirm something totally random; he’d be like “was there really a u.s. entomological warfare field test called operation big itch?!” and the teacher would absolutely love him for that. on practice dbq days, he’s the best person to have on your team — you know you’re set when he gives you the look and little nod that communicates that he 100% got this. 

심재윤 — sim jaeyun

ap calculus bc... THIS MAN WILL GLAZE THE HELL OUT OF AP CALCULUS BC. just like how he is adamant about his physics glazing, math is no exception. tell me why he’s legitimately taking advantage of ten minutes at the end of class to get started on his homework? put that TI-84 AWAY and look me in the eyes. he’s the one classmate who’s super nonchalant and sporty and sits in the back of the classroom, but is secretly an academic weapon. “jake sim, wonderful work. you were the only one in the class who got 100.” HELLO??? good thing you always go over to him for a post-exam debrief, because he’s basically the answer key anyway. during class, he’d be quietly doing his own thing and joking around with the people around him, but the teacher lets it slide. everyone in the class is conflicted between loving and hating him, but he’s genuinely so nice and is always eager to help the people around him who need it — that still doesn’t stop the entire class from naming him their D1 opp though! 

박성훈 — park sunghoon

ap biology. the one who spites people who obliterate the curve. he’s also the best frq peer-grader though, he’s going off of vibes! if you mention anything remotely close to the answer key, you bet he’s giving you the point because people suffer enough already. sunghoon is surprisingly good at the labs though, he managed to not kill a single fly in the mendelian genetics lab and he’s super diligent at counting them too. your other lab mates had exhaled a bit too harshly one time and the sedated flies went FLYING across the lab table from under the microscope — you swear sunghoon’s eye twitched because he had JUST sorted them all by phenotype. he didn’t say anything to them though, and just started recounting the flies again because he’s just a chill guy like that. what people don’t know about him is that he actually scores high enough to potentially set the curve, he just chooses not to raise his hand when the teacher asks for top scores because he’s #taking one for the team. what a legend. 

김선우 — kim sunoo

advanced journalism. producing a newspaper? more like an excuse to know ALL the gossip and put everything under the name of investigative journalism. it’s literally his JOB to be on top of all the school events and the niche hobbies and passions that students have, and he absolutely loves it. combined with his social personality and strong writing, he’s for sure the editor of the “spotlight” category. and honestly, he’s the best the school has had in a long time. his feedback is always something to look forward to too — as one of his staff writers, your drafts are handed back with a colored pen circling a particular phrase you used, with the words “someone cooked here” or “OH YES GIRL” written in the margins. he brings the best food for after-school mandatory work days too, from donuts to chips to canned drinks — sunoo knows that the people need the snacks in order to gain enlightenment mid-article! his pages in the newspaper are also the most visually appealing too, this man knows how to use adobe indesign. 

양정원 — yang jungwon

ap english language and composition. with how diligently he uses duolingo, i have no doubts that jungwon will succeed in ap lang. imagine if he applies that study technique to memorizing rhetorical devices? he would be reading something completely random like the instagram terms of service and going “omg wait guys this is anaphora” like okay english king. and the effort he puts in shows in his results too. when jungwon checked his grades to see a 100% on the timed write while every one of his friends complained for a whole week about getting an 80, he knew he was locked IN. he participates a lot during class discussions too, so everyone knows who he is. as a fellow #taking one for the team legend, he always agrees to be the sacrifice to share out to the class the table group’s ideas. also — something not exactly english-focused, but he’s also so alarmingly good at time management. like how is he maintaining a solid sleep schedule and clear skin while watching alchemy of souls during his pomodoro breaks? the world will never know. 

西村力 — nishimura riki

ap chemistry. hear me out he signed up for this class thinking he could blow stuff up. he did not, in fact, get to blow stuff up all year — the blowing was done instead in the form of a huge blow to this man’s gpa. like what do you mean there’s solubility rules, polyatomic ions, vsepr geometric structures and their BOND ANGLES, plus gas law equations to memorize?! he went slightly delirious mid-semester and came up with insane, unhinged references just to drill all the content into his memory, from connecting acetate (CH3CO2-) to his “esteemed rizz mentor” heeseung (3 letter e’s in his name and he breathes out CO2!) and imagining his friends on a fucking seesaw to memorize the <90 and <120 degree bond angles. he tried explaining his logic to you (rapping out the equation for the van der waals real gas law?) and you just went along with it. he actually pulled through though with a B+ at the end of it all, but he swears to never have jake in charge of his course selection ever again. 

TAGLIST: @star-sim @boyfiejay @jlheon @jwsdoll @dimplewonie @suneng @en-gelic @mygnolia

[nerdishpursuits]

What really amuses me (or annoys, depending) is that we always manage to look for more than meets the eye, assuming the show has more depth to it, when in truth it’s lacking in so many ways.

We seem to forget what we’re dealing with here. And what that is? Is a novela, pure and simple. A Spanish one, true. But a novela just the same. And while in the beginning, for the most part, quality prevailed? It’s more and more obvious the show is becoming plagued by the inconsistencies of its genre.

We’ll never have a sensitive topic such as SA treated with the care and empathy it deserves (if anything, it encourages the message that victims are better off if they keep silent; the SA itself and the inherent misogyny? they were just background noise for the now 20+ episodes narrative of a woman suffering the consequences of looking for justice that was legally denied)

We’ll never see Fina’s recovery as it should have been treated.

We’ll never see Marta’s own trauma addressed.

I severely doubt we’ll see them healing together in a way that feels rewarding, empathetic and well thought out. We’ll get hints that they spent the night together, that they talked about their feelings and addressed the problems they’re facing. Hints and more hints. Surface level depictions that don’t really bother going beneath the surface. One of those high-speed trains that seldom stop at any station for more than a few minutes, the scenery a blur at the edge of one’s vision. Expecting more? Well, it might be asking for too much. We either enjoy what we can and as much as we can, or we desist. Plain and simple.

As for more of today’s events?

1. Just like Marta is a grown up, capable of making her own decisions? So is Tasio. For Carmen to lay all the blame at Marta’s feet is ridiculous. As is the show persisting in comparing her to Jesús, who is a de facto muderer and whose violent actions don’t have repercussions + let’s add Don Pedro to the list, whose revenge ended with the murder of the one responsible for his son’s death - I doubt there’ll be consequences as, after all, he’s a man and allowed to get away with it. For Marta though? Pandora’s box and all its blessings. May I just say succumbing to rage and helplessness one time, does not a violent person make, nor does it undo the moral tapestry of Marta’s character (for all the show loves to punish her for it).

But I’m digressing. Tasio is not a saint and to pretend otherwise is laughable (Carmen herself suspected he orchestrated the entire thing to curry favour with his father? I mean. Her trust in him is somewhere below sea level, no need to pretend otherwise. More so, she seems to forget it was Damián who paid for Tasio’s out-of-jail-card: claiming Marta’s family wouldn’t help him is borderline absurd). Marta didn’t force him to do anything, he chose to help her of his own free will. And at the end of the day? Marta never shies away from doing the hard thing: taking accountability. And she does it every single damn time, no matter how hard it is. (let’s see if Tasio ever gets there, fully). And I now find myself needing a scene where Fina defends Marta with Carmen.

2. They found the most contrived way of using Marta’s journal against her - if it is her journal, that is; for all we know it’s Marta’s calculus notebook (Santiago invading their safe space and just so happening to find it laying there? It’s not only supremely absurd but a sacrilege as well, yet another violation of their intimacy). Rather funnily, this show might be trying to preach violence is not the answer yet here we are, ascending to the next level altogether (I personally don’t see any other way to be rid of Santiago - his demise needs to be imminent and it needs to happen). Not to mention how outlandish it is that a nobody is able to get into Fina’s cell, waltz into Marta’s office or walk onto their property like so? This level of absurd is top-tier for sure.

3. The one consistent thing? Marta’s love for Fina and Fina’s love for Marta. That hasn’t changed and it won’t (it’s very much obvious Marta is nothing but irritated with Pelayo and for good reason: that man is like fungus, chemical treatment needed)

Oh well. Since the inane seems to be the way? Let’s join the circus: Santiago is moved to tears upon reading Marta’s journal and gives them his blessing, for Pelayo and Santiago it’s love at first ‘stache and they buy the property next to Marta’s so they can be felices los quatro, Jesús launches a business promoting hair-growth (dar en el calvo) and Eladio writes a book in prison (from SIcario to NOcario).

On the bright side? Flirty and Horny Fina is back tomorrow? Or so it would seem. She’s been dearly missed 😌 Furthermore? For everything that’s not being said, shown or addressed? It’s still a feat Mafin remains the healthiest relationship on the show. No doubt about it!!!

[theemptyartdeco]

Twin Tides (Nate Jacobs)

Summary:

Kaitlyn Arundel, a former prep school princess from New York City, was a pawn in her parents' war of a divorce, had a fire in her that was concealed by a facade of naivety and perfection.

Nate Jacobs is the king of the monsters that once haunted him, a master of control born from his own nightmares.

When their worlds collide, lines blur and reflections emerge, hinting that perhaps, they're not as different as they seem.

Materlist

Chapter 2 Calmness amidst the Storm | Kaitlyn

Warning: This chapter contains prejudice, strong pejorative language and internalized misogyny. (Both of them are deeply flawed characters, read at your own discretion.)

Kaitlyn Arundel belonged to everywhere but nowhere.

To the glamorous New York, to the exotic Beijing, to melancholic Vancouver, Kaitlyn came, breathed and lived. She didn’t mind the habitual change of scenery. Why would she ever? She adored the privilege of flying above the world, rainy wooden scent of the northwestern coast, the foreign and mysterious capital of an ancient civilization and the vibrancy and grandeur of the city where dreams were made of.

