#and i was going to take calc but getting signed up was hard so i didn't do it

[good-night-space-kid]

do i take a class that i will love but is in person and is a credit i don't need, or do i take a class i won't love but is online and fulfills a gen ed requirement

[allthingsfangirl101]

Study Session Part 2–Steve Harrington

Part 1

Steve's POV

After our off-topic conversation during one of our study sessions, Y/N and I tried to go back to normal. As hard as I tried, I couldn't. Every time I was with her, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and press my lips to hers.

A couple of days after we danced around admitting our feelings for each other, Y/N broke up with William. We kept meeting for our study sessions like normal. Nothing happened. Neither one of us brought it up. We acted like normal.

Two months later, we were still acting like nothing had happened. It was starting to drive me crazy. I briefly stopped thinking about Y/N as I took my pre-calc test. The next day, I bounced my knees nervously as I waited to get my test handed back.

I let out a sigh of relief, a small chuckle when I saw the grade I got. Not only did I pass, I got a B+. I couldn't remember the last time I got that good of a grade on a math test. I instantly wished Y/N was in my class so I could tell her.

I jumped when the bell rang. I grabbed my stuff and bolted out the door. I scanned the hallway, looking for any sign of Y/N. When I couldn't find her, I headed to her locker. She usually stopped by her locker before heading to lunch. My stomach wouldn't calm down as I waited for her. The longer it took, the more restless I got.

Her tree.

Y/N liked to eat lunch under this tree in the courtyard. It was shaded and no one ever bothered her. Well, today, someone would.

I saw her from across the courtyard. I slowly started walking faster toward her.

"Y/N!" I called out when I couldn't resist anymore. She looked up, smiling when we made eye contact. That's when I started sprinting toward her. As I did, she slowly stood up.

Right as I got to her, I wrapped my arms around her. I lifted her off her feet and spun us around. The whole time we spun, she giggled. I finally put her down, her still laughing.

"What has gotten into you?" She teased.

I grabbed my graded test out of my backpack and showed her. Y/N gasped as she took my test from me. She looked up at me with a huge smile on her face. I gasped, turning into a laugh, as she threw her arms around me.

"I knew you could do it," she whispered.

"Thanks to you," I whispered back. I squeezed her before slowly letting her go. As we broke apart, I instantly saw Y/N's bright red cheeks.

"We should celebrate," I said, not letting her go.

"What did you have in mind?"

"How about that date we should've had like two months ago?"

"Are you serious?" Y/N stuttered, slowly stepping out of my embrace.

"I am," I shrugged. "Let's do this, Y/N. Let's finally do this. I know I said I was fine waiting, but I'm starting to get. . . I mean, I know we agreed. . . I want to take you out, treat you the way I promised I could treat you."

"I'm sorry I've been making you wait so long," she sighed.

"Hey," I said quickly. I gently grabbed her hands, pulling her a little closer to me. "Don't apologize, Y/N. You had every right to take your time before moving on. And I was okay with it. But. . . I have to be honest with you; I'm dying."

Y/N chuckled, looking down at our hands. She squeezed my hands, slightly swinging them.

"I'm tired of waiting," she whispered.

"Then how about tonight?" I asked, not bothering to hide how eager I was. "I can pick you up. Take you to dinner. Maybe a movie or something?"

"Sounds great."

                                * * * * *

A few hours later, I drove to Y/N's house to pick her up. Even though her house was only down the road from mine, I didn't want to make her walk. I couldn't help but feel a little nervous as I walked up to the front door and knocked. My heart jumped into my throat when Y/N's mom opened the door.

"Hey, Steve," she smiled.

"Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N," I greeted. "I'm here to pick up Y/N. Is she ready?"

Y/N's mom looked up their stairs and sighed. She hesitated before looking back at me.

"Why don't you head on up there?"

"Thanks," I nodded as she moved aside for me.

I jogged upstairs and headed toward Y/N's room. I gently knocked on the door.

"Just a minute, Mom!" Y/N yelled from inside. "I still can't figure out what to wear."

I slowly opened the door, making sure I wasn't walking in on anything I shouldn't be seeing.

"I'm sure whatever you wear will be perfect," I said. Y/N gasped and spun around.

"You're here," she said slowly. "You're not supposed to be here until. . . Now. You said you'd pick me up now."

Y/N sighed as she tossed the dress and skirt she was holding onto her bed. She took a shaky breath as she nervously wiped her hands on the dress she was wearing.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she sighed. "I just. . . I couldn't. . . I don't know what to wear."

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, nervously playing with her hands. I walked over and sat next to her.

