#Computer Science Tutors Near Me

[ohcaptains]

don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u. 

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops.  “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source.   “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.  

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

[educify]

About Sat A state administered test broadly utilized for school affirmations, the SAT tests the abilities understudies procure in secondary school. Most understudies take the SAT during their lesser or senior long periods of secondary school, when they start applying for school confirmations. Visit our website https://www.evernote.com/shard/s638/sh/2a4465c3-f6f6-652e-441e-311480f4a47b/731df8dd6591fc1378f3e2be0de8d6cc , for more information.

[study-or-perish]

Things I wish I knew before freshman year of college

After being in college for a year, I’ve learned that some things that people told me were true and others were false. Now this is purely in my own experience so maybe I will prove to be wrong when you attend. Also, I am a commuter student so I don’t have any advice on dorms/apartments and how to deal with them. 

So seeing as half of my classes are in person this semester, I thought other people may be in the same situation as I am. 

emails will either be “Good Afternoon Professor Smith,” or “hey john” — whatever it is keep it short and to the point

the only profs that I actually call “Professor” are from gen eds/100 level courses. everyone else I address by their first name and none of them have a problem with it.

first day of class nerves are real here’s how to lessen it- scout out classes before hand, eat as you normally would on that day to avoid feeling sick, if it’s that bad just leave five minutes into class (chances are it’s not) you’re a college student you can leave, it’s not as bad as what you may think

KEEP THE SYLLABUS  it is your guide

8am classes will become hell as progress through the semester bc you won’t want to get up

your MWF classes may know about your TTH classes. Just so you know

don’t sit near the windows and look up to find the AC unit and don’t sit under it. You will be cold.

ice breakers are horrible and no one likes them, find a fact about yourself that you can expand on and use it for every class.

some classes will put you through your paces, go to office hours if needed

some profs are just unhelpful. Find another prof that would be willing to help

student tutors are not helpful at all

start studying for an exam at least a week early and get into that habit

raising your hand in class to ask a question is powerful because that means you’ve gotten far enough to actually understand what is going on

some profs won’t let you use a graphing calculator on an exam, bring a less complicated one with you as well.

some profs won’t let you use a calculator at all. sharpen up those basic math skills

if you have a genuinely bad prof, report them to the head prof of that department. If there is enough students who say the same thing they can take care of things :) (exception- tenured profs)

take public speaking your first semester and take it seriously. It really does help.

time between classes can be used for watching YouTube, studying, or taking a nap. Use it wisely.

always bring a water bottle and a granola bar with you anywhere you go

first semester may be exactly like high school but second semester won’t be as you will get harder classes

all nighters are not necessary if you study a little everyday

no one cares what you wear. HOWEVER if you want to be easily identified as a freshman on the first day, dress up really nicely. I just wore a school shirt and jeans, but I saw hoards of freshman girls with dresses and heels walking to class

speaking of clothes, I wouldn’t recommend wearing short sleeve shirts and shorts until you know the climate of the rooms you’ll be in. But that’s your preference

hand sanitizer. even after covid please continue to use it. There are sick people all the time on campus without covid

I believe an electronic writing device to be better than any paper or pens. You’ll have everything with you at all times without worrying about losing things

PDF scanner app

FIND A RELIABLE BACKPACK not a trendy one, a nice reliable comfy backpack with plenty of room

you don’t have to meet your best friends within the first day, week, month, or semester into college. They’ll come, it will be okay

you may make a friend that you later find out that they are horrible. End it quickly, ghost if you have to

if you feel lonely bc you have no friends bc you went to college on your own, please talk to someone about it. it does help even if it is a prof who asked you how your day is in private (not in front of the whole class)

everyone will think you know what you’re doing if you look confident. Doesn’t matter if you’re walking to class, doing work, or even asking questions. They’ll assume you’re higher in your education than you really are. I’ve had profs come up to me asking if I was a sophomore or a junior (I was a freshman in my first semester)

everyone and their mother will talk to you during the first week

no one will tell you about specific things (such as expenses, scheduling, etc.) seek it out if you find something you don’t understand

profs will tell you about due dates and exam dates, it may be brief but they’ll tell you

noise cancelling headphones are a must

group work is hell even if you know the members. my engineering prof says to make a contract that every one signs stating what they will do. present it to the prof if someone fails to do something.

stay away from populated areas that most people will go to such as libraries/tables/cafe. (covid related)

meal plans can be useless but sometimes you’re required to have one

Online classes:

a desk is best but sitting on the floor is a nice change of scenery

it is true that you should have a separate area for studying/classes but not everyone can do that. Try to angle where you sit either out of a window or face a wall opposite to where you sleep.

getting another monitor for my desk has been really helpful

tip from my computer science prof- look away from your screen periodically, humans are adapted to see far distances better and it relaxes the muscles. hang something up across your room to read every now and then to reduce eye strain. 

blue light blocking glasses can help reduce headaches 

you can do classes in bed if you want, I have and it hasn’t caused any problems

PDF scanner app

a planner is a must in this case to track when assignments are due

emails, emails, emails. All day.

my school has told me they can’t require us to turn on our cameras, so I don’t. even during exams. (It’s an invasion of privacy)

if you have to turn on your camera, don’t have a distracting background

turn in assignments one day early just incase something should happen where you have to email a prof saying that you’re unable to turn it in.

I’ll probably add to this as I think of things but for now… here is all I know

[lake-lady]

hello I'm here again the anon that's a junior in high school who's bad at science but is thinking about ecology sigh

would my hypersensitive (adhd) ass be able to survive a degree in ecology? if I go out and a bug buzzes in my ear too long I run to my car; if something touches my foot strage in natural water I must leave immediately.. I never considered ecology before recently because of this, I'm so indoors bc of my hypersensitivity and yet I love nature, I'm pagan for gods sake... is this even an option for someone like me

Honestly, I know money is an issue with college, but if you REALLY want to go into ecology it is worth a shot!! You'll never know until you try and I'm a firm believer that if you want something, you should go for it so you don't regret not following your heart later.

There are a lot of branches of ecology that are more lab or computer based, so if you don't love being outside you can find a niche. Mapping, modeling, programming, and lab work are all integral parts of ecology and you could end up enjoying one of those! You will probably have to do some field work to get a degree, so probably not best if you really hate the outdoors.

That said, you should do your best to get the degree and if you're worried about adhd affecting your grades you should take a few steps to limit the risk of not getting the degree/dropping out by 1) finding a school that has a good and open culture regarding mental health, bc they are more likely to have better resources and more understanding professors that can give extensions etc 2) find a tutor at the school to help with organization and making sure you turn in your assignments and tutors for classes that you know will be extra hard for you and 3) Seek therapy while at school and make sure you have a solid support system - maybe a school closest to home is best so you can stay near family or something like that.

Hope this helps! I'm sure that while maybe you struggle with math, you are good at other things and ecology is diverse and will give you opportunities to show your other strengths :)

[jamesmarriottistrilingual]

FIRST CHAPTER OF MY FANFIC

rest is https://www.wattpad.com/story/305719747-wanna-make-out

“Alex.”

Alex wasn’t listening. His ears were busy listening to some random song playing on his spotify.

“Alex.”,his mate George shouted. “Please come tonight. It will be fun”

“Do I have to?”,he asked.

“Yes.”,George replied.

“Ugh. Fine I guess I go.”,Alex replied.

“Cool. See ya there.”,he shouted,running down the hallway.

Then,in came tutor time.

The whole class seemed to arrive at once,with the tutor coming in 5 minutes later. Alex looked around to see who was there. A nerd wearing a green hoodie speaking to a blue zip coat boy wearing sunglasses and another boy looking at himself in the mirror. A young boy wearing a red hoodie,playing with what seemed to be a lone bullet. Square head boy looking at the ceiling. Ginger kid writing in a journal sitting next to a bearded man speaking in spanish. Near the bearded boy,there was another ginger reading a book in japanese. Next to him,there was a kid on his phone,looking at some music. There was a thud. Two kids were fighting. A pink haired boy and a purple haired girl screaming at each other and punching each other over some random comment.

“You fucking insult Nikki again and I’ll slaughter you.”,the purpled haired girl screamed at the top of her voice.

“She’s just some stupid whore.Get over yourself.”,the pink hair yelled.

“Guys. Stop. Why can’t you two just get along?”,the pink-haired girl shouted.

“LEWIS! MINX!”,the tutor shouted. “QUIT IT NOW!”. The two stopped and sat down in their respective seats.

“Thank you.”,he continued. “Right. My name is Eduardo and I hate my job. Tell me your name. Your course and one fact about yourself.”

“You. Boy with green coat.”

“Hey I’m Edd. I’m doing a Media and Art A-Level and I do comics.”,the nerd replied.

“Sad. Next to Edd then.”

“Hey.I’m Tom and I do an animation course and I like a girl I just met.”,the discord mod replied,looking at some random girl with short hair and brown eyes.