But finding herself in a Californian suburban town was something that had almost sent her over the edge of anger and despair.

“Sweet daughter, it doesn’t matter whether you are in New York or anywhere else. Diamond shines everywhere it travels to.”

“Don’t you blame it on me. It’s your father’s fault that I can’t afford your private tuitions and ballet training anymore.”

“I will be sending allowance on your card. Don’t you ever worry. It’s your mother I am punishing, not you.”

“Kaitlyn, I’ve looked into your profile, 4.2 GPA, outstanding volunteering experience. Keep your academic records as it is, you will get into college in no time.”

Getting to a college? Is the man fucking serious? I do not belong to some low life community college. I belong to an Ivy.

“Kaitlyn.”

“Kaitlyn.”

“Ms. Arundel.”

“I’m sorry,” She adjusted her skirt, forcing the anger and tears down her throat by smiling gracefully, “Please go on.”

“As I was saying, I know transferring across half the country in the middle of your senior year may unsettling,” the principal continued, the appreciation in his voice now laced with a hint of impatience, “But I assure you, there is no need to be.”

“Thank you, Principal Hayes,” Kaitlyn nodded, putting a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the discreetly ostensible round pearl earring, “To hear this from you offers me great relief.”

Relief my ass.

Every step Kaitlyn took toward the AP Calculus classroom, she felt as if she were Cersei Lannister in Games of Thrones, walking down atonement among stinking peasants of King’s Landing.

Some guys with their poorly arranged shirts smirked at her way, their lustful eyes gazing under her black skirt, while a group of girls whose laughter sounded like those horrendous traffic honking in downtown New York bumped the side of her shoulder, misplacing her expensive shirt.

She peeked back at the the group of girls. Fluorescent pants, their full breasts bouncing blatantly in their tops that served to enhance their youthful sexuality.

They would’ve been sent home, she scoffed, with a slight tilt of her brows, if only this was at the Trinity.

She sat herself in the corner of the first row instead of the centre where she wished to be. She liked attention. Especially the type of attention she receives effortlessly simply by dressing, walking and smiling they way she did. But something about placing in front of twenty ish hormonal teenagers unsettled her. Most importantly, the spot offered her opportunity to observe.

The teacher went on and on about the limit of a function, a notion she had leant in junior year, Kaitlyn’s gaze wandered subtly unnoticeably. One girl was the first of her subject of observation. The makeup on her face was smoky and bold, her winged eyeliner almost reached her brows. She, like almost other girl in East Highland High, wore a short tank top revealing her belly button and petite waist. Then, at least, her eyes finally landed on her breasts, again. They were plump, her round skin rubbed against each other and the rough texture of her top. They captured her attention uncontrollably.

She felt the sensation of her tight, black, push-up bra constraining her flesh like a 19th century corset.

But she loved Victorian corsets.

But it burnt, it hurt.

She returned her mind on the paper, but the image of their horrendous laughter and rude demeanour, the way their breasts bouncing freely and shamelessly played again and again.

Just as she breathed soothingly, preparing to drown herself in the world of mathematics once more, her eyes landed on Nate Jacobs.

Wearing a large blue hoodie, it was obvious in his eyes that his mind was filled with calculations beyond the math.

That night at the carnival, he touched her.

He dared to touch her.

“A lot of men would try to het their hands on a beautiful girl like you. You don’t want to find yourself in that kind of situation.”

Was that a threat?

Nate Jacobs was the image of an archetype she disdained: the arrogant jock, stupid and practically illiterate, actions dictated by sex hormones instead of the brain. Yet the way he spoke to her with the calm and charming mask he had worn , even later that night, the threatening way his gaze locked to that his girlfriend and the way he grabbed her for messing his pride…

For the first time in this dreadful school, Kaitlyn was excited. Among the hormonal driven teenagers, there was a wrestler.

An embodiment of physical strength and strategy.

To be frank, Nate Jacobs had occupied a portion of her mind. A disgust boiled in her stomach as Kaitlyn is recalled the unabashedly greedy look the faces of those pathletic and arrogant high school boys, but Nate Jacobs was everything she liked about men.

Kaitlyn Arundel had made a long mental checklist of the things she liked and disliked about men.

She liked white shirts, crisp and clean, but not the ones that hadn’t seen an iron in weeks.

She liked tall boys, but didn't mind the shorter ones as long as their bodies were in shape.

She hated unkempt appearances, but there was nothing on planet Earth she hated more than fat arms and a round belly.

She liked jeans, snug but not too tight.

She liked sweaters.

She liked confidence, but despised misplaced arrogance, the bluster without the backbone.

She never understood boys who wore makeup, felt it hid more than it showed.

It was one of the things she first noticed about Nate. His confidence didn't just show, it roared.

“Mr. Jacobs, please come with us.”

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Principal Hayes’ voice.

“Maddy fainted, and they found bruises on her neck,” a girl whispered to the person next to her.

“And they think that Nate did it!”

Kaitlyn immediately recalled the image of him dragging Maddy furiously away from the booth after she had called his mom the c word.

To Kaitlyn, the idea of Nate leaving those marks on Maddy wasn’t unsettling. If someone had humiliated her that publicly, she might not have drawn blood, but she'd certainly have sought revenge — maybe by obliterating her future.

An hour later.

“Ms. Arundel, do you consider Nate Jacobs to you a violent individual?”

“No, officer. Nate Jacobs is one of the few who had shown me kindness since my transition to a completely new environment. He is an honest, generous and kind person . I truly believe he wouldn’t do such a thing. He's just not that kind of person.”

Author’s note: after writing this chapter, I realized that her pov, perhaps, is more and disturbing and Nate pov chapters. Even I, the author, got a little disturbed while writing. I know there aren’t as much dramas in the these first two chapters, but I believe it’s essential to take the time to establish their worldviews and give a glimpse of their internal battles. Like Nate, there is a reason why Kaitlyn is the way she is. Her backstory will be explored. Thank you for reading!

Comment pls pls pls! Your comments mean everything to me!

Tag list: @dani-is-a-princess @wabi-sabi1090 @tember1

[minerscanarybyvanessacarlton]

Also large dog owners need to start admitting the following 2 things

1. You are collectively just as bad as (if not worse than) small dog owners about training your dogs and keeping them under control and well behaved in public, you just *like* large dogs better so you ignore it because someone's Little Rat Dog or whatever you call them is easier to put the blame on than Someone's Pibble Nanny Bait Dog uwu

2. Your 80 lb dog can harm someone much more easily than a 15 lb dog. Yes, there is more risk to others when your dog is misbehaving in public. If a small dog bit me the worst that would happen is that I'd need stitches and maybe antibiotics and a couple shots (and I'd be at a risk of an infection if a large dog bit me too!). If your large dog bit me it could kill me. Also I'm much more confident in my ability to hold my own against a 15 lb dog than an 80 lb dog.

And inb4 "but my dog would NEVER!!" This is not about your individual dog it's about the fact that nobody on the street knows how your dog behaves. Nobody on the street knows whether your dog wants to attack them. And nobody should ever have to do that calculus because you need to treat your dog like an animal that needs to be controlled at all times in public. And yes people will be more annoyed when the loose dog is one that could seriously hurt them. That's normal and rational.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Less Dire Situations | 2

Part 1 2 3

Peter liked you the moment he met you after moving in with his Aunt May. Unfortunately, he never got the guts to talk to you. The idea disappeared after grade school and high school graduation, so you can imagine how surprised he was when you answered his ad for Advanced Calculus tutoring. It felt like he could actually get a shot with you… and then you jumped off the Manhattan Bridge.

Peter Parker x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, DD:DNE, suicidal thoughts/ideation, suicide attempt, themes of depression, social withdrawing, emotional masking, canon divergence, angst, hurt, typos, etc.

A/N: this is originally posted on ao3

My breathing is shallow as I sit cross legged on the top of the pillar of the Manhattan Bridge. I'm terrified to move, not just because the wind was threatening to blow me into the road, potentially traumatizing a poor driver, but because Spiderman was sitting down next to me.

He hasn't said a word since he's caught me. There's nothing but silence and the stars between us.

I can't believe Spiderman saved me.

"I can't believe you jumped."

I whip my head to him. He's already looking at me.

My mouth opens, "I- I didn't mean to say that out loud."

The masked man stares at me for a moment then looks front. He curls his legs into his chest and wraps his arms around them, "I did."

I turn to my hands and begin to pick at my cuticles. My throat constricts, and my eyes grow foggy with tears. He only said two words but they sounded personal, they sounded... angry. I feel my lips quiver. I mean, I don't blame him. He's probably had to save so many idiots from jumping to their death. He's so over this.

I would be too, if I were him. As if fighting criminals wasn't enough, now he's got to look after the mentally ill? That's above my pay grade, and I'm sure he doesn't get paid.

I scratch my eyes when I feel hot tears stream down my face. I shudder as I hear the call of the abyss. I look out into the body of water, glimmering under the city light, beckoning me. I shakily mutter under my breath, "sorry, Spidey."

I feel him looking at me. I feel him look at me the exact manner I hoped to never get looked at. He was pitying me. He had his face covered and I wasn't even looking at him but, dammit, I knew he was pitying me. Worse, he was genuinely sorry for me.

I rub my philtrum and curl into myself. I flinch when I hear him sigh. I slowly turn to him when he moves 

He faces me, leaning on one leg, "I'm just shocked you'd want your last place on earth be Manhattan Bridge. Like honestly. Why would anyone want that? If you're gonna go through all that trouble, might as well pick a better bridge."

Spiderman cocks his head to the side, "like Brooklyn."