"I have put on like fifty different outfits and none of them were right," she started stuttering. "One makes me look short. Another makes me look fat. None of them are worthy."

"Worthy of what?" I asked. She slowly looked at me, tears building in her eyes.

"Of you," she whispered.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers. Y/N gasped in surprise but quickly relaxed against me. Our lips slowly started moving in sync. I broke the kiss, not wanting to push Y/N further than she was comfortable.

"I think you look beautiful," I whispered, slowly pulling away. "It doesn't matter what you wear because I will think you're beautiful in whatever you put on. You could wear pajamas and you'd still be the most beautiful girl in the world."

"Give me two minutes."

I laughed as Y/N jumped up, grabbed something out of her closet, and ran into her bathroom. While she changed, I looked around her room. A few pictures were updated and she had more books on her shelf, but not much had changed.

I looked back when the bathroom door opened. I smiled when I saw Y/N was now in a pair of jeans and a nice blouse. I've seen her in this outfit before. She wore it to the first day of school this year.

"These are my favorite pair of jeans," she said, looking down at her outfit. "And my mom says the color of my shirt brings out my eyes."

I closed the gap between us and gently lifted her chin with my finger. I leaned in and pressed my lips delicately to hers. I felt her smile as she kissed me back. I slowly broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily.

"She was right," I whispered. I smiled at the blush that formed on her face. "You ready to go?"

Y/N started biting her bottom lip as she nodded. I used my thumb to pull her lip away from her teeth.

"Don't overthink," I whispered.

"I wasn't."

"I know you," I teased. "You chew your bottom lip when you're overthinking. Please, Y/N, don't overthink it. Don't overthink us."

[inkedmyths]

[[So I just woke up from a Fucked Up Dream and I just. Yeah. Not 100% accurate to what I dreamed, mostly bc I'm already forgetting some details]]

Statement of Inked Myths, regarding the passing of an ill relative. Statement given June 18, 2023. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

---

Statement begins.

-

I wasn't supposed to be home.

That's the thing I keep coming back to. I wasn't supposed to be home at the time. If I hadn't been home, my mom would be dead. Maybe the rest of us would be dead too. I don't—

...I don't think I want to think about that.

Anyways. I guess I should start off with the background, first, right. You have to understand that first.

I live with my family. Well, my mom's side of the family. Sometimes I think it makes me a disappointment, you know. Twenty year old still living in the house. I try not to dwell on it, though. Did you know the whole "move out right at 18" thing only really became a thing in the 1950's? Same with the nuclear family model. It was a couple of decades worth of a fluke, a country wealthy enough that you could do that. Now, it's so damn difficult to make a living wage, and people still expect you to move out—

Er. Sorry. Back on topic.

So, yeah, I live with my family. It's me, my mom, my grandmother, grandfather, and...

...And my great grandpa. Or, was.

That last one, um. That's why I'm here today.

My great grandfather had been ill for a long time. So's my grandfather, but Grandpy was worse off. It's just, life, you know? He was so old, and you rarely get that old and stay in good health. So he just kind of sat around most days, sitting in his chair, watching television or reading or whatever it was he did to pass the time.

I– God. I feel. I feel so bad, you know? I barely know what he even liked. I just... like he was always just kind of there, in the background, and I never... never really talked with him. I had my life and it was going too fast to stop and just. Just talk. God, who knows how long that— that thing—

Right. Getting ahead of myself.

Point is, he was sick, and had been for a long time. We took care of him, as best we could. Not really qualified, since none of us are really caretakers, but. Well. Homes cost money, and the best one we could find was so far away, so. We did our best.

...He used to talk. Just, a lot. To anyone who happened to pass by his chair. Just, about anything. What he was watching, recent news, reminiscing about times gone by. Sometimes it was just nonsense. He just liked talking. My grandmother always said to try and listen to him, if just for a little bit. That he just wanted some comoany for a while. I was never— never the greatest, at sitting and listening. Just. Don't like sitting still, and it tended to be boring, and. God, I feel like an asshole. But I mean. We all tried.

It should have been a huge red flag, when he stopped talking one day.

I think... I think we all assumed it was a sign of his health taking another bad turn. That happens. One day they can chatter your ears off, the next they can't. Perfectly natural.

Life went on, but it was. Unnerving. He'd always been talkative. Always. And he stopped watching his television, so it was always silent down there now. It freaked me out, so I avoided the downstairs even more than I already did.

I wasn't supposed to be home, that day.