Alex learned a lot about these new people:

-Matt. Does an drama course and is vain

-Tord. Does an animation course and loves guns

-Will. Repeating the year. Does an sport media course and is never sober

-Stephen. Also repeating the year. Does a media course and always swears.

-James. Trilingual. Won’t bloody shut up about it. Does 3x A-Levels

-Fraser. Weeb. Does an art course.Probably fatherless is what Alex thought.

-Lewis. Angry twat. Does a sport media course.

Then there was Minx and Nikki,childhood best friends doing a music course. Wilbur,an indie kid doing a music course. Sapnap,who is doing a bricklaying course with Dream because they like bricks. Karl,the lonely boy doing a hair and beauty course.

The bell rings and everyone pisses off to wherever they need to be. This meant that Alex and George had to be in the library doing nothing.

Edd walked in with Matt and Tom.

“Hey. Alex and George right.”Edd asked.

“Sup.”Matt shouted. The librarian shouted ssshhhh.

“Yup. We’re Alex and George.”George replied.

“An Art and Computer Science group lmao”,Matt replied.

The bell rang again and they all walked out of the library.

[pigeontheoneandonly]

N7 Month 2020

Day Two: Science

2020 N7 Prompt Challenge AO3 Collection

Her father intended her to study law.

Miranda picked up the cup beside her, took a drink, swallowed.  Returned to staring into the clean room where the VI robot continued its delicate surgery, installing the implant to repair Shepard’s severed spinal column.  All those undergraduate applications.  Thousands of words of essays, an impeccable curriculum vitae, test scores, special tutors, the fights and the way her wrist ached for days after her frayed patience failed.  She’d made a fist at her side.  That was all, that small, singular sign of frustration.  He’d grabbed her by the arm and twisted until she begged his forgiveness for this unimaginable transgression, from the floor, where he forced her to her knees.

Never lose your temper.  It’s uncivilized.  Nobody listens to an angry woman.

She took another sip.  

Shepard had been an angry woman.  And now all that temper lay quiescent, reduced to a comatose lump of barely living meat.  Look where it got her.  

But Shepard… they’ll listen to her, she’d said, months ago, to a man who valued her self-control nearly as much as her father, albeit with considerably more respect for Miranda herself.

It took six months to get Oriana settled with her adoptive family.  A further nine of Cerberus training, learning their operations protocols, and honing her scattershot martial training into actual fighting discipline.  A handful of field ops to test her learning; Miranda had never failed a test in her life. And then a second meeting with the Illusive Man, where he informed her she was going to college.

Miranda snorted to herself.  Inelegant; she took a perverse pleasure in it, in moments of solitude.  Anyone can fire a gun, he lectured her, displeased by her objections.  You have one of the top minds of your generation.  I need you to use it.

Back then, her father still searched for her using all the considerable resources at his disposal. For six years, she became someone else.  That woman’s doctorate was collecting dust along with the rest of her belongings in a storage unit aboard Arcturus Station.

She picked biology.  Miranda glanced out into the boredom of the laboratory, nothing but the hum of the machines to keep her company.  And look where it got me. 

Her father saw scientists the same way he saw accountants, or cooks.  Specialized servants.  Not decision makers.  Not the sort of people who ran things; just ants in the hill that was his business.  Like little organic computer programs to be run and terminated according to needs other than their own.  Ten years later, Miranda still experienced a frisson of deep and genuine satisfaction picturing the look on his face, if he ever learned his daughter had become one of the help.  Maybe that was the entire reason she’d picked it.  At the time, it was just one more gate to clear to get to her goal.

Miranda poured another finger of gin into the glass.  

This was irresponsible.  Sure, the project had been calm for weeks now; since taking over for Wilson, they’d developed a new plan and kept right on track.  The possibility of an emergency arising was near nothing.  But Miranda Lawson hadn’t been raised to leave the slightest thing to chance.

She would have been a phenomenal lawyer.  The liquid sloshed into miniature waves and crests as she tilted the glass, idly.  A phenomenal lawyer not allowed to practice, moved into her father’s company as a vice president the moment she graduated, CEO-in-training and kept neatly under his thumb until the day he died, and bound by his will well into his afterlife.

Had Shepard ever wondered about her afterlife?  Impossible that it hadn’t crossed her mind.  As an N7 marine, a spectre, a human alive amid the constant strife of the modern age, Shepard lived too closely to death to not have formed some opinion.  Doubtful it had included having a cybernetic mess twisted into her spinal cord.

Miranda tipped the gin down her throat.  Best not to go down that road.  Shepard wasn’t a person right now.  She was a subject, the object of a careful series of experiments charting a course to unprecedented scientific achievement and securing a critical asset for Cerberus and all mankind.  Their mission outranked her personhood.

That morning, Jacob had asked her, not for the first time, if what they were doing to Shepard was fair.  As if creation were ever even slightly concerned with fairness.  Nobody asked to be made.  Nobody had any control over how they came into being.  In some respects, that primal lack of control was the most natural thing in the world.

It didn’t matter if Shepard wanted to be here, any more than it mattered that Miranda didn’t. They both had a job to do.  And failure was never an option available to either of them.

[freckledacademic]

hello everyone!

i had someone request a breakdown of what my medical school/MSTP application looked like, so here we go!

FIRST - a disclaimer! this is my application, and it worked for me. it doesn’t look like the application of my classmates and other medical school friends who also got in. one of my friends got a below average MCAT, but her clinical experience and extracurriculars meant she got into (and is going to!) a highly-ranked medical school. on the other hand, my application was weighted fairly heavily in the direction of academics, since that’s my strength!

also, keep in mind i was applying to medical scientist training programs with the goal of getting an MD/PhD -- my app is also pretty research heavy

onto the specifics!

general

i went to a small liberal arts college with a focus on research. nearly every student does a senior thesis, and science senior theses usually involve lots of lab work/data generation done by the student.

i double-majored in mathematics and biochemistry & molecular biology, and between those classes, gen eds, and music, i was generally over full-time but just under the credit limit per semester.

i took the MCAT in May of 2018, and applied that summer. my AMCAS was in July 9th, and I got approved ~August 10th. this was between my junior (17-18) and senior (18-19) years. i matriculated at my med school in july of 2019.

numbers

GPA - 3.97 (ish? i got two A-s, and everything else was As)

MCAT - 519 (130 on three sections, 129 on one. i don’t remember which one though whoops)

clinical experience

shadowing - shadowed with two different doctors - an oncologist over the course of a semester, and a clinical pathologist for a day. total # of hours - relatively low, maybe 15-25.

clinical volunteering  - i volunteered at a free clinic near my college for one afternoon every week or so during most of junior spring and senior year. total # of hours - ~60 hrs

medical ethics program - related to the longitudinal oncology shadowing. once a month, throughout the spring semester of my junior year, we would meet to discuss articles we’d been assigned to read on a topic eg: end of life care, malpractice, etc. total # of hours -  ~10 hrs

research experience

research assistant, yeast genetics lab - i worked in this lab during the spring of my first year and during the summer after. it was my first lab/research experience, and it taught me a lot regarding lab techniques and lab mentality. garnered me my one and (still) only publication! total # of hours -  400+ hrs

research assistant, computational biology lab - i worked (and went on to do my senior thesis) in this lab during my junior year. it was partially an excuse to get started with my thesis coding early, because it was going to take a lot of time, but it also helped me get acquainted with my thesis advisor! total # of hours - ?

research intern, cancer research center - this was an internship i applied for that was specifically for students with a year left in college that occurred the summer between my junior and senior year. i worked with a biostatistician on developing a machine-learning model to predict disease risk based off of demographic data. i learned a lot about R, statistics, and regression models. i also learned that i don’t like R, statistics, and machine learning models lmao. note: this didn’t technically go in my AMCAS iirc, because i applied while i was *at* the internship. i did talk about it at interviews!

senior thesis - this was another thing that wasn’t in my app itself, because at the time it hadn’t been written lmao. it was something i was able to talk about at interviews, but it being ~still in progress~ did complicate it

on-campus jobs

peer tutor - got recommended by a professor my first year for a different tutoring program, but my schedule was a mess so i ended up as a one-on-one peer tutor! i really enjoyed it, but i had to drop it with how busy i got junior year, so i only did it for two years (freshman spring --> junior fall). total # of hours - 210 hrs

laboratory course TA, cell biology - again, got asked by a professor to do this. specifically TA’d 2/3 sections junior fall, and then 1/2 or 1/3 sections every semester after that. also held office hours, maintained longitudinal lab experiments, and supervised students performing experiments. total # of hours - 800 hrs (TAing this class was absurd and i did it for four semesters)

extracurriculars

collegiate choir member - i adore singing, and part of the reason i went to the college i did was so i could still partake in music while pursuing a science degree. i was a part of my school’s auditioned choir for all four years at my school, and it involved 1h15m practices 4 days a week, regular concerts, and an annual spring tour. total # of hours - 500 hrs

chorus manager - i was a manager of the chorus as well for three years (sophomore through senior). i was very much in charge of the organization - making sure everyone had uniforms, that those uniforms were on for concerts and that everyone was wearing shoes. shepherding people on trips, solving problems, taking attendance, etc. etc. total # of hours - 250 hrs

i also took voice lessons, though i don’t think i put that down on my app? iirc there’s a limit to how many activities you can add?