I look at him for a moment. I can't figure out if he's joking or if he was just from Brooklyn.

"Or something connecting to Staten Island."

I begrudgingly chuckle at his words. The sound I make actually surprises me.

I hear him mumble something under his breath as he looks away.

He brings his legs into his chest again, and so we're both just hugging ourselves.

I gasp when a couple of birds pass us. I cover my ears and watch as they fly away.

"You get used to it," he says as I watch a flock of birds disappear into the city.

I turn to my knees as he continues, "the world feels different up here. You're just one of the birds, looking down at this concrete jungle, just tryna avoid street signs and glass windows."

I wrinkle the fabric of my pants into my hands. A shiver runs down my spine as the wind begins to seep into my clothes.

I feel him scoot closer. "You want me to," he mutters, "bring you down?" He takes a moment before asking, "you want me to take you home?"

I rapidly shake my head, "I don't want to go back."

He sighs and rubs his nape, "sweetheart, I can't leave you here."

I sniffle and finally turn to him. He had both hands on his shoulders; he's massaging the area firmly as he looks around, clearly agitated. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, "you from Brooklyn or what?"

"What?" he turns to me.

My voice sounds like my nose is clogged, because it is, "I didn't think Spiderman was from Brooklyn, although, I think it kinda makes sense."

He chuckles out, "oh yeah?" He rests an arm on his knee, "how so?"

"You wear a Spider suit."

He sniggers, "and?"

"Only someone from Brooklyn would even think to pull that off."

Spiderman snorts. I chuckle under my breath as he throws his head back, "HA- you know what, I take that as a compliment."

"It is," I lean back to get a good look at him, "I used to have a such a crush on this one guy from Brooklyn."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he moved to Queens for a year but then moved back," I mutter.

"Ah, so you're from Queens."

"Yeah."

He nods and fidgets his feet, "what are you doing in Manhattan then?"

I shake my head and turn to my lap.

Spiderman feels the reluctance but he still asks, "what? No bridges over there?"

"Hmm," I brush my hair behind my ear. I release a shudder, "none quite like Manhattan Bridge."

He hums, "let me guess. You had your first kiss here."

"Nothing so obscene," I sigh and rub my arms. I cross my legs and hunch over. I shake my head, "this was the bridge I took into Manhattan, to my fucking dream school in my fucking dream city. It's all I ever wanted as a kid. It's all I prayed for, and I have it-"

My head begins to thump as I force-suck air through my clogged nose.

"I got a scholarship. I got a dorm. I do commissions to pay for what I need, but I hate it," my voice cracks as I begin to sob, "all my life I've had people shit on me for wanting to get an art degree. And now I'm thinking," I scratch my eyes, "yeah. Maybe they're right. The only way I'll have a stable living is if I work for some conglomerate and sell my soul."

I turn to Spiderman, finding his whole body was faced towards me. I sniffle, "I don't want to sell my soul, Peter."

A wind gushed between us.

"Fuck- sorry-" I wipe my face rough, "sorry. I- I have a friend named Peter. He's my only friend-" I break into a pathetic laugh, "but actually he's only my friend because I pay him."

Spiderman's gaze feels heavy on me.

"I don't know, I just- it's so exhausting to keep up with people from this fucking city. They're always doing something and I-" I shake my head, "I can't. I really can't. And I fucking can't lose my scholarship so I looked for a tutor, because fuck all as to why an Animation student needs to do Calculus-- and this kid named Peter Parker charges like 10 dollars an hour, which is really good and he's really good- and-

"-and it turns out the guy is actually from Queens too and, shocker, we went to the same grade school AND high school, but I had no idea who he was cause my overachiever ass had 100 clubs to focus on, and he remembers that horrible dance choreo I did with my friends-- who don't even speak to me anymore-"

At this point, I could feel that my eyes were so puffy and I could barely breathe from all the snot in my nose.

Still, I continued, "and eventually, I realized he was the kid people picked on, and then I wondered if any of my friends picked on him, and now I was asking him to help me, but he's just the sweetest guy ever. He's so just so smart, and patient, and funny, and kind, and sometimes I look at him and wish I could go back and stand up for him, or go back and I be his friend. But I liked how everything was for myself back then, so I didn't give a fuck and I didn't do a damned thing because I was a stupid kid- and- and-"

I take in deep, shaky breathes in the hope of calming myself.

"Hey, hey," Spiderman apprehensively places a hand on my shoulder, "I'm sure he doesn't hold it against you-"

"Well, he should," I snap, "neutrality is just as bad, or sometimes worse than being a bully. At least you can pick out a bully, at least you know they want to hurt you and you can get ready for a punch. But neutral people see that shit and decide it's not worth lifting a finger for. They pretend there's peace just because it's not their war. And they take that to their graves."

I feel a shiver ripple through my body. I shake my head rapidly, "I don't want to live like that. Peter never deserved that. And he deserves way better than being friends with a bystander."

"... are you still a bystander?"

"I- I don't know," I speak with a wobbly voice, " I haven't seen anyone get picked on, which probably means I am-"

"Now, hold on. Looking for fights where there aren't ones isn't the right way to go about the world."

I chuckle dryly, "but the world is just always one move away from a fight. There's nothing but unrest and uncertainty."

Spiderman links his hands together, "thats definitely one way to look at things."

"Please don't fucking glass half full me right now."

"I won't," he shakes his head, "trust me, I'm not qualified for it. And I'm a glass half empty kind of guy actually."

I wipe my face.

"Don't you think Peter should decide what he deserves though?"

I don't respond.

"The thing about accepting the glass is half empty is knowing there's space to add more to it," he moves in front of me, "maybe he was also excited to see someone familiar. Victims of abusers tend to stay because they think it's all there is--not that I'm calling you an abuser- but you- with the half empty analogy-"

"I get it," I raise a hand, "sometimes we're willing to overlook the bad for a little good... which is really fucked up."

"And you know," he points a finger, "if this Peter guy is as smart as you make him out to be, realistically speaking, I doubt he'd hang out with you if you made him want to jump off the Manhattan Bridge."

I chuckle. I actually chuckle. I wipe my nose, "you've got a sick sense of humor, Spiderman."

"Hey," he raises his hands, "you laughed."

I chuckle again then release a breath, "I can only hope so... I hope I'm someone in his orbit."

Spiderman doesn't respond.

"He's one of the few people in the world that's actually gonna do great things. He's so good at what he does. You know he's taking Advanced Calculus just because he can, and he's so good at it he teaches Math majors? He's a Bio-Chemistry major!  And he's passionate about it... I wish I had that."

"Aren't you passionate about your drawings?"

I give a dry laugh, "I hate what I do. I feel like I've fallen out of love." I chortle, "but I can't quit it because it's all there is for me."

I shiver again. I rapidly rub my arms.

"You don't have to cross this bridge," he says, placing a hand on my knee, "people built other bridges because there are other ways to reach a destination."

I shake my head and laugh with no amusement. I whisper, "I just want to jump."

I watch him as he stands, his suit somehow appears like it's absorbing and deflecting the light from the city. "Okay," he tilts his head down, "then jump."

I, admittedly, am taken aback by his words.

I wait for him to do something, to say something, because there was no way he was actually taunting me to jump right now.

A pit in my stomach pressures me to stand and throw myself off to prove a point. I shakily push myself up, and that's when he reaches out to me.

"Or jump with me."

I look at his extended hand.

He stares at me for a long while then says, "we can keep jumping off Manhattan Bridge until you don't want to."

My cheeks begin to burn because of my hot tears.

"You have to take my hand though," he whispers, "if you chose to stop bullying yourself, you can't be a bystander either. You said it yourself."

I let out an ugly cry.

"Do for yourself what you couldn't for someone else."

My cold, trembling hand lands onto his gloved one. It seems he is equally as cold as I am, but then warmth cascades through my entire body when he clutches my hand in both if his.

I see my vague silhouette on the lenses of his mask. I must look atrocious.

He presses his lips onto my fingers then slowly let's me go. He steps back and looks out to the river, "jump."

What?

"It's okay."

I look at him with worry.

"Trust me," he places his hands on his chest, "I will catch you, no matter what."

The sentiment makes me want to puke. I feel deeply disturbed. I feel like I'm being made a spectacle of. Was vulnerability always so performative?

"I-" don't want to, I almost say. But I can't... I can't now, not when I'd already told the hero of New York more than I've ever told anyone in my life. Not when someone who I had been waiting on to come save the city came to save me. 

My lips quiver at the realization.

He came to save me.

I turn away from him and close my eyes. I take one deep breath.

I leave my life into his hands as I step off the platform.

I descend. Faster, and faster, and faster and-

And faster I went-

I open my eyes and find the waves below me inching nearer. With my arms up and the wind ripping at me, I begin to scream in panic. The fear in my body makes me go rigid. I realize that I could get saved and still die in the process.

It dawns on me that--

With a grunt, I collide into a body and I'm being swung upward.

I grunt at the force of the impact. I shriek and cling onto Spiderman twice as tight as he he did on me.

I whimper.

He nuzzles against me, "I got you. I got you, sweetheart. I got you."

It feels surreal when my feet touch the ground. I feel like I'm in the clouds and my legs aren't meant to touch the floor.

I shudder against his embrace. Spiderman had been holding me ever since he brought us down and, honestly, I didn't feel at all like letting go.

I breathe against his trapezius, his scent was so inviting, so... safe. I was slightly up on my tiptoes to keep my arms around his shoulders. He had a bend to his posture to keep level with me. I knew I could not keep him like this forever because of this.

Against my will, I slowly break away and look at the man before me.

The streetlight by the river shoreline made his red suit look maroon. Spiderman parts from me just as slow, as if equally unwilling to separate.