Last week, I'd gone to school, you know, as normal, but. God. Have you ever had a feeling of dread so, so awful, you feel actually sick? I thought my unease would go away, but it just. It stayed, evolved, and I just couldn't shake that gut-wrenching feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Mom was off early, so I called, and had her pick me up. Not that home felt much better but, god, I didn't want to sit through fucking pre-calc while I felt like this. I figured it was just a particularly nasty bout of anxiety. I don't usually get, like, the whole shaking and crying and having a hard time breathing panic attacks, but I do get, like. Deep bouts of anxiety where I can't eat and feel really jittery.

Mom picked me up, asked if I was ok. I just kind of, shrugged, said the anxiety was bad today. She nodded. Her phone went off. My great grandfather was calling. Mom groaned, and ignored it.

He'd been calling all day, she said. Asking when she'd be home. Over, and over. When would she be home?

In hindsight this is. God. I wasn't supposed to be home. He— no, it. It didn't plan for me being there.

So, we got home, and went up to our rooms, like we always do. I sat down for a while, tried to take comfort in more familiar, quieter surroundings, but couldn't. That feeling of dread just felt like it was growing, and growing, and.

You know, I just read the other day that it's a symptom of a heart attack. This overwhelming feeling of dread. That it's your body knowing something is really, really wrong, without being able to tell it to you specifically. I've never had a heart attack, but I imagine that feeling is probably not to far off from what I was feeling then.

I decided to go down and grab a snack. Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly jittery, it's just because I haven't eaten enough. So, I got up, and stopped by mom's room, asked her if she wanted something, and she said she'd be down in a second.

I turned away, walked to the top of the stairs and.

And was face to face with my great grandfather.

He was standing. He was on the stairs. He he hadn't— he hadn't been able to walk unassisted in— in years! He was standing on his own, walking up the stairs, in a way I'd never seen him do! It looked wrong. Like the slightest breeze should knock him over, like he should be shaking from the effort of standing. But he stood, like it was normal, though it was anything but.

The dread turned into terror when my eyes met— met it's. Because in that moment I knew that this? This was not my great grandfather. It was something else. Something pretending to be him. Empty eyes stared back at me, devoid of that little twinkle he'd always had, no matter what he was talking about. They were just... just empty, like glass.

I didn't even have time to scream. He— it lunged at me, grabbed me, and.

You know that thing in dreams, where you can't move or scream? Where you like, try to scream, but nothing comes out?

It is so, so much worse when it happens in real life.

I struggled, tried to break away, trying to scream. I couldn't. I could barely move, the moment it grabbed me. It was like it was... draining, me. Of my strength, my life even. I couldn't— I couldn't fight back. I fell backwards, wheezing, desperately trying to free myself, to scream, to hit something and make a noise. It's grip moved towards my throat, and there was nothing I could do.

I don't know if my struggle managed to make enough noise, or if my mom had just arbitrarily decided that was when she was going to get up and go join me downstairs. Or maybe she, too, had felt the same dread I had, and couldn't stand it anymore.

She walked out of her room to my struggle for my life.

I don't really remember exactly. I just know she knocked it off of me, and we both ended up downstairs.

And I know it lunged for her, next.

Free from its weird, freezing grasp, I ran. Fight or flight, and for maybe the first time in my life, I was choosing fight. I'm not a strong person, but, but that was my mom, she was in danger, and so was I, and. I ran into the kitchen, and grabbed a knife. Cliche, maybe, but what else was I supposed to do.

I ran back, to where it now had my mom in that same, awful grip. She was frozen, like I had been, unable to do more than try and not fall over, unable to shake it off as its cold, thin fingers dug into her arms.

But all its attention was focused on her. Maybe it thought I had run away completely. It's back was to me, and I had an opening.

I've never, in my life, killed anything more than a bug. Never gone hunting, never slaughtered a pig or whatever. Never really had the stomach for it.

I took the knife I grabbed, and without hesitation, plunged it into that thing's back. It plunged deep, like through sponge, a streak of blood spurting out. I guess it didn't have much substance. It just kind of... shuddered, squirmed a bit around the knife, and then it just... went still.

I didn't expect it to be that easy. Maybe it wasn't built to be stabbed, or whatever. With an ability to render someone imobile with a touch, other physical defenses aren't a priority I suppose.

My mother and I stood in silence. Then, realizing how this looked, I set about cleaning up. Not really, I mean, I was in shock, but I got the body out of the front entryway. Dragged it outside, back behind the house. I knew we had to properly dispose of it or something, but didn't know what else to do about it, for now.

Then me and my mom just kind of. Sat there, for a moment. And she