other

honor societies 

Phi Beta Kappa - general undergrad honor society, inducted junior year

Mu Alpha Theta - mathematics honor society, inducted sophomore year

Beta Beta Beta - biology honor society, inducted sophomore (?) year

awards

Barry Goldman scholarship - honorable mention

Dean’s List - all 8 semesters

various prizes specific to my undergrad

academic merit scholarship, minor voice scholarship

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

to sum it all up....

i think the pros of my application include a strong academic presence, proof of my interest in research, and the existence of significant interests outside the STEM pathway - namely, music!

i think the major con of my application was a really weak clinical experience section, tbh. i also feel like some schools on the other side of the country from my undergrad like. hadn’t heard of it lmaooo.

everyone’s application will be different!! and that’s good, and okay, and you’ll be fine. you want to think about the things that make you you, and potentially the things that reflect on the kind of doctor that you’d like to be.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 5

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Expert

The subsequent calm was something Lin Yan wasn't expecting. The thing seemed to have decided it tortured him enough and nothing else happened the rest of the night. Lin Yan changed back into his clothes and unplugged his computer. Even though he knew that that probably wouldn't do anything, the screen actually powered off and didn't come back on at all in the night.

Perhaps a new storm was brewing in the silence, but Lin Yan was too exhausted to worry about it. The alcohol that was left in his system worked as a great tranquillizer, and he rolled over and fell asleep.

While he was deep in sleep, something cold pressed itself on his lips again, but Lin Yan was too much a heavy sleeper to realize it.

When he woke up, the entire room was clean. All the red paint had disappeared, the light gray printed wallpaper and the screen wall painted by the students of the Academy of Fine Arts were intact, and the glass was spotless. There was no other evidence to prove that the absurdity of last night had ever happened except for the shameful traces of liquid on Lin Yan's body and clothes. He took a bath and threw the red clothes into the washbowl. Compared with the power of the invisible thing, he was clearly at a disadvantage. Instead of running around without a plan, it was better to observe what happens as things unravel.

After he finished packing things up, Lin Yan took out his phone and texted Yin Zhou about the meeting place. Unexpectedly, he got a reply almost instantly: See you at the school gate in half an hour.

Lin Yan looked at himself in the mirror. Within just two nights, he looked like he had been doing drugs for years, he had a scruffy stubble growing, and his eyes were red. The mint scent of his shaving foam made Lin Yan feel for the first time that his typically monotonous life was actually so much more beautiful than that. The blade was thin and sharp. Just one long stroke across his neck and there would be nothing left.

Humans were such fragile creatures.

"Shit. . ." Lin Yan hissed, sighing at his unfortunate luck and put his fingers under the water. His hand had slipped and he sliced his fingertip on the blade, red blood seeping out. Lin Yan wrapped a bandaid around his finger, leaning against the wall and pondering about how unlucky it was to feel the pain.

He didn't know what kind of dye was used on the funeral clothes, but it had bled dramatically in the water. After a while, the whole basin of water had been dyed red. Lin Yan glanced at it in disgust as he left and slammed the door shut.

At 8 o'clock, Lin Yan saw Yin Zhou holding a Scallion pancake and some fruit in front of the school gate.

The two of them regretted trying to drive. The roads were clogged with morning rush hour traffic to the point that they couldn't even see the end of the lines of cars. What genius designed this kind of urban roundabout? Five ring roads surrounded the main road and they were forced to convene together every morning and night.

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were nearing the third ring road and they still didn't have any temper, so all they could do was turn on the radio and eat the breakfast that Yin Zhou brought.

"A 13-year-old boy from a remote village in Sichuan was found hanged at home wearing a red coat. The locals suspected it was most likely cult-related. It is reported that the boy's time of birth and time of death are both extremely negative times and very suitable for. . ."

Lin Yan snapped the radio off.

It seemed that everything in the world had been messed up overnight. Even this kind of unreliable news could be relayed to the public.

Yin Zhou didn't care. He swallowed the last bite of his pancake and hiccuped. He said with satisfaction: "I spent the rest of the night in the library. I was starving and I couldn't buy anything. It's great to feel full."

"There was no exam recently, what were you doing at the library?"

"I was studying the enemy's intelligence. This enemy works in the dark. Can we defeat it if we understand how it operates? What do you think, buddy?"

Lin Yan turned his face to look at the crowded traffic outside the window. He stayed silent for a while before he said softly, "Do you really believe that there are ghosts in this world? I feel like something is wrong with me. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist first."

Yin Zhou's eyes widened in surprise: "Come on, even if something's up with you, I'm totally normal, yet we both saw those clothes yesterday."

". . . At your house the day before yesterday, I was the only one who thought it was cold, and I was the only one who could feel ‘it’ in the house."

Lin Yan sorted out his thoughts and told Yin Zhou his experience of being choked by someone last night.

Lin Yan wasn't expecting it but Yin Zhou exploded after hearing this, and blurted out: "Fuck, that ghost was a rabbit master* during his lifetime?" He scanned Lin Yan's face over and over again: "Little Brother Lin, don't tell me. . . you can be considered a nice-looking guy if you look closely. He's dead and maybe he's lonely and wants to recruit you as his wife."

*because they would kill the rabbit by snapping its neck

"Fuck you. If you aren't going to be serious, get out of my car and leave. Don't forget to burn two boxes of condoms for me when I croak." Lin Yan said quietly. The car behind him honked its horn twice, and Lin Yan realized that while he was talking, a 5-6 metre gap had cleared in front of him. He hurriedly followed the line of traffic.

"Furthermore, in the middle of the night, I obviously saw that the whole house was covered with red paint, but in the morning there was nothing. It was as if I had been dreaming."

Yin Zhou dragged the backpack out of the back seat and hugged it in his arms. He said, "Hey, let me show you the results of my brother's research." As he talked, he opened his bag and took out a dozen crumpled papers from it and spread them out on his knees. He flattened them with his hands and started going over them from top to bottom.

"You can't take care of shit. I feel uncomfortable just looking at those."

"See, the attributes of a wife. This ghost saw it perfectly."

A grass mud horse roared and ran across Lin Yan's heart.

Sure enough, these geeks are something else.

"Listen carefully." Yin Zhou pushed up his glasses with his long fingers: "There are generally two modern interpretations of ghosts. The first is due to the discovery of dark matter. You know the law of conservation of energy?"

". . . Go on." Lin Yan gave him a blank look.

"The universe expands at a certain rate every year. If the law of conservation of energy goes as normal, where does the energy that supports the expansion of the universe come from? According to this question, modern physics puts forward the concept of dark matter and dark energy. It does not generate electromagnetic waves, cannot be sensed, and cannot be measured. The law of gravity estimates that dark matter and energy account for 96% of the mass of the universe, and the remaining 4% is what humans can now recognize."

"Many unexplainable phenomena are therefore attributed to the results of dark matter, such as meridians in traditional Chinese medicine, the power of the mind, and ghosts. There are many discussions on this field abroad, but it is obviously blocked in China and difficult to find." Yin Zhou spread out his hands.

Lin Yan nodded. This was a bit like a science fiction novel he had read once.

"And the second one?"

"The second type is attributed to electromagnetic waves. The environment in which the deceased died is not conducive to electromagnetic wave attenuation. The powerful thoughts it had before death form a unique energy field. If a person's own frequency is similar to it, it will resonate when they come into contact. The waveform of the original ghost is greatly strengthened so then the two can sense each other."

Lin Yan was stunned: "You mean I. . . resonate with the ghost?"

Yin Zhou said indifferently that it was possible. He turned and smiled mysteriously: "Do you know how to explain love at first sight using electromagnetic fields?"

Lin Yan's heart stuttered.

"It's just resonating. It's the same with both men and women."

Yin Zhou sighed: "I don't want to fall in love for a while. It's boring, it's like a ghost."

The cars finally started moving again, and they finally got off the third road ring after being stuck for three hours. Lin Yan turned on the navigation and stepped on the accelerator to hurry towards the destination.

He always thinks that love was just like a ghost; he didn't believe in either. He only understood the panic and anxiety he felt when he encountered it, but he has never imagined that ghosts were also like love, triggered by a specific reason in a specific environment and dragged forcibly into the abyss, unable to escape.

"Have you been in touch with anything special recently, or have you been to anywhere special?"

Lin Yan thought about it for a moment and shook his head: "No. Every day I'm in the study room, tutor's office, library, home, cafeteria, there's nowhere else. But I have come into a lot of contact with lots of things from several dynasties."

Yin Zhou clumped the pile of information in his hand, and put it into back his backpack despite Lin Yan's contemptuous eyes, and clicked the buckle shut.