My heart pounds when he rest his head against mine.

"Are we about to kiss right now?" I whisper.

He chuckles, slightly pulling back, "it wouldn't be right to take advantage of you in your state."

"Thrilling to know Spiderman would kiss me."

"Says the girl who's flirting with me right now," he tilts his head.

"I wasn't flirting. I was asking. It was to lighten the mood."

He says nothing for a moment, "I don't think anything can lighten suicide."

The mood dies. Coldness creeps up my spine.

Spiderman rubs my back and nods, "you doing okay?"

I chuckle dryly, breaking away all together. I turn to my feet. What a question. I fidget in my spot, my tongue itching to say I've not been okay for a long time, but instead I look back at him and smile, "I'm okay."

I continue to put distance between us. I wrap my arms around myself, expecting him to allow me space. My stomach drops when he steps closer.

His mask is expressionless but he sounds disappointed, "I don't enable crooks, sweetheart."

I flinch when he swipes my cheeks with his thumb.

"Quit cheating yourself."

I step back and cover my face; heat spirals over me when my hands find evidence of tears I've involuntarily cried.

I bury my face in my hands and turn away from him. I roughly wipe my tears; a wave of pathetic shame overcomes me.

I inch away from him. Each step was meant to encourage myself into composition but it does the opposite. I feel like a storm cloud-- heavy, dark, and pouring down. I'm crushed by my own weight.

Unable to control my sob, I break down and curl into a ball, squatting on the floor, hugging my knees.

I feel him come down to my side.

I whine against my elbow, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just-"

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry about," he sits down, "let it out."

I lift my head and look over my shoulder. Spiderman stares at me. My pathetic likeness is reflected on his lenses. I look away and wipe my nose, "I just- I don't- it's a lot. It's all too much- I..."

"Hey," he raises a hand, "you don't have to explain right now. Just let it out. I'm here."

I laugh. I'm here.

I pull on my sleeve and wipe my tears.

"What's funny?"

I look at Spiderman and shake my head. I chuckle again and repeat his words, "I'm here."

He is silent for a moment. He pulls his head back and sounds offended, "well, I am."

"I know," I say through blocked sinuses. I sniffle and wipe my nose, "I know."

He looks at me a few seconds then nods, "we can stay here as long as you like."

I sniffle, "what about... don't you have other people to save?"

"I'm saving you."

A pit of guilt grows in my stomach, "yeah, but what about people in burning buildings?"

"What about your burning building? It seems like it's been burning a while now."

I say nothing. I turn to my feet.

"And anyway, you can only walk towards one thing at a time, if not, you'd be walking aimlessly," he shuffles on his spot.

I can't see his face but I can feel him looking at me.

"Does that make sense?"

I nod, looking at the dirt beneath my feet.

He huffs, "I try not to think about the people I could have saved when I wasn't doing anything of," he does air quotes, "significant importance."

I look up at him as he stands. He stretches his arms with a grunt, "believe it or not, I'm just another New Yorker trying to get by when I'm out of this suit. I'm not a millionaire or a genius."

I watch him as he stretches his legs, "I believe you."

He freezes, "woah, woah, woah," he points a finger, "I don't like your tone."

"What tone?"

"What, like, Amazing Spider-Man isn't so amazing as a man," he straightens up and places a hand on his chest, "I'll have you know I am very much slightly above average as a man."

I give a clogged-nose laugh, "your girlfriends must love that."

"Oh," he places his hands on his hips and stretches from side to side, "they do."

I laugh, hard enough that snot threatens to spill from my nose. I wipe my philtrum and push myself up to a stand.

Spiderman stops stretching.

We stare at each other for a prolonged second.

"Can I take you home now?"

I rub my hands together, "will you be swinging me back?"

He chuckles softly, "I mean, if you want. I was thinking a walk would be good for you though."

My brows quirk, "you want to walk me? But you're in your suit."

"So?" he shrugs and crosses his arms, "wouldn't be the first time someone in a spiderman suit walked around New York."

I smile softly. He was right.

I nod and wipe my face in my hands, "okay."

He perks, "okay?"

I nod faster and chuckle, "yeah. It's quite a walk from here to my dorm though," I throw a thumb over my shoulder.

"Don't worry. My cardio's up to snuff," he shrugs and tilts his head, "my girlfriends love that too."

We walk down the streets in silence. For some reason, it was not a heavy or awkward silence. I felt like I could just keep to myself and it would be okay.

The problem with keeping to myself is that the silence feeds my thoughts which then eat at me.

The quiet street seemed loud now, everything felt like it was out to get me.

"Hey," I call out softly. For a split second I regret speaking out and I pray he didn't hear.

Spiderman did hear though. He whips towards me, "yes."

I barely manage to keep my eyes on him as I explain, "this is an odd request- but- do you mind holding my hand as we walk? It's just that, I don't know... I'm feeling overwhelmed."

He reaches out a hand to me.

I stare at his hand, finding it daunting to take it, "actually... can I just hold your arm?"

He offers his arm.

I take it.

We continue to walk.

"Yoo," a random passerby says, "hows it going spiderboy?!"

"Good, good," Spiderman says, waving at him.

We eventually reach my building.

I slowly pull away from him just before we reach the façade.

"This is me," I mutter, hands sliding down his arms.

Spiderman looks up at the building and turns back to me, "fancy."

I shake my head and smile, "it's a dorm. I'm a scholar, remember?"

He holds my hand just before I can pull away, "I remember everything you say, baby."

I am rigid when he lets go. The way in which he said that was so intimate, so earnest.

My chest tightens and I barely manage to whisper out, "please don't speak to me like that."

He stands still, "...what?"

My throat tightens.

"Earnestly?" he mutters.

Was he a mind reader? "Yeah," I speak with a broken voice. I watch passing cars, "you'll make be think you're in love with me."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Yes," I snap, turning back at him, "you don't know me."

He is perfectly still, save for his hands that slowly raise in defeat, "I don't."

I sigh deeply.

"Which is why I'm honored to know you like this."

I chuckle dryly, "fucking hell."

I turn away from him and walk towards my building entry way. Half expecting him to follow after me, I am surprised to see he didn't.

"1 pm."

"What?"

"One o'clock tomorrow," he motions with a finger, "I'll meet you on your rooftop."

"What?"

"I've got stuff to do in the morning, but I'm free after 1. Meet me there then."

I step forward, "now, wait a sec-"

"Remember. One," he says, right before slinging away.

"Holy shit," Arnel, the dorm's night guard, says, "did that fucker just teleport?"

I turn around. The dark skinned man walks to my side and examines the scene. I shake my head, "no. It was web... things. That was spiderman."

"Damn, kid," he turns to me, "you're friends with the Spoods?'

I do not reply.

"Speaking of friends, Peter was begging to get in. He said it was important because you weren't answering your calls. I told him policy is policy," he explains, "that being said. He looked so frantic, I was about to let him in, but he bolted down the block."

My lips part.

"You good, kid?"

My heart pounds. I can't lie to Arnel. He's got a bullshit detector the size of the Empire State. I shake my head, "I got into an accident... I'm better now."

Still a lie, but Arnel doesn't note it if he catches on. The man presses his plump lips into a thin line, "alright, well go get some rest. You look like you need it."

I him watch me as I go inside.

When I get into my apartment, I feel bile rise up my throat. The sight of my place repelled me. I head straight to my bedroom, insides curdling when I see the boxes of stuff I had already packed. I turn to the middle of my bed where my phone and suicide letter was, the former lit up with a buzz.

I grab my phone and see Peter's ID.

Guilt eats away at me, yet it's not enough for me to answer.

When the call ends, I see the notification that it's been the 30th attempt.

I see 61 texts.

My eyes water.

I flinch when he rings me again.

With a gulp, I answer, "hello?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"... Peter? Can you-"

"Oh my fucking go- do you have absolutely any idea how fucking scared I've been! Where have you been? Why haven't you been answering your phone? I tried to go to your dorm! They wouldn't let me in."

His nagging is as comforting as it is grating, "calm down, dad. I left my phone at my dorm."

"You called me then left your phone at your dorm?! Wow. That's some next level evil right there."

I sigh and crawl on my bed. I pull my shoes off and lie down. Tears drip the sides of my face. I take a deep breath before replying, "it wasn't on purpose."

"... well, damn, it feels like it is."

I stare at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, a sight I never anticipated seeing again. It clenched at my heart.

"Did you call to give me that Tawagoshi?"

My throat tightens.

"You love this 8-bit dog."

I do.

"What gives? I've got so many questions," he speaks my name, making electricity pulse through me.

"I bet you do," I mumble, mostly to myself.

Peter voice falls soft, "what's going on?"

My breathing is strangled. I do my best to keep it even as I respond, "I'm shedding some skin. I thought to try out calling, but damn--" I chuckle bitterly, "--this really could have been a text."

"Not this time," he blurts from the other line, "I'm coming over."

"NO!" I yelp, sitting up, "please. I'm exhausted-"

"And you still haven't told me why-"

"Tomorrow," I blurt.

"..."

I sigh, "I'll tell you tomorrow."

"..."

"I promise. I'll ease all your worries, dad."

"I don't want to be eased," he says firmly, "I want to be told the truth "

I shake my head and stare at my screen. The name Peter Parker stares back at me.

I am snapped into reality when he calls my name again.

"I'm still here," I respond.

"Breakfast at 5th?"

"... ok, Peter."

"Alright. Get some sleep."

"I will, dad. Love you."

"I-"

I end the call.

I wake up with a headache and stomach ache. Fitting, if you asked me.

I could barely open my eyes because of how crusty it was, the salt from my dried tears bunched up my lashes.