"Impossible. The electromagnetic waves would have decayed early in a small object, even if the Maoshan technique was used."

A thought suddenly flashed through Lin Yan's mind.

"There was this one place. . .Last month, my old man arranged an internship position for me on an archaeological team. It was a tomb with small specifications. I was there for less than a week."

Yin Zhou's eyes lit up all of a sudden: "There's this show, we should wait and check it. . . what the fuck!"

Lin Yan slammed on the brakes. Yin Zhou's head slammed into the windshield with a bang, and he wailed in pain.

"What are you doing?! Braking like that is going to kill you. What if we got rear-ended?!"

Lin Yan looked at the empty windshield in shock. He pulled the car over and, when he turned to Yin Zhou, his face changed.

"You. . . didn't see that just now?"

"What!" Yin Zhou took off the glasses that had been knocked off-kilter, trying to push them into their original spot, and couldn't help complaining in grief.

"There was a hand. . . stretching down from the roof of the car."

Yin Zhou was stunned and looked up at the window glass cautiously. A truck came up from behind, went around their car and drove on.

Lin Yan was too scared to speak for a while. He recalled the stiff white hand that had slapped on the windshield from the roof of the car just now, but it disappeared in a blink of an eye. There were speeding trucks or tankers everywhere on the sixth ring road. He opened his mouth and looked at Yin Zhou. The other party understood his thoughts immediately. Yin Zhou took a breath and hesitated: "Then this thing. . . it wants a human life."

Lin Yan shook his head. He always felt that there was some motive behind everything that had happened, but he couldn't say it out loud.

They drove out of the city in a blink of an eye. The endless rows of poplar trees and the green border fields in the suburbs relaxed the tension of the two people in the car a lot. Lin Yan rolled down the car window, and the car air mixed with the fragrance of flowers and plants that poured in. Inside the car, the stuffy scent of the pancakes was blown away.

After the twist and turns the GPS took them on, the car turned onto a rugged path paved with stones. The surrounding buildings were replaced with independent bungalows and small farmyards. A yellow dog squatted on the steps and stretched its neck. Some hens gathered in groups lazily together. Every now and again, they passed by a white goose on the side of the road. Lin Yan slowed down and stared at the map displayed on the GPS. He glanced at Yin Zhou distrustfully.

"If I keep going, I'll have to turn around to go back to the village. Did your mother send us to a reclusive expert?"

Yin Zhou leaned over to study the map, then turned his head in confusion and looked out the window. He happened to pass by a house, a yellow mud bungalow, with a faded couplet on the door. The old man in front of it only lost two front teeth, and he was leaning back to watch the excitement. . Yin Zhou scratched his scalp suspiciously: "The address my mother gave is at the end of the village, and she said it was amazing. Let me buy some tributes to bring with me. I can't do it alone."

So Lin Yan stopped the car when passing by the market, and bought two gifts according to Yin Zhou's suggestion. . . that bastard.

"Are you sure about all this?" Lin Yan looked embarrassedly left and right, carrying a live turtle in one hand and walking back, Yin Zhou happily pointed at the turtle's head and said, "What do you know? , These kinds of psychic masters rely on this stuff to keep up with their lifestyle. Trust me."

Lin Yan threw the two bastards into the trunk, took out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Yin Zhou. He also opened a bottle for himself and took a few sips.

The country cicadas cried one after another, and the green wheat was headed; it was a wonderful scene of peace and prosperity.

Several children wearing red and green were squatting on the ground playing fan cards not far away. Lin Yan asked Yin Zhou: "What did your mother saw that name of the expert was? I'll ask around."

He couldn't help but imagine a scene of a bamboo hut with a mantle drooping in front of the porch. An old man in white with his hand stroked his beard and smiled slightly. He and Yin Zhou knelt forward on one knee, clasping their fists and begging, "Master, please guide me!"

Yin Zhou took a note from his pocket. He squinted at it, and said perplexedly: "Second Immortal Gu."

Before Lin Yan had enough time to swallow, all the water was spat back out.

"Ahem. . . is that so?"

In a small courtyard in the northeast corner of the village, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou found the legendary Second Immortal Gu’s house. When Lin Yan saw Second Immortal Gu's respectable face from outside the door, the regret in his heart was like torrential rapids. There was an enclave in an empty black room; he didn't know which god was being worshipped. An old woman in blue flower cloth sat cross-legged on the futon with her eyes closed and rests her mind. The red cloth strip that was tied to her forehead was quite imposing.

"This posture rivals some of the best dancers out there!" Yin Zhou pointed at the scene inside and couldn't help muttering softly.

"Come on, this is who your mother mentioned. Be respectful." Lin Yan said embarrassedly.

"What should we do?"

"Let's take a look first. Maybe the real person hasn't shown up."

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou walked through the door. Hearing the movement, the immortal woman lifted her eyelids slightly, and hummed from her nose aimlessly.

"Oh, ahem. . ." Yin Zhou couldn't hold back his grin and quickly concealed it with a cough.

What happened later was a farce. After receiving the turtle and two hundred yuan brought by Lin Yan, the woman suddenly became energetic. She worshipped the gods with incense and poured a bowl of clear water on Lin Yan while muttering words. After turning around Lin Yan more than ten times, she finally opened his eyes sharply. Lin Yan was so frightened by her that his body was shocked. The only thing she did was shout: "Aha! I saw it!"

"There is a little girl standing behind you!"

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou looked at each other, each holding their breaths.

"Oh, this baby girl died terribly. She said that she was locked up and could not be born. She didn't have money to buy clothes, and she didn't have money to pay her way through death. That's why she's gotten involved with you. . ."

"Wait, I'll ask her how to resolve this. . ."

The immortal woman closed her eyes and began to sing. Lin Yan pointed at the door to Yin Zhou and said: "Do you need someone to grease your feet, what are you waiting for?"

After reciting a long list of words, she opened her eyes and saw that there were no longer two other people in the room.

The immortal woman had no choice but to touch the newly collected two hundred yuan and shook her head, muttering that the young people nowadays are really impatient. Then she staggered around to pack her things up.

When she picked up the bastard turtle, she couldn't help but give a long sigh.

[educify]

5 Simple Yet Effective Tips Your SAT Tutor Wants You to Know

We agree, preparing for SATs can be a daunting period. Both the student and the tutor have to invest similar amounts of efforts to ensure that the student succeeds with flying colours. And that is why there are a few things that every SAT Tutors Canada wants the students to know so that the student is not just ready physically but mentally too. 

 As it is said, small things can collectively make a big difference. Here is a list of simple yet effective tips to ensure better SAT outcomes.  

1- Start studying early:

Well, you must have heard this from every other person. And they all mean good for you. The best time to start with the preparation is after your sophomore year. The more time you have in your hands, the easy it becomes to understand harder things without any stress. Just an hour every week can do a lot over time.

 2- Focus on practice test:

One of the best ways to comprehend your knowledge on the test is by testing it. By taking the practice test, you will come to know about missed out topics, your strengths and weakness. In fact, many students suffer from test anxiety, fatigue or even endurance issues. But when you take practice tests, you will start feeling comfortable by the time the actual test dates arrive. 

 3- Eat on time:

No matter how many hours you add behind studying and understanding the concepts, everything will go in vain if your physical well-being isn’t up to the mark. Eat healthy food, because your brain requires serotonin, dopamine and other chemicals to focus.   

 4- Take enough rest:

While you make sure you have enough food; you also need to take care of your sleep too. Most students avoid sleeping or sleep late a day before the test due to anxiety and stress. But doing so will only hamper your ability to score well. Your body needs enough rest so it can repair itself from the stress you put it through daily. So, make sure you take a minimum of 8 hours of sleep regularly.  

5- Stay calm:

Avoid treating SATs like a scary ordeal because that will only make things worse for you. Practice breathing techniques to control your breathing pattern. SAT is just a test that is easily manageable only if you stay calm.  

Over to you

SAT is nothing but just a test. So, avoid being stressed all the time, instead, use the tips mentioned here to relieve unnecessary pressure. This way, you will have a focused mind that will help you to do better.  And if you need external help for Academic Tutoring, Canada, then connect with the professionals like Educify . They will guide you in finding the perfect tutor.

If you are looking for best mathematics lessons in Canada, you can reach out to us.Henry Alford is the author of this article so, if you want to know about educify.

Website :- https://educify.org/

Address: 200, 807 4th Ave SW Calgary, AB , T2P 3E8

Phone Number : 5879974616

[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[mystical-flute]

Home is Wherever I'm With You (ch. 6)

FFN || AO3 || Ko-Fi

“Last chance to back out, bud,” Neal said, glancing over at Henry as he stood near the door of their hotel room. “You’re sure you’re okay with us moving here?”

Henry nodded, grinning. “Positive, Dad! It’ll be a new adventure, like you and Mom always talked about.”

Emma couldn’t help but grin slightly, even if there was a knot in her stomach that threatened to make her scream that they were going back to Boston and to forget this little town. It would have been an adjustment to not having Audrey and Snoopy around, but they could have made it work - right?

But Emma didn’t say anything, only giving Neal a quick peck on the lips. “Be careful, don’t rush yourself getting everything packed.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already emailed a few friends to help me out,” Neal said, squeezing her hand before ruffling Henry’s hair. “Good luck, listen to your mom, and don’t start complaining about your teacher before you’ve given them a chance, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Henry said with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean it, moving is a big deal. We don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Especially in a small town like this,” Emma grumbled, before sighing. “C’mon kid. You’re lucky the superintendent was willing to meet with us on a Sunday.”

She gave Neal another quick kiss before heading out with Henry.

The school complex seemed enormous, although Emma supposed that’s what happened in these small towns - they didn’t have to travel miles from school to school because there weren’t a ton of shops and houses in the way.

She was surprised to see a woman standing at the top step, waiting for them.

“Good morning! You must be Mrs. Cassidy,” she said with a wide smile. “And this must be Henry.”

“Ms. Jackson, right?” Emma said as Henry gave a nervous wave. “Thank you for meeting with us on a Sunday.”

“Please, call me Olivia. And it’s no trouble. It’s not often we get new students enrolled here, so this is really exciting for us!” Olivia opened the door, guiding them inside. “Come right on in and we’ll get you set up. When we’re done with Henry’s schedule and the other paperwork I’ll give you a tour.”

“Sounds great,” Emma hummed, glancing around. It seemed like any other school she’d been in. A little older, even than the Boston schools Henry and Audrey attended, but it was that same sickly-sweet charming that the rest of Storybrooke seemed to have.

Olivia’s office seemed normal though, and Emma felt herself relax slightly as she began rapidly typing on her computer.

“Alright then, Henry. I received your records a few minutes ago from Boston - ”

“That quickly?” Emma interrupted. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect them to be working on a Sunday.”

Olivia shrugged. “When something like this pops up, sometimes the system actually moves like we want it to. Anyway, his records and notes from his teachers indicate he’s a fan of art, is that right?”

Henry nodded. “It’s my favorite class. And I was in a special art camp this summer.”

“That’s wonderful, Henry! I think I have an opening in the perfect class.” A few more clicks of her keyboard, the sound of a printer, and she was sliding a schedule across the desk. “You’ll be in Miss Blanchard’s class. She does lots of art projects during her lessons to help students learn in a unique way.”

“We met her yesterday!” Henry chirped. “She seemed really nice.”

Emma couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief, knowing Henry would be with Mary-Margaret. “She did. She was volunteering at the hospital when we brought Audrey in.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s right, I heard about Audrey’s return. It’s a miracle, really. She’s been gone as long as I can remember…” Olivia trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, before the bright smile returned as she reached into her desk. “So here’s some information on the schools, and a map for Henry in case he needs it. You can find the pieces for the uniform pretty much anywhere, so don’t worry about that. Although, I will need his size for the sweater.”

Henry soured a little at the mention of a uniform.

“He’s a medium,” Emma said.

Olivia nodded, rising to her feet. “I’ll grab one out of storage while we’re on our tour, if you’re ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

“The main menu for lunch rotates every day, and we’re lucky to have a local farmer that donates much of the produce we use,” Olivia explained as they wandered past a display of science fair projects. “Kids are welcome to eat inside or outside, weather permitting, and we have monitors in both areas.”

“That’s cool! We weren’t allowed to eat lunch outside in Boston,” Henry explained.

Emma couldn’t help but raise a brow. “How’d you swing the farmer donating produce to the school?”

“Well, it helps that he’s married to be one of our teachers,” Olivia explained with a laugh. “Daphne teaches high school, so maybe in a few years Henry will be in her class. Or maybe Audrey. I’m going to be taking her schedule and information to the hospital later.”

“I can take it to her, if you want. Henry and I are going to the hospital later this afternoon,” Emma offered.

Olivia hummed, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Well, since you are technically listed as Audrey’s parent on her school records, that will be fine. I’ll get her schedule and information settled when we head back to the office. Do you happen to know what size she wears?”

“Sounds like a plan. And she’s a medium as well.”

“I’ll get her sweater when we grab Henry’s. Miss Blanchard’s room is - oh, it looks like she’s here. That’s strange,” Olivia frowned as they approached the open classroom door. “Mary-Margaret?”

Something thudded to the ground, and there was a startled yelp.

“Superintendent Jackson! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here too.”

“I’m showing Mrs. Cassidy and her son around… what brings you here?”

“I’ve been looking for my credit card. I tore my apartment apart but it’s nowhere to be found. So I thought I would check here.”

Olivia blinked. “Oh, I see. I’ll run the security tapes and see if anything’s come up. Nothing has been turned in at the Lost and Found, but that doesn’t mean no one has it.”

“Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate it.”

Emma kept a hand on Henry’s shoulder as they lingered in the doorway. “Hi, Mary-Margaret, I don’t know if you remember - ”

Mary-Margaret smiled slightly. “You’re the family from the hospital. What brings you to the schools though?”

“You’re my new teacher,” Henry announced, glancing around the classroom. “Which one is going to be my desk?”

“I’m - sorry?” Mary-Margaret asked, stepping back as Henry pushed further into the room. “His new teacher?”

Emma sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. We’re uh, moving to Storybrooke. He was put in your class.”

“Oh! Well come on in then. I’ll get you caught up on what we’re learning about. Henry, this will be your desk right here,” she said, guiding Henry to a desk near the window. “I’ve been teaching them how to build birdhouses. It helps with building empathy and their math skills.”

“Combining art and math. I wish I had a teacher like you when I was growing up. Maybe I would actually like math,” Emma joked.

Mary-Margaret gave her a weak smile. “Math isn’t my favorite subject either, but just know if Henry finds he’s struggling, the high school has a great tutoring program.”

“You guys sure thought of everything,” Emma remarked.

“Well, we figured it’d be a good way for the older kids to earn a little credit, and help the younger students out. It’s also part of the after-school program.”

Emma smiled. “That all sounds great. It’s really making me feel better that Henry’s still going to get a good education, even if we’re not in Boston.”

“Storybrooke is… like a fairytale, Mrs. Cassidy. We may be small, but we prioritize education,” Olivia explained. “Shall we continue the tour?”

Why did her phrasing sound so odd to Emma? Still, she managed a smile. “Sounds good. C’mon kid.”

They saw the playground, the computer lab, and the library before Olivia led them to a small shop area. “And here we are. Two medium Storybrooke sweaters.” They were presented as if they were made of gold, which had Emma biting back a laugh as she took them. “We’ll just get Audrey’s paperwork all settled and that’ll be it. Unless you had any further questions?”

Emma wracked her brain. “No, I think that’s it. But I’ll contact you if I think of anything.”

“Fantastic,” Olivia said, returning to the office and setting up the same paperwork and schedule for Audrey. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cassidy. We’ll see you tomorrow at 8:30 sharp then, Henry?”

“Yes Miss Jackson.”

Emma guided him out of the office, hearing Olivia answer a phone call as they disappeared down the hall.

“Lacey, what’s up? Yeah I can…”

---

Madalena was going to kill Rumplestiltskin if she ever got out of here.

No. When she got out of here. Because she would get out of here, of course. She was the Dark Queen Madalena after all! She could get out of here on her own… even if she had failed so far and she had no idea exactly how long she had even been trapped in this godforsaken book.

Her Handsome Hero. What a dumb name for a book. What a ridiculous idea for a plot.

If she had to watch Gideon the Great cut a spider in half one more time, she was going to scream.

And she had screamed multiple times already.

The worst part of living in a book was there being no plot for Madalena. The author hadn’t put a Queen Madalena in it, so she was relegated to being in the back of crowd scenes, completely ignored and unable to do anything to end the sieges that plagued this village.

Not that she wanted to be a hero, of course. No, Madalena just wanted to save her own skin and had been caught in the crossfire one too many times.

“Fear not, Duchess Prudence, I, Gideon, shall slay the evil Sorceress!” the hero of the story says, dramatically flourishing his hands.

Madelena rolled her eyes and made a face. Just once, she’d like to be able to turn Gideon or one of the other townspeople into a toad, or a dog, or something. Anything to make this more bearable.

“Madalena?” a voice suddenly said from above. That wasn’t right, and suddenly everything froze. “I don’t recall you being in the story before.”

“Hello?!”

Why could she move? Who was that voice? It was new, didn’t come from any of the stale creatures around her… had someone from the real world finally picked up the book?

“Madalena, I free you from these pages.”

She didn’t have time to think before she felt herself being yanked up, landing hard on a carpeted floor.

“Oh gods, are you okay?” came the same voice, only this time, it was much closer.

Madelena felt the world tilting for a moment, before everything stilled and she lifted her head from the carpet, heaving in deep breaths and staring down at her hands. Free. She was… free? She pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling the world tilt slightly again as she glanced around the room.

She knew this place. Rumplestiltskin’s library.

She was free.