The air was cold. The sun wasn't shining yet. There was a distant siren whirring from afar. It couldn't have been any later than 5 am.

I look at the ceiling, as much as my crusted lids would let me, and gaze upon the faint neon glow of the stars on the surface. I think about how happy I was when I put them on during the first few days I moved in here.

I miss her. 

I miss who I was then.

The siren sound gets closer. I prop myself up on my elbows.

I grab my phone. I see the the notifications I had for Spiderman. 

Spiderman saves Manhattan Bridge jumper. Watch: Footage Of Spider-Man Saving Jumper On Manhattan Bridge Spider-Man Catches Manhattan Bridge Free-Faller

I press on one of the links. I curl my legs over each other as I scroll down the article. I do a double take when I catch the massive Help Hotline badge just below the headline. I stare at it for a second, then scroll down to the video footage.

The video is loud with street noise. The  perspective is from a boat. It starts out with a 360 view of the scenery, then ends with a woman saying some things about Manhattan Bridge. Someone screams. The camera is shaken. It's far, but clear enough to see a figure descending from the bridge. There is panic within the boat. People scream in horror.

'Spiderman!' yells someone. The one recording fails to catch him when he'd just arrived but caught the moment he caught the body-- my body... me.

Goosebumps form on my shoulder when they cheer and thank God for him saving me. They laugh and hug themselves. The video ends.

My eyelids are no longer crusty. They are wet again, eyelashes beaded with tears.

I flinch when the sound of something heavy is placed on front of me. I snap out of my trance when Julia smiles at me, "pancakes and sausages."

I perk and watch as she places Peter's order in front of him, "bacon, eggs, and a muffin."

"Thank you," Peter smiles at her, moving his plate back to make room for the coffee Julia places in the middle of our orders.

"Enjoy, loves," she chirps, "give me a call if you need anything else, alrighty?"

Peter smiles again, "thank you, Julia."

Julia smiles back. I manage to return it when she looks back at me.

I stare at my food as she walks away. I look up and see Peter looking at me, rather seriously at that.

I smile and grab a fork and knife. I cut my food and take a bite, even though I wasn't hungry, "anyway, as you can see, I'm still in one piece. You don't have to worry about me. I'm just going through a burn out phase. You understand."

"No, I don't actually," Peter grabs a fork and stabs his muffin. He takes a bite, eyeing me as he set the muffin down, "this feels too scary to me. You can't just do such drastic things in one night and expect me not to be concerned."

"So, I gave away a few things and tried out calling," I chuckle as I pour syrup on my pancake, "it's not like I reinvented breathing."

Peter stares at me as I stuff my mouth with food. I chew and smile at him, even though it hurt to see him so distraught and disturbed.

I put my silverware down when he calls my name.

"You know about the jumper on Manhattan Bridge?"

I turn to my plate and shake my head, "I have a push notification for the Spoods, so duh."

"..."

I slowly look up at Peter. He rests his head on his hand.

"Morbid news to wake up to," he mutters, almost in a whisper.

"The dystopian reality is, it's just another day in New York city," I take a bite of my pancake, "another day in this dying world."

My stomach drops when he says my name.

I grab a glass of water, "mmm?"

"I saw it last night. I was terrified. I started to imagine what it would be like if it was someone I knew..."

I grip my glass tight. My face tightens and twitches neurotically. I release the glass with a thud and shake my head, "don't imagine things like that."

"I know, but it kept going. And I was so concerned about you--"

My spine tingles.

"--you weren't answering your texts," his voice is low, "I thoug-"

"Hey, I'm right here."

Peter stills.

I take his hand and clutch it, "don't worry about something in your imagination."

His face is hard and unreadable. He takes my hand and squeezes, "you know Ms. V? I talked to her yesterday."

My brows furrow.

"She said you weren't passing your requirements. She's concerned about you."

I pull my hand away.

He catches it, "I'm concerned about you."

Peter gently tugs my hand towards him and rubs my skin. My arm breaks into goosebumps. I rip my hand away.

A thick silence envelopes us. He watches me intently. He speaks my name slowly.

"It's burn out," I blurt and force myself to smile. It's a small one, a painful one, but it does the job of distracting me from crying, "Ms. Vasquez knows I could do better, and I can... but I can't."

I play with my food.

I look up and find Peter's unreadable expression. I smile, "it happens. It'll come back to me."

He says nothing.

"Of course," I sigh, "you wouldn't know that, Mr. I-Got-Everything-Figured-Out."

He doesn't budge when I give him a teasing look.a

"I mean, leave a few braincells for the rest of us," I cut my pancake. I stare at him for a moment then shrug, "I'm just relieved you're ugly."

Peter snorts. Begrudgingly.

I snort with him and watch how he relaxes. He leans back on his chair and shakes his head.

"We're having a serious conversation," he motions between us.

"Oh, I know Mr. Parker," I chew my pancake, "you are seriously ugly."

Peter shakes his head again and takes a bite of his muffin.

I am relieved that he is sated.

I turn back to my food.

Peter pulls out his Spiderman mask and opens his mouth. He stares for a moment. He tucks it back in his pocket and shift in his seat.

I look back at him.

He looks back at me.

I take some of his eggs.

Peter pretends to be annoyed, "you should have gotten your own."

I shrug, "snooze you lose."

[aquietwritingcorner]

TMNTStoryComp, Round 2: Into The Woods...

(For the @tmntstorycomp comp Round Two polls! Vote for Sanctuary here! For part one of this, please go here)

_________________________

Don looked at all of the information spread out on the table in front of them. It seemed that his theories had been correct, or at least had evidence behind them, given the data gathered and his own experimentations.

“Alright, so—if I���m look at all of this right, then this means that while the Turtle in Charge can create places and things, he has limits,” Don said.

Raph frowned, his hands petting Lucy. “How so, Donnie?” he asked.

Don reached out and tapped the notebook. “He couldn’t recreate all of the books. Some were complete, but others were only partial, and some were little more than props. That makes me think that, unless he knows something inside and out, he can’t recreate it,” he said with a frown.

“So, he’s not all powerful,” Ms. Morrison mused. “Although still powerful, it seems.”

“Correct,” Don said, nodding at the woman’s statement. But although his voice was confident, his face didn’t seem to be.

Raph, of course, noticed it. “I know that look, Donnie. There’s something else.”

Don’s gaze dropped to the papers in front of him, and he fiddled with the pen in his hands. “…I’m not sure who this turtle is. He doesn’t match up with anyone we’ve met before. But…”

Don reached for one of the books he had brought with him, opening it up. “This is a book on understanding the applications of mechanical engineering as applied to theoretical mechanics. Very complex, very high-level.” He opened another one. “This one goes in-depth into the biology of turtles, on a specialist level.” He opened another, somewhat battered looking book. “This is one of the early higher level calculus books that Mas—er, Father found for me when I was a child. Stains and all.” He pushed another book, a paperback, forward as well. “And this is my favorite Star Trek novel.”

Raph blinked at the books. “Alright. What’s your point?” he asked.

“They’re all complete,” Don said. “All of them. They’re very different subjects, very different kinds of books, but they’re all complete. The only thing they share in common is that I know these books backwards and forwards.”

“He’s pulling on your memories, your thoughts,” Ms. Morrison said, catching on.

Don nodded. “Yes. These books are so different that most people wouldn’t have them memorized. Not to mention all the stains and rips on the calculus book.”

“So, he’s in our minds?” Raph said, frowning.

“That’s my theory, anyway,” Don said.

He opened his mouth to say more, when suddenly, he stopped, feeling a sort of pressure in the air. He and Raph tensed up, and Don grabbed the notes and books off of the table, stuffing them back in his bag, even as he moved closer to Ms. Morrison.

Suddenly the books exploded, the one in Don’s hand following suit, turning into leaves. Bookcases became trees, railings turned into ferns, tables and chairs shifted into rocks. Ms. Morrison clutched Lucy to her, the cat huddling her arms, even as she grasped onto Raph and Don, the two turtles keeping her between them, angled so that if anything came at them, their shells would take the brunt of it.

“What’s happening?” Ms. Morrison asked, her sightless eyes reflexively trying to look around. She sounded terrified, and Don really couldn’t blame her.

“It’s turning into a forest!” Raph said.

The trio stayed still, as the setting settled around them, waiting to see what would happen.

“It seems like it’s over,” Raph said, pulling back a little. “We—” he cut off, squinting at Don. “Is that a fur?”

“Uh…” Don pulled back, looking at what seemed to be a fun draped over his shell. He lifted a hand to it, feeling of it. It was very soft, very plush. “It seems so. And… clothes?”

He looked down at himself, at what seemed to be some sort of fantasy or fairy tale type of outfit. Boots, pants, and shirt, a belt, it was all there. He looked back up at the other two.

“You’ve both changed, too.”

Raph was already looking down at himself, dressed very similarly to Don, but with different colors. Ms. Morrison was running her hands over the dress she wore, feeling the differences between it and the one she had previously been wearing. There was basket on her arm, with a cloth over, and she pulled it back, feeling what was inside.

“Oh—there’s bread in here,” she said. “And—other baked goods, I believe.”

Don peered inside. “Seems to be. And some cheese as well. Other food stuffs.”

“Yeah, and we’ve got packs,” Raph said.

Don quickly opened his and found all of his supplies from his duffle bag inside. “Huh. Fascinating.”

Lucy was draping herself across Ms. Morrison’s shoulders, and the old woman reached up to pet her. “What does it all mean?” she asked.

“My guess?” Don said. “Some kind of journey. Maybe we’re supposed to find something or someone.”

“I say we find the little snot that’s in charge of all this,” Raph said.