“Erm… hello?” the voice asked again, and Madelena jumped, glancing over. “Sorry, are you okay?”

That was a loaded question. Was she okay?

“I…” her voice was raspy. “How long… was I in there?”

“I don’t know… you’re Madalena of Keburg, aren’t you?”

Her head shot over to the young woman who had spoken, eyes wide. They still spoke of her? Good. Then it must not have been all that long.

“I am. They deposed me two years ago.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and Madalena’s heart sank. “No… not two years ago. They just celebrated their Decade of Peace.”

Decade? Decade?!

“I’ve been in that book for eight years…” Madalena whispered. “Oh my gods…”

“I’m glad I got you out of there. What happened?”

Madalena rose to her feet, brushing invisible lint off her gown. “That bastard Rumplestiltskin locked me in there. All I wanted to do was learn some dark magic to take control of a kingdom, that’s not too much to ask for, right?”

“Er… I’m probably not the best person to ask about that, but you’re not the only evil queen in the realm.”

“Oh, no, please don’t call me evil, just dark,” Madalena said, raising a brow. “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Belle. I’m Rumplestiltskin’s housekeeper.”

“May the gods have mercy on you then,” Madalena said, rubbing her head. “Thank you for freeing me, Belle.”

“You should hurry and get out of here. Rumplestiltskin will be home any moment.”

Madalena nodded, raising her hand to disappear, before she paused. “I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to Keburg, I can’t stay in this kingdom…”

“I think you’ll find allies here if you stay off Rumplestiltskin’s radar. He’s not exactly the most popular man here. Now hurry, go!”

“Thank you again for freeing me, Belle. I’ll make sure to leave you in peace when I come to power,” Madalena said, vanishing in a cloud of black smoke. Where she would go, she didn’t know, but if what Belle said was true, perhaps there was a chance for her to find allies.

Maybe she could take down Rumplestiltskin and take his place.

That might be nice.

She landed in the middle of the woods, on some sort of carriage path. No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see Rumplestiltskin’s castle. Hopefully, that meant she was far enough away. Now all she had to do was find some food or shelter. Or, find some people to give her food and shelter. She was still a queen after all… even if she had fallen.

A small village wasn’t too far from where she’d landed, and Madalena sighed, pushing herself into the nearest pub.

“The next round is on me!” a man shouted, lifting an empty stein into the air. “Grimsund shall prosper once again!”

There was a roar from the crowd, and Madalena gasped as a mug was shoved into her hand from the nearest barmaid.

“Oh, I - ”

“No need to worry, Prince James paid for this round,” she said with a grin. “He’s just come back from a giant hunt.”

A prince, huh?

Madalena could work with that.

“Thank you, then,” she said to the barmaid. “Is that him over there?”

“Aye, that’s him, but if you think you’ve got a chance with him, you may want to temper your expectations. The rumor is he’s got a different woman in his bed every month,” she explained. “Truth is, I don’t know if he’ll ever commit to one woman, even if the king forces an arrangement.”

Ah, so it was that sort of deal, hm? Fine. Madalena could take out the competition.

“I see, thank you kindly,” she said, sipping at her beer before sauntering over to the prince and dropping into the seat across from him.

He raised a brow. “And who might you be.”

“I might be Queen Madalena of Keburg, I might be just a figment of your imagination,” she smirked.

James furrowed his brow. “Weren’t you deposed?”

“Details, details.”

James looked her up and down. “Well, what can I do for fellow royalty?”

“That’s just it. I’m not exactly royal anymore, and I just spent eight years trapped in a book thanks to the Dark One. As much as I hate to do this, I need help.”

Setting his much on the table, James leaned forward. “And what can you do for me?”

Madalena waved her hand, magic gathering in it. “What do you need?”

---

“Here you go, Emma, grilled cheese and onion rings. Hey - you alright?” Ruby asked, setting the plate down in front of her.

Emma rubbed her eyes and looked up from the newspaper in front of her. “Yeah, thanks. I’m just trying to find a place for us to live, and it’s not like there are a lot of options here.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me. If there were more affordable houses here, I’d have moved out of the bed and breakfast a long time ago. That, and if Granny would ever let me meet with Victoria…”

The last part was said in a mumble, which had Emma raising a brow. “What do you mean?”

Ruby looked around, before digging through her apron and pulling out a card. “Victoria Belfrey-Polastel. She’s a realtor in town. Wanted to buy Granny’s not too long ago and make it more modern, instead of a dumpy diner and bed and breakfast. Granny hit the roof and refused to ever serve her, but she gave me a card if I ever needed it, but you and your family need it more than I do, so here. Just… don’t tell Granny I told you about her.”

Emma took the card, sliding it into her wallet. “Thanks Ruby. I owe you one.”

“So long as you don’t tell Granny, consider us even.”

And that was how Emma found herself sitting in a way too spotless, modern office that afternoon after making sure Henry didn't need anything.

Seriously, was this Victoria thinking she was selling to celebrities and the too-wealthy in New York City? What was with this place?

“Mrs. Cassidy, welcome.”

Emma briefly considered reminding the woman that her name was Emma, but decided against it. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m sorry it’s on such short notice.”

“Oh no need to apologize for something like that! This is my job after all, and it’s not often I get a client with a family that needs to be moved. Everyone here just seems to be so settled that they never go anywhere. But what sort of house were you and your family looking for?” Victoria said, flourishing a pen and smoothing out the notepad in front of her.

Emma paused. What were they looking for in a house? They hadn’t had many options when it came to apartments, aside from the location and the spectacular front door that Emma was going to miss.

“Er… at least three bedrooms, although four would be ideal, I guess, so Neal and I can have an office,” she started, running her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to think. “Maybe a nice yard. We’re from Boston and our son has never had a yard to play in.”

Victoria was nodding, scribbling away. “I have two daughters. I get it.”

“Maybe something updated? I don’t know if we can handle moving all of our stuff and finding out the house needs new floors or a new bathroom.”

“Ah!” Victoria suddenly said, tossing the pen onto her desk and rapidly typing on her computer. “I have the perfect house for you, Mrs. Cassidy. 715 Tenth Street. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, nicely updated and a large backyard. It’s an updated Victorian, and one of the best Storybrooke can offer. We can drive over now, if you want to see it?”

Emma nodded, her throat dry.

But Victoria was right, 715 Tenth Street was what she would call perfect for that family, and she signed on the dotted line in the spotless kitchen - her kitchen, and blinked in shock as Victoria passed her the keys.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Cassidy.”

[wellesleyunderground]

The Double Standard in the Wellesley CS Department: An open essay from former students of the Department

The following was submitted to us by former students in Wellesley’s Computer Science Department: 

The Wellesley Computer Science (CS) Department prides itself on preparing its students to take on both the technical and social challenges they will face in their professional futures. Questions of gender discrimination in the greater CS community are frequently discussed* with the Department’s active support evident, for example, in its funding for students’ attendance at the Grace Hopper Celebration, the conference known for being the “world’s largest gathering of women technologists”. However, the treatment of the Department’s junior faculty and lab instructors (non-tenure track positions) confers a contradictory message. 

This disparity is highlighted by the recent reappointment denial to Prof. Ada Lerner; the decision has surprised the student community given Ada’s status as a beloved professor, known for both their focus on teaching and inclusivity in the department, and their contributions to the field of computing more broadly.  We, a group of former students of the Department, question the rationale behind Ada’s dismissal and what it indicates about the treatment of junior, or pre-tenure, professors in the department.

(*We later discuss the fact that other forms of discrimination are not consistently discussed by the department, but we do note that gender discrimination in particular is frequently mentioned, owing in particular to Wellesley's status as a historically women's college.)

 A champion of all students

Prof. Ada Lerner joined the Wellesley CS faculty in 2017, immediately upon their graduation from the UW Allen School of Computer Science doctoral program, after receiving numerous tenure-track offers. Ada quickly became a favorite of students for their remarkable teaching skills, instructing students at a variety of levels, including Introduction to Computing, Data Structures, and an advanced seminar on Security & Privacy–their research area. Students frequently commend their flexible late policy, which carefully balances student mental and physical wellbeing with course content and academic achievement. A variation of Ada’s policy was implemented near universally by the Department at large.

Ada’s belief in and support for their students is further exemplified by their content delivery and expectations of students. One former student summed up their seminar course as “by far the most challenging elective I took as a computer science major, and while in any other context that might’ve been an incredibly stressful experience, Ada worked with me to make sure I could finish all the work. She by no means went easy on me, but she did give me the support I needed to finish the work.”

 “She definitely doesn’t let you off easy,” adds another student, “but she gives you the support so when it gets hard, you know you can ask questions without judgment. The material would go over my head in class and then Ada would explain it fifteen different ways until I felt comfortable.”

Ada’s research area reflects the same care and concern for the experience of marginalized populations. Their research was featured in Wellesley Magazine in Summer 2019, with the article “Online Safety for All” highlighting their focus on inclusive security and privacy, describing the field as “a subfield of security that focuses on specific populations, including marginalized or vulnerable groups like refugees or LGBTQ people, as well as groups with key roles in society, such as lawyers or journalists.” Their work recently garnered a prestigious $175,000 grant for “Understanding and Addressing the Security and Privacy Needs of At-Risk Populations” from the National Science Foundation and has been published in highly selective computing conferences, including the 2020 ACM CHI conference (24.3% acceptance rate). As former students, we note that her lab is impressively staffed with students from various grade levels who often serve as co-authors on lab publications and are actively involved in a variety of projects. A student who has worked with Ada as a research assistant jokes that they feel “almost spoiled” for having had the chance to work with a research mentor who is so considerate of student experience and learning.

Outside the classroom, Ada is an outspoken advocate for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) in the Department. “Ada shows up,” one alum states. “They not only consistently attend events where students voice their concerns and celebrate their identities, they intentionally look for ways to uplift and empower marginalized student voices, asking all the right questions and putting in whatever work is necessary to aim for equity in all aspects of college life.” Ada helped lead a self-study that publicly disclosed the experiences of different student populations in the Department, with a particular focus on the roles of race, ethnicity, LGBTQIA+ identity and class, as well as the experiences of students with learning accommodations. While the results were conclusive that the CS Department, like many others on campus, had a lot of work to do, DEI efforts seemed to stall at the study’s conclusion.

Students were confused that the Department failed to implement student-facing changes the study suggested; some students noted the repeated absences of some professors and observed that some senior faculty members didn’t seem to buy in to the topic. We cannot help but wonder if some professors hostile to the DEI push led by Ada did not support her reappointment as a result of their feelings about the self-study.

All of the above leaves us puzzled by the College’s decision to terminate Ada’s tenure-track contract, making this their last year at Wellesley. The Committee on Faculty Appointments (CFA), which decides matters of faculty appointment, promotion, and reappointments on behalf of the College, handed down the decision leaving us both surprised and concerned about the integrity of the reappointment process and the potential factors affecting the decision. We note that the CFA states they make decisions based both on the recommendation of the candidate’s home department, as well as their own evaluation of a candidate’s quality of teaching, research, and service to the College. Given the information we’ve shared, we question why the College chose not to reappoint an assistant professor who is clearly beloved by students for her teaching, mentorship, support, and inclusivity.

To that end, we remind students that are bothered by the decision made regarding Ada's reappointment they can voice their concerns to the Committee on Faculty Appointments, who are ultimately responsible for reconsidering the decision. Information on that process:

You  can send emails concerning your impressions of Professor Lerner to the address: cfa@wellesley.edu.  If you want to send physical letters, they should be addressed to:

___________________________________________________________

Provost/Dean of the College

Chair of the Committee on Faculty Appointments

106 Central St

Wellesley, MA 02481

___________________________________________________________

According  to college policy, your letter will be shared with Professor Lerner and the  chair of the Computer Science department (Professor Takis Metaxas), as well  as all members of the Committee for Faculty Appointments. You may indicate in  your email whether you would like for your letter to be shared anonymously  with identifying wording removed, or with your name attached. Letters may be  submitted electronically as an email, or as an email attachment.

If  you have any further questions about this process, you can contact Jennifer Ellis, Clerk of the Committee on Faculty Appointments (jellis5@wellesley.edu).

Reflecting on departmental culture

We reflect on this decision in the context of the Department’s junior faculty at large; specifically, we are concerned by trends that we have witnessed as students in the Department interacting directly with junior faculty. We are frustrated with the way some of the more senior members of the department have handled the hiring and retention of faculty in general.

Junior faculty are held to extremely high standards that we believe the people imposing those standards wouldn’t necessarily have met at the same point in thei careers. Junior faculty are also much more likely to be approached by students, both because they teach many of the introductory classes that students will have taken by the time they must choose an advisor, and because their demographics are often more similar to those of the student population. While the formal advisor process has been restructured to take some of the load off the junior faculty, many are still approached for informal advice and guidance in a way their senior peers are not; it is also unclear if current tenure-track professors will have their research expectations reduced as a result of the excessive amount of advising they were previously providing. We also note that a particular source of emotional support for students – lab instructors – are mostly women and untenured, meaning that they do not have the job security that their peers do, and are not necessarily compensated for their mentorship in the same way.

We call on the senior faculty to make themselves more approachable to students, so that the load does not fall on junior faculty, who are also facing the pressures of research and teaching evaluations. There are existing models for this, including many adopted by Wellesley's own Math department, who host informal teas to build community and encourage interaction between senior faculty and students in various ways. We also note that along with Ada, Prof. Sohie Lee is a champion of D&I initiatives and has worked to implement new tutor training, yet she is one of the few faculty members of color and is technically a lab instructor, despite holding a PhD, This again reflects an onus of emotional and cultural labor on already overburdened pre-tenure and non-tenure track faculty.

 It is unclear to us why the Department is both unable to hire many faculty of color, and unable to retain the faculty of color that they do hire. We question whether the environment of the Department is perceived as hostile, and, if so, what can be done to change that. We theorize that, in part, the Department's hiring practices may be exclusionary, as the majority of candidates come from a small pool of highly selective CS programs, which are already known to have a host of systemic problems that make them unwelcoming environments to both people of color and those who are not cisgender men.

Moving forward

This letter has two main goals. First, we hope to make the Wellesley community aware of the double standard in the CS department, and especially encourage the upper levels of administration to investigate the treatment of junior faculty in the department. Second, we hope to encourage members of the department to reflect critically on the treatment of their peers and engage in self-reflection with regards to departmental culture. Ultimately, we believe that it is in large part these systemic problems in the department that contributed to Ada's reappointment denial, rather than official, concrete factors such as teaching, research, and service to the CS department and College at large.

We call on those involved to truly reflect on the concerns raised here and via other fora, and to commit to measurable improvement; in short, to do better, both for current students and faculty and for those to come.

[sicheng-lost-lines]

Cute pt.2

Felix x Shy female reader (School Au)

It was now Tuesday, a day after Felix called y/n cute. Right at this moment she was standing right next to the bus stop sign, along with a group of six girls who were giggling up a storm over something not funny. The bright yellow bus halted right in front of her and the doors folded open to reveal a depressed looking old man in the driver’s seat. Y/n noticed Felix at the back of the bus and decided to sit a row next to his just so she could leave him some space. He glanced at her as she looked through what seemed to be her own sketch book full of beautiful art. Some of the pages were lose so y/n usually skipped to the ones that were still attached to the spine of the book. But the bus came to a harsh halt that made her book fly out of her hands and onto the bus floor. They both rushed towards the loose papers and began to place them back into the book. Felix noticed that the people who just arrived on the bus had just sat down so he pulled y/n to his seat, but that didn’t stop y/n from smashing into him when the bus began to drive at full speed it seemed. She quickly backed away apologizing multiple times, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, we all know he doesn’t know how to drive properly.” He reassured making her feel much calmer about the whole situation. He put a hand through his burnt orange hair as silence filled the bus, she couldn’t stand awkward silence so she asked him a question, “How did you meet Mason and Lucas?” he looked towards y/n with a soft gaze and smile.”This stays between you and me. I only hang out with them because of Brady. If Brady wasn’t friends with them I wouldn’t hang around them. They met during football tryouts while I was trying out for the school band in grade 7.” He explained quietly and leaning in so the girls up front wouldn’t hear. “Are you excited for prom?” Felix asked her. “Honestly, not really. Hyunjin and Jisung have dates at different proms and Seungmin is going to a concert with his girlfriend instead. So I’ll be going alone..” She replied fiddling with her zipper. “No one asked you out?” he questioned shocked that no one had asked her yet. “No..” she mumbles feeling embarrassed. “What if I go with you?” He suggests. “You don’t have to Felix...I mean you don’t have to pity date me.” y/n chuckles. “I don’t have a date either, we can just go as friends that way neither of us will go alone.” Felix continues with a smirk on his face. “I’ll think about it.” she responded grinning with pink tinted cheeks. He nods with a shy smile, “Really think about it.” The bus stopped in front of the high school. She rushed out the door and walked into the tiled covered floors looking around to find her group of friends. Felix tapped her shoulder and pointed near the stairwell, where y/n saw Hyunjin was chatting with who she assumed was Jisung. “Thank you.” she mumbled glancing at him with a smile, Felix nodded walking towards Brady and his friends. Y/n rushed towards Hyunjin who gently grinned at her, “Did Felix ask you to prom?” Hyunjin asked readjusting his backpack. “Yeah...he actually did.” She replied processing what had happened on the bus. “Have you two even had a conversation before he asked you?” Seungmin replied chuckling. “Yes, I tutored him in math for all of grade 10. And he is my lab partner in science.” Y/n explained. “So..did you say yes?” Jisung asked not knowing where her mind was at. “I said that I’d think about it.” She sighed. “I just didn’t know what to say to him. I mean he said we would go as friends...but...I don’t know” She replied. “We can talk more at lunch, you should put your stuff away and get ready for health.” Seungmin suggested guiding the group near her locker. The bell rang which separated Hyunjin and Jisung from Seungmin and Y/n, The two friends rushed up the stairs so they wouldn’t be late. “Before you sit down, Mr.Kim and Ms. L/n. We have a new seating plan, Y/n you sit next to Yongbok and Seungmin you sit next to Mason.” Mrs.Gerry explained. Y/n could see Felix sigh when the teacher called him by his Korean name, so even if she didn’t know Yongbok was Felix she does now. She gently took a seat next to him feeling a bit awkward after the conversation on the bus, she doodled on a loose piece of paper to calm her nerves. “You must like to draw.” Felix commented fiddling with a pencil. She nodded while shyly smiling at his question, “And you like music.” She replied making him laugh. “Indeed, I’m multi talented. I can do a lot of things.” Felix answered with a proud expression on his face.”Except math.” She added on, “I said a lot not all.” He retorted making them both laugh. Mrs.Gerry hushed all of the students while continuing on with her attendance list. They could tell the computer was acting up because of her swearing and loud bangs on the table, so she marched out of the classroom and headed towards the office. Everyone became wild and loud in milliseconds, but y/n and Felix stayed quiet watching everyone be stupid. Two hands shook Felix from behind which startled him, before a loud obnoxious laugh came from Mason and In no time Brady and Lucas were surrounding the table having a conversation of their own. She was minding her own business until Mason stood in front of her and leaned in close, “Did you hear that Brady?” Mason chuckled glancing at Brady. “Her heart just broke into a million pieces, hearing you have a date to prom.” Brady did something that y/n wasn’t expecting from him, he laughed at her with Mason. “Oh come on, aren’t you going to say something? cat got your tongue? We all know you wish Brady would-” “Can you shut up for once Mason.” Felix interrupted causing the whole classroom to look in the direction of his voice. Mrs.Gerry re-entered the classroom, “Mason, Brady, and Lucas. Go back to your seats.” “Don’t have to ask us twice teach.” Mason replied flicking Felix’s forehead. And while walking behind him, Lucas flicked the back of his head as Brady just glared at him. Maybe Brady was not as perfect as y/n thought he was. Maybe Brady wasn’t who she should’ve been falling for...