“Agreed in concept, but maybe not in intention,” Don said with a grin, shouldering his pack under the fur. Huh. It didn’t make his shell stick out any further. Part of the magic, maybe.

“Be nice, boys,” Ms. Morrison chastised. “I have a feeling there’s more going on here than we realize.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both replied.

Don looked around at the area they were in, and mentally shrugged. “Well, I suppose that we might as well get moving. Maybe we’ll find some of the other contestants along the way.”

“Yeah,” Raph said. “I’ll take point. Don, you look after Ms. M, okay?”

“Got it.”

With that, the small group set off through the forest, not sure at all what they would find.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Red Rock Riviera

Since we've leveled up Visual Calculus, we may as well try this check again on our way past.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You see a set of tyre tracks in the brown slush that covers the plaza mosaic.

3. [Visual Calculus - Medium 11] Reconstruct the movement.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - The tyre tracks were left here by an unknown event that took place some days ago. It's a message, written in the language of burnt rubber.

Some of that rubber stuck to the tiles right in front of the Whirling-in-Rags. This is point A. The driver started there...

...and then accelerated straight into the fence. Left a hole *big enough for the Franconigerian cavalry,* according to the cafeteria manager. (Why that pang of guilt again?)

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - The hole in this fence doesn't look *that* huge.

Damn bartender.

The hole is not that impressive.

Okay. What happened next?

AUTHORITY - He was exaggerating. People blame *cops* for everything that goes wrong in the world. This has nothing to do with you.

Okay. What happened next?

VISUAL CALCULUS - The driver proceeded to back out of the yard, barely stopping before hitting the adjacent building...

...before heading south. Must have been in a hurry.

"A car drove through the fence."

"Is this connected to the case?"

I think I got it. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "You are correct. This is a rather motor carriage-friendly city."

+5 XP

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Somehow that makes you feel... scared. You don't know why.

2. "Is this connected to the case?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm not sure... there are plenty of traffic accidents waiting to happen in Martinaise. With the jam right here on the roundabout. I would keep them separate."

VISUAL CALCULUS - You could *follow* the tracks south. There seems to be a canal there. See where they went. (If you find the time.)

3. I think I got it. [Leave.]

The book is tilted: 'The Man from Hjelmdall and the Wild Fire.'

BACKYARD WALL - Just an ordinary wall. Nothing to see here.

[Conceptualization - Impossible 18] Why am I looking at this wall?

+2 In the dimming light, some things become clearer. +2 Cindy's artistic impulses are infectious.

Even with these bonuses, this is a pretty difficult check.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Failure] - Yeah, why? It's a wall, an ordinary wall.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs. "Why must we stop to look at this wall every time we pass by? We have business to attend to."

May as well go look at that butter sign while we're still out here.

Scribbled between the thighs of a page three girl: "L'ORIGINE DU DISCO"

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - A crumpled billboard reading "SAMARAN BUTTER" soaks in the canal. Two ugly lines mar the bright countenance of the blond boy depicted.

2. [Visual Calculus - Medium 11] Attempt to reconstrust what happened here.

+1 Ominous daredevil feeling.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - Judging by the size of the impact and the parallel lines of burnt rubber, the cause was probably a motor vehicle.

These look like the same tyre tracks I saw earlier -- in front of the Whirling-in-Rags.

Look at the crater.

Look at the roof of the shack.

Look at the sloping metal roof panel.

Look at the broken posts.

Look at the sign.

Look at the opposite bank.

Blink. [Leave.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - Side slip marks indicate that the vehicle was travelling up the crater at 35 km/h.

2. Look at the roof of the shack.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The black marks on the roof indicate that the vehicle *vaulted* from the crater to the roof of the shack.

3. Look at the sloping metal roof panel.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The panel served as a take-off ramp.

4. Look at the broken posts.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The vehicle soared through the air, hitting the billboard and upsetting the posts. Then it continued its flight, taking the billboard with it.

5. Look at the sign.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The sign broke the vehicle's fall into the canal.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - The SAMARAN BUTTER billboard still looks freshly painted, suggesting it took the plunge recently.

How recently?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Within the past 72 hours.

6. Look at the opposite bank.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Still speeding, the vehicle made a loop and vanished into the fog along the coast.

7. What was the model of this phantom vehicle?

VISUAL CALCULUS - There are two good candidates: the Coupris 40 and the Linnea G22.

Why the Coupris 40?

Why the Linnea G22?

What now?

VISUAL CALCULUS - It's about the right size, and the tyre marks look like they came from the skinny tyres frequently found on that motor carriage.

2. Why the Linnea G22?

VISUAL CALCULUS - Very sturdy but light motor carriage. More likely than most to survive that jump.

3. What now?

VISUAL CALCULUS - Now? You'd have to follow the tracks to be sure.

8. Blink. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks on, waiting for you to wrap up your analysis.

Kim wants to follow up on this, it seems.

[chaoticneurodivergent]

Ok I'm so pissed at this point that I have to make a Tumblr post about this. Reasons nobody should take IQ seriously (as a measurement of a person's intelligence):

* Warning this will be long because I'm pissed off in 7 dimensions

1. The French

It hasn't always been taken for granted that intelligence can be tested and measured in numerical form. The French are to blame for that (sorry France). In 1904, the Ministry of Public Instruction of France made primary school compulsory. The easiest obvious method for sorting the massive influx of new students into class years was by age. However, prior to 1904, a massive percentage of French children had not been schooled at all or not been consistently schooled, so age was not a reliable predictor of knowledge / education level. So the French government sponsored a man named Alfred Binet, along with his partner, Theodore Simon, to create a test that could sort children based on their school-readiness.

The Binet-Simon scale was not originally designed to assign children an IQ number (with the average being 100), but instead, a mental age. The children would be placed into a school grade corresponding to their mental age, as determined by the "intelligence" test. Now you'd think that it would be obvious to everyone involved that students coming from backgrounds with little to no literacy and education would get lower scores and be placed into lower grades, regardless of how much potential they had at birth. But this was not the case. Many conflated intelligence with performance.

Binet realized that intelligence is complicated and multi-faceted and can't be perfectly studied in a quantitative way. He admitted his tests were limited. Second of all, he realized that environment plays a huge role in intellectual development, and he realized that delays in intellectual development could be repaired (they are not necessarily inherently a part of a person). The goal of his test, after all, was not to score children, but to sort them into the education system. Unfortunately, as the 20th century progressed, eugenics and its array of awful ideas became widely popular, and many successors were more interested in how they could use his test and his ideas to determine people's value and worth than they were in truth.

2. Yes, intelligence is a social construct

We decide what intelligence means. It's based on what our culture values. If we want an IQ test that we are designing to measure intelligence accurately, we first have to decide what is and is not a part of intelligence.

On a wide level, this includes questions like: Should social and emotional skills be measured? (Our culture says no). Should the kind of thinking necessary for motor coordination and quick thinking in athletics be measured? (Our culture says no). How about skills specifically involved in literacy? (Remember, until very recently, the vast majority of humans on earth were not literate, and the vast majority of cultures would not have valued those skills).

On a narrow level, this includes questions like: If we want to test quantitative reasoning (so roughly, math intelligence), should we be testing mental math skills (whether you can do 56 x 17 quickly in your head), or more abstract math skills, like those necessary for understanding a calculus class when you have a calculator in front of you? Should we test general knowledge? (The WAIS, the most common professionally administered IQ test today, does have a general knowledge section, which includes questions such as, who was the president during X war)? If so, how do we account for differences in exposure to information?

There is no such thing as intelligence outside of what we decide it is. There are so many skills we arbitrarily choose to include or not include. And when we measure whether our IQ tests are accurate, we can only do so by comparing those tests to other tests (which probably also come from our culture) or by measuring how well they predict success in some other environment, like school (which isn't a very objective way of measuring intelligence).

3. Neurodiversity and "general" intelligence

Finally, the entire concept of IQ as it exists today centers on a major hypothesis: For most people, there is a general intelligence across all categories that can be summarized with a single number. This is the only way we can justify giving somebody a test that has them identify patterns (for example, the Raven inventory, another highly credited IQ test) and then make a claim about their entire intelligence. We make this assumption because of something called the G factor, which is basically the level of correlation between measured intelligence in one area (using X set of skills) and another area (using Y set of skills). The higher the G factor, the more correlation there is between skill in one area and skill in another area. And there's a lot of research suggesting that in most people, that correlation is pretty high. The problem word here: Most.

Much of psychology focuses on the abnormal (in popular interest as well as in research). When people talk about IQ, they're rarely interested in Suzie who scored a 105. They're interested in those scoring in the margins. They're interested in intellectual disability, learning disabilities, and "giftedness." And while IQ admittedly is a useful tool for identifying certain fringe cases, such as disabilities and those with certain exceptional skills, we quickly run into a problem here.

If you're Autistic there's a decent chance you've heard phrases like "spiky profile," "splinter skills," or "uneven cognitive profile." Essentially, if you're Autistic, there's a pretty high chance all your cognitive skills don't cluster around one measurable number, and IQ tests with massive differences in scores on different sections are pretty common for Autistic people (take me as Exhibit A). And that's just Autism. Take any learning disability and you'll very quickly realize why this is such a problem. If somebody can be in the 99th percentile in one area on a test and the 10th percentile in another, there's not much point in trying to give them a summary intelligence score. Neurodiversity, as a concept, can't really coexist with the idea that each person has an intelligence number that all their skills cluster around.

So yeah, basically IQ, as a way of "objectively" measuring someone's intelligence, is 2 degrees shy of idea mush.

Ok that was long my God if you read this all, I appreciate your patience and have a nice day. Of course this is all my opinion and I'm interested to hear differing ones.