TO BE CONTINUED

[mediioxumate]

nonnie wants to enable me--

Can you tell more about the college au for your YTTD muses?

sara chidouin - 

she’s studying psychology/social welfare on a track for prelaw (i am looking at you @offiiciium )

has an apartment near campus with joe ( @vaciiviity ) !! they make a good unit, and his help with her studying and the rotating door of cute animals? huge plus

she also tutors gin!! he loves coming over and playing with the animal, and it helps them get acclimated before being adopted out!! he is Just Babey

at some point, she takes a coding class and has sou as a ta! he’s awful and a supremely harsh grader but she is DETERMINED to make full marks god damn it

kai satou -

computer science/coding professor! 

also definitely has a big crush on keiji. does not know what to do with that. it’s all very low key until there is a staff party where keiji can have a drink and it’s all over from there.

also! does palm reading. uses it to flirt with keiji bc break and i know what we’re about, but it’s also just Something He Does. 

has an apartment near campus, and has a big, fluffy black cat that is his absolute babey 

tends to build close personal relationships with his students! he finds sou to be absolutely brilliant as well as the human embodiment of a migraine. Occasionally gets drinks (often with keiji) at the bar near campus where midori and reko work

reko yabusame -

not currently attending school! independent musician that works at a bar near campus as a bartender! absolute pro at getting people to chat and open up. 

her and midori are a hilarious combo honestly, it’s a treat to come in when they’re both working

she’s dating art grad student nao!! they are gross and she loves her gf so much!! 

for the purposes of this au, she isn’t cut off from alice entirely, but they’re definitely not close at the time. subject to change!

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Hojo Interlude (FF7/RWBY)

"Stand up!" I ordered "stand up!"

A shivering grown and the mass rose. It was slow to respond, but some response in general was far better than any of the other failures I'd examined. 

My mistress was the sort that demanded success and so far I'd had none to show her. Even with the headstart which Merlot's notes had provided, the products of my experiments were, more often than not, nothing more than blood and mayhem. 

Merlot was genius, then, somehow guessing the proportions and setting the CRISPR program just right. Merlot had been able renormalize the differential equations involved in creating the retroviruses without quantum methods. He deserved to be applauded for his successes, surely. 

However, Merlot was a poor scientist.

Merlot's notes were patchwork, often little more than chicken-scratch when he did record a success. He didn't bother accounting for his failures. His failures were themselves an interesting subject. Near as I could deduce, even after hours of combing through notes, Merlot had somehow managed to reuse the same specimen over and over rather than using different genomic templates like my own processes did. 

I firmly believed that Merlot's results would have been difficult for he himself to reproduce, let alone for me in my own lab and methods. Not to mention equipment. Merlot liked d-programming language derivatives whereas I used Monty. Fewer error messages. 

Merlot had, however, saved dozens of copies of the template's genome from nearly every stage of the process. It was impossible to determine how he had made changes to the target's genome, nor even how total the engineering was to the specimen as a whole, but it was time stamped and it followed a sequence of previous trials all leading in a similar direction. 

This would normally have led a clear path forward, especially with another clock, one using mitochondrial DNA for comparison, for example, there was a problem, however. 

Ever paranoid, Merlot had only saved the x-chromosomes to the disk I had access too. Honestly it wasn't too much of a problem, and compared to everything else in Merlot's work, forty-five out of forty-six was sufficient.

Or it should have been. This subject, though alive in the technical sense, was blind. It didn't respond to any lights nor objects, though it did react to sound. It was an ideal step forward, I was always able to grow a functional mind. 

Not that this was particular functional. 

I terminated the experiment. 

Functional meant different things to different people. The subject had all it's tactile senses and their derivatives working, I was able to tell as it was terminated and based off of how it maintained its shuffling balance. 

I made a handful of notes, on flimsy. I didn't trust digital copies. I had, after all, designed my fair share of malware and I'd written many papers on cryptography that were widely used. In fact, it was my method that was most commonly used now.

Even by mad Merlot. 

I sighed as I made the notes. In my laboratory I'm Atlas, I had access to students. Real students. No computer could replace an inquisitive student. At least none I'd met which weren't themselves curious children.

I had sharp minds to assist me. I even had a prodege I wanted to introduce to Salem. I had considered it at least. 

In many ways it was like creating my own potential replacement, but the boy was sharp. A mind which, despite that he had had amongst the best tutors, they hadn't managed to dull in the slightest. He was intuitive, with a certain twisted amorality Salem would adore. 

It looked in many ways like a test for me. From Salem herself, perhaps? Did she already know about the boy?

Further, the boy would be of great use… Cinder had managed it to a degree Salem had found acceptable. I could do better still. 

I shook it off. I needed focus and clarity. Only the best would serve and Salem would know if I had been sloppy. 

How could I resolve this? My next experiment was progressing as fast as I could reasonably make it; rushed science wasn't. What else could speed me along, however?

Merlot...

He would have the answers I seek. 

I just had to find him. 

[braddersbangerz]

11, 13, 45, 49

11.  Do you have any strange phobias?

Balloons! I hate them, honest to god hate them. I can’t relax if someone has one near me like if I went into a restaurant and they had them on a table for a birthday I just keep looking at them. Horrible things.

13.  What’s your religion?

Agnostic, but in a sense of something happened to create the universe whether that was an almighty being or a chance... it doesn’t really affect me.

45.  What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

Depends. I gave myself a concussion which was bad, but if I go more the most “Oh shit, oh fuck” it was when I did my hand in on one of these bad boys fresh out of the package so the blades were sharp

Walked out of the cold fridge I worked in like “Um” they all turned to me as I had blood running down my hand from the thumb, the index finger, the middle finger, and the hand itself. I still have the scar on my middle finger from it.

49.  Ever had a rumour spread about you?

HAHAHAHAHA yes and it was so funny thinking about it.

There was this bitch of a girl called Sophie in my school and she hated me because I was friends with her new friend from Primary School. I was transferred into their Tutor group and her envy grew into hate throughout the entire time we were there.

We got sat next to each other in Science and she punched me in the arm for no reason. I didn’t do anything back because she also had her friends near her giggling... no I waited until PE and it was the only time I liked PE because we were playing indoor football and we were on opposite teams.

You can tell where this is going because I did the worlds dirtiest tackle on her, took her legs out from under her and got her right in the shin cause I’m the pettiest bitch.

Anyway, me kicking her in the leg with all the force a child could muster really pissed her off enough for her to go “Dabs is a Lesbian!” and I mean AT the time I was like upset because my mum was homophobic, but like... me being upset also got me outta math to play on a computer so win?

Also, the bitch was right in that I’m not straight, but she just got the sexuality wrong cause I’m Biromantic.

Anyway, Sophie if you’re reading this, you’re still a huge homophobic cunt :)