[tomorrowusa]

Labour picked up yet another seat from the Conservative Party in a by-election in the constituency of Blackpool South.

Labour has taken Blackpool South from the Conservatives as voters deserted the Tories in a resounding Westminster by-election victory. Chris Webb secured a 26.3% swing in the marginal Lancashire seat, easily wiping out the Tories' 2019 general election majority of 3,690 to win by 7,607. Conservative David Jones only beat Reform UK's Mark Butcher into second place by 117 votes. The by-election was triggered by former Tory MP Scott Benton's resignation.

By itself, flipping one seat doesn't put Labour in the driver's seat in London; but it's significant because of the margin and because it's part of a series of repeated recent Conservative by-election losses to Labour and to the Liberal Democrats.

But wait, there's more!

There were various local elections around England and a few in Wales which coincided with the by-election in Blackpool South.

107 local councils in England held elections and there were also contests for mayor and public safety officials in a number of localities.

Here are the areas which held council elections. Some councils held elections for all council members while others had elections for half or some other fraction of the councils. This map shows party control prior to the election.

While not nationwide, the council elections were spread over much of England.

In any case, the Conservatives lost control of 10 of the 16 councils they had controlled. Labour picked up 8 and the Lib Dems gained 2. The number of councils with no overall party control or control by minor local parties remained the same.

But council control stats don't tell the whole story.

The overall number of elected councilors showed the Conservatives falling into third place behind Labour and the Lib Dems. It also shows the Green Party making inroads even though they did not gain control of any councils.

A number of localities held elections for mayor.

In London, Labour's Sadiq Khan was elected to a third term.

In Manchester, Labour Mayor Andy Burnham was easily re-elected. His nickname among supporters up there is the King in the North. ⚔️

Former Prime Minister Boris Johnson provided some unintentional amusement on election day. He's responsible for enacting UK voter ID laws. He was not allowed to vote when he first showed up at the polling station because he had forgotten to bring his ID.

Boris Johnson barred from voting under his own voter ID rules

In summary from the BBC...

A general election must be held no later than late January. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak may look at the terrible results and decide that an early June election would not go well for his Conservatives. And because elections between mid June and the end of August tend to be unpleasant surprises for the governing party (Conservatives 1945) (Labour 1970), the UK would probably not see an election for parliament until at least mid-September. I'd bet a double espresso on October.

Even if Rishi waits until the very last possible day, things are unlikely to get any better for the Conservative Party. Electoral Calculus shows only two possible outcomes of a parliamentary election: 98% chance of a Labour majority and a 2% chance of a Labour plurality. Nobody is seriously talking about Conservatives being in charge after an election – regardless of timing.

BTW: Blame Salford for the delay in this post. They didn't announce their results until well into Sunday. Just couldn't post until all 107 councils had been decided.

[chalkrevelations]

OK, two things about this fight that we just ended Part 1/4 on, before I move on to Part 2/4.

1. Sailom is being unreasonable and jumping to conclusions. Kanghan clearly adores him, and I was already starting to worry that something was wrong when not only did he not show up for Designated Sailom Time by 9:30, but his phone wasn't working. When we hit and passed 11pm, I was pretty sure something had to have happened, and the minute Kanghan walked in uninjured, my first thought was "Who did get hurt? What went wrong that you're home more than three hours late, at almost midnight?" Maybe this is something that Sailom also did - worry about him - and seeing Kanghan walk in clearly uninjured set him off, but Chimon is a good enough actor that I feel like I would have gotten worry off of Sailom while he was waiting if it was supposed to be there, and I didn't. I got impatience and disappointment.

2. Kanghan has himself to blame for Sailom's reaction and lack of trust. Yeah, that had to sting, I sat here watching it, thinking, "Oh, no, don't ... don't do that, Sailom. Give him 10 seconds to say a thing. Oh, gdi ow," particularly after that thing I just said about that clutching hug at the end of Ep 7 and how important it is to Kanghan that Sailom actually likes him. But I also don't begrudge Sailom his reaction. Not given Kanghan's history with Sailom and his friends. We've seen Sailom do the mental calculus on whether he's safe with Kanghan, and he has to do that mental calculus for variables of emotional safety, not just physical safety, and that reaction isn't something that just magically goes away, even with a few kisses and hugs. Even with an apology. This is a consequence of Kanghan's previous behavior, he's still paying the price for that behavior now, because it was serious, and he's going to have to come to terms with the fact that Sailom can actually like him, and still have this instinctive response, this emotional (if not physical) flinch at his behavior, because of their history.

Both of these things can be true, at the same time.

At least, that's where I hope we're going with this. I've been wrong before.

[redlighttokyo]

Cherry Cola

Chapter 2: Dark Avenues

Word Count: 2.4K

Picture above is Riley (You)

Author’s Note: Sorry this wasn’t uploaded on Monday, I got swamped with school work and didn’t have time to edit it. See you guts next week for Brahms’ story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, this is tonight’s homework. I expect it to be done by next class. Take one and pass it down,” Mr. Handley, your calculus teacher, explained from the front of the class as he handed each person at the front a small stack of papers.

Despite being able to hear your surroundings, you were far away in your mind. It was the only way you could escape the mounting pressure of missing a few weeks of school and then switching schools mid first semester. Although, it wasn’t much of an escape. You could still feel the pressure building with each class, but you were numb to it at the moment. Almost like you switched off your emotions. You did switch off your emotions. You’ve been able to do it for a while now, no one’s even noticed. No one really notices you; you were a background character in your own life.

You couldn’t get what your mom said about your dad earlier – you knew it was true but it still hurt. Although, your mom has some part to play in why your dad isn’t really a part of your life. But that’s beside the point; if he wanted to be here, he’d be here. But he’s not and that was like a dagger to the heart.

Your dad hasn’t returned any of your calls since…. You couldn’t blame him either – you were embarrassed by what happened but your dad, he must’ve been crushed and humiliated. He could never look you in the eye after that. Again, you didn’t blame him for his reaction and the distance that came directly afterward. Even though it hurt like Hell.

You’ve lost count how many times you left him a voicemail in the last few weeks; especially since you moved here. You wanted to be able to say you tried to have a relationship with him after…..

The distance was killing you – you were such a daddy’s girl. Before all this, you and your dad had an amazing relationship. Even though your mom and dad were divorced and shared custody of you, you had a really great relationship with your dad. You two constantly communicated; talking on the phone, or writing letters to each other, or even hanging out together. So for him to give you the cold shoulder like this was like an icy stab to the heart.

“Riley,” Mr. Handley called, catching your attention immediately. His beady brown eyes found you before he gestured for you to come see him. You silently sighed then got up from your desk near the back of the class. The late morning sun poured into the classroom as your peers quietly spoke to each other while busy doing class work.

You stopped in front of Mr. Handley’s desk with a neutral expression and body language; you were slumped forward slightly with your arms by your sides carelessly. This was your way of getting under peoples’ skin – they never know how to react to your completely neutral demeanour.

“Yes?” You flatly greeted. Mr. Handley looked you over once, trying to find a hint of personality. He fidgeted with his pen as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. This didn’t faze you though.

“How are you finding today’s work? Is it too difficult, or too easy? Do you already know all this and think I’m the lamest person ever to make you do this all over again?” Mr. Handley quirkily asked in hopes of fishing a hint of emotion out of you – he got none. You remained completely neutral. You decided that if you stay neutral then you couldn’t get hurt again. You didn’t want to get hurt again. After everything that’s happened you couldn’t afford to get hurt again.

“I’m actually a little further along than this but I don’t mind getting more practice in,” you stated monotonously. A faint smile formed in your mind but you maintained your poker face. Mr. Handley stammered, stumbling over his words or lack there of.

“Okay, if you want to redo the unit then by all means go for it, but I don’t mind giving you the unit you’re actually on,” he offered kindly, a friendly smile crossed his elderly face. Mr. Handley was close to retirement; hell he was passed retirement. This man passed it up three times before finally agreeing to it. This was his last year teaching pre calculus. It was his last year teaching, period. He said he’d still tutor though. He loves teaching and there’s nothing that’s going to stop him from doing exactly that.

“No, I don’t mind at all,” you retorted honestly even though your voice was still flat. “–Is that everything?” You asked curiously. Mr. Handley nodded his head, sending you walking back to your desk. For the hundredth time this morning you felt eyes on you as you made your way back to your seat.

Before you could sit down the jarring sound of the lunch bell ringing filled the school – it was chorused by your peers chit chatting as they filed out of the classroom into the halls for an hour of bliss.

You sighed heavily as you added yet another worksheet to the pile in your notebook then tossed everything in your bag. You hooked the bag over your shoulder as you left the classroom and was met with eager teens figuring out what to do for lunch, forming massive groups in the hallway and making it next to impossible to navigate.

You headed towards the front entrance; keeping your head down as you sifted through the crowd. Being the new kids meant having observing eyes on you at any given moment. Having someone stop you to introduce themselves and make small talk was your worst nightmare. You already had to stand in front of your home room class to introduce yourself first thing this morning.

That’s why you kept your head down as you navigated your way through the halls towards the front of the school. You weren’t sure as to why though, it was a half assed idea that most likely backfire on you. But thinking of your dad made you miss him even more; you wanted to hear his voice and have a conversation with him. You wanted him to know how sorry you were about everything that’s happened recently.

You shuffled into the small phone booth in the foyer, closing the door behind you for privacy. You set you bag down on the small shelf underneath the pay phone then fished a couple quarters out of your change purse. Anxiety rattled you as you fed the coins to the machine once you picked up the receiver. You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you dialled your dad’s phone number. You knew he was at work right now so you called there first. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to break your ribs.

The phone rang a few times before stopping; you half expected it to be his answering machine.

“Gunnery Sargent Jeremy Devins,” you dad’s voice greeted flatly. All the air fled your lungs; you felt like you were drowning without water. It’s been weeks since you last talked to your dad; or even heard his voice. It broke your heart to know that he no longer answers the phone with joy in his voice. You knew he didn’t know it was you so he answers the phone like that now. Like a broken man. And it was all your fault.

“Hello?” Your dad said after a moment of silence. You didn’t realize you’d just been standing there blankly. Guilt felt like a tidal wave crashing down on you; its mighty force throwing you around like a rag doll.

Without saying anything you hung up the phone. Stress tightened your body as you let out a shaky breath. You were in disbelief that you just did that. You couldn’t believe you just called your dad and then hung up without saying anything. You had so much to say to him but the idea of having to face your dad after everything that’s happened made you gag. You couldn’t do it. All because of a stupid mistake that wrecked your mom’s life and destroyed your dad completely. They always told you to make smart choices, to use your head. You didn’t use your head, and it cost you everything. You didn’t exactly weigh the pros and cons when…

Another shaky breath passed your lips as you came back to reality. You quickly gathered your belongings and turned to leave the small phone booth. You damn near jumped out of your skin when you turned around to see someone standing directly outside the booth staring at you. It was the guy from earlier in the office. Mr. Loomis. Asshole.

You collected yourself once again before opening the sliding door to the booth.

“You’re Riley, right?” Asshole asked right off the bat. You felt yourself cringe as your worst nightmare was made reality.

‘Who is this guy? Freddy Krueger?!’ You thought as you stood in the small doorway of the phone booth. You wanted desperately to remain neutral, but you couldn’t maintain it. Something about him was getting under your skin; you didn’t know what it was but it unnerved you greatly.

“Yeah,” you drew out in hopes he’d say more than just that, but he didn’t. There was a long pause between you two.

“Sorry, did you need the phone?” You apologized sheepishly. His sparkling eyes lacked personality and emotion – they reminded you of shark’s eyes.

“No,” he replied, causing you to furrow your brow confusedly. “–I was waiting for you,” he added with a slight smirk. The crease between your brows deepened as you gave him a confused and slightly concerned look. You gave him a once over; he was tall with medium build. His sandy blond hair was haphazardly tousled away from his face. He was clothed in a pale blue polo that was left unbuttoned to reveal the white shirt underneath. He wore baggy jeans and mucky sneakers.

Your eyes travelled back up his body to meet his gaze again. His blank brown eyes glimmered down at you. You felt a shiver run up your spine when an alarm bell started ringing somewhere in the back of your mind.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You asked after a moment of processing what he said and trying to get a read on him. He was just…. –blank. It was unnerving.

He gave you a shy smirk as his hands sank into the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m Billy Loomis, we met this morning in,”

“–In the office, yeah I remember you,” you interrupted as you stepped out of the booth, standing at least six inches shorter than him. “–Why were you waiting for me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Billy chuckled nervously as he stumbled over his words. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to have lunch with me and my friends,” he finally got out. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. Nobody’s nice to the new kid for the sake of being nice. From experience, the new kid has to get hazed. Is that what’s happening here?

You narrowed your gaze at him as you carefully weighed the pros and cons. This was a new habit you picked up; so far, it’s a very useful habit to have. You quickly listed every pro and con. If you accept then it opens the doorway to friendship, which is something you both desperately needed and made you cringe at the idea. It’s not that you didn’t want friends – you have plenty of those. Or at least, you had plenty of those. After everything came to light a couple weeks ago, they stopped interacting with you; your calls went unanswered, your IMs went unread, and you sat alone at lunch. They completely abandoned you.

Now the thought of making new friends and having them find out about your past only for them to turn their backs on you too, made you queasy. You couldn’t go through that kind of rejection; being completely outcasted by your peers. If you didn’t make friends then you didn’t have to worry about your secret coming out.

But the pros were completely selfish; like most pros are. The pros of this situation you’ve found yourself in are: maybe you can keep your secret a secret while making friends, then perhaps this lonely feeling that settled on your shoulders would dissipate. And finally, and let it be the most sinfully selfish pro in history, but you found yourself attracted to Billy. Not romantically. Not platonically. You wanted him biblically. You knew there were some dark fantasies stewing in the depths of his mind; his eyes didn’t say much but his demeanour told you everything. That was the part that scared you shitless because you know how dark you can get – you’ve been to the depths of your own primal depravity. You’ve done things that’d land you in a hospital indefinitely. Either that or prison.

“Where are you having lunch?” You questioned, trying to seem less desperate than outright agreeing.

Billy’s thin pink lips turned upward into a smile.

“We’re going to the water fountain, enjoy the last days of sunshine,” he chirped a reply. You pursed your lips together as you pretended to think about it. You’d already made up your mind. Your selfishness won by a long shot.

Shyly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as a weak smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll join you guys,” you told him. Billy clapped his hands together in victory as a wide grin overtook his features. But a split second later he tried to play it cool; running his fingers through his hair as he gave you a casual shrug.

“I mean, unless you have better plans,” Billy said casually. You felt a smile form inside you but it didn’t translate to your features. You merely stared at Billy blankly. You pursed your lips as you pretended to think, then shook your head.

“No. No better plans,” you uttered. Billy flashed a smile as he nodded his head.

“Cool. They’re waiting for us at the fountain so we should probably…”

“–Go. Yeah, let’s go,” you chirped happily.

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

2.

I admit that there was an unfair, silent bias within me against frat guys. But, who could blame me? Their reputations preceded them. They always wore frat-branded clothes. They traveled in packs. They spoke and acted like idiots. They tended to be racist, homophobic, misogynistic, or some combination of all three. 

My first interaction with a frat guy during my freshman year at Tulane affirmed everything I had seen about them in the media. It was the first party Lily ever dragged me to. I wore my New England uniform; a sweater, docs, and loose-fitting jeans. 

Not even an hour into my time at Sig Chi, I heard a loud voice shout: "Yo! Who invited the lesbo?" right next to me. I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a Kappa Alpha brother staring right at me, laughing at my expense.

"Seriously?" I challenged him.

"Come on, Hannah," Lily spoke lowly into my ear, grabbing my hand to pull me away from the guy.

"Aw, the lesbian got mad at me!" the guy shouted. His comment was met with a cacophony of male laughter. Likely his Kappa Alpha brothers encouraging his bad behavior. 

From then on, I was wary of these males. I stayed clear of them, even at parties. I felt no remorse for stealing their alcohol, getting drunk, and leaving without getting to know a single one. I made sure to dress differently at parties after that, though. I couldn't risk another encounter of that nature.

My avoidance of these frat guys was directly challenged by the seating arrangement in my Calculus class, though. I had no idea that when Kyle Spencer sat next to me on the first day, that my fate would be sealed for the rest of the semester. There was something about Kyle that made me cringe. I knew nothing about him except for his frat status, and his tendency to act stupid.

He was willing to do anything to impress his frat brothers. He had been a human coat rack once at a party. At another, he got so belligerently drunk that he ended up asleep in the fountain outside the library --  2 miles from the party. This was all hearsay. I hadn't been there to witness those stunts, but there was photo evidence. I feared what he would do sitting just inches from me. What if a frat dare caused him to make some sort of mess in class, or ask me out as a joke? I felt funny just being near him. 

His egregious tendency to be late to class didn't help my case, either. By the time he arrived, there would be no other seat available than the one directly next to me. I had no choice but to have an obnoxious frat guy exist within my personal bubble. 

As it turns out, though, Kyle was impressively good at calculus. Like, inhuman. Despite barely paying attention during lectures, he finished the first weekly quiz with ease. I, on the other hand, was nearly the last person to hand in my paper. When we got the results the following Monday, I failed, while Kyle got a 90%. 

I decided it would be in my best interest to cheat on the next quiz by looking at his paper. We had a small quiz every Friday, testing our knowledge of what we had covered that week. The professor chose to do this in lieu of homework assignments. My notes were exhaustive and diligent, but still, I walked in on that Friday with an empty head, somehow having forgotten things I had learned just a day prior. 

Just as I suspected, the quiz got handed out, and I was hopelessly clueless. I didn't cheat often, so I wasn't used to looking inconspicuous. I feigned a stretch and looked over at Kyle's paper, for probably a touch too long. His head snapped in my direction. He let out a laugh and covered his quiz with his hand.

Oh, so we're the perfect little suck-up, are we, Spencer? I thought.

I struggled through the rest of the quiz. Kyle stood to hand his in. He was the first in the whole class. I shot a glare in his direction as he walked back to his seat to grab his bag. We were told we were dismissed as soon as we finished, so he smiled and left. I cursed him out in my thoughts and turned my attention back to my own quiz, which I was surely about to fail. 

I ended up leaving about half of the damn thing blank before time was called.  I slumped back in my seat with a huff and began to pack up my things. Almost the entire class had already filed out so I rushed to get out to get some lunch. I sighed, vowing to get as drunk as possible as soon as I could. I stepped out of the room into the bright daylight of the afternoon. The sun's light on the pavement was nearly blinding. I shaded my eyes with my hand as I walked in the direction of my apartment.

"You gotta be slicker than that," a voice called out behind me, followed by a chuckle. I turned and saw Kyle sitting on the half-wall outside the building with Archie. Both of them stared at me, smiling condescendingly. I spun on my heel and walked away, waiting until I was a good enough distance away to cry. I didn't want them to know they had gotten a rise out of me. 

Fuck you, Kyle Spencer, I thought, tears streaming down my face as I turned down my street.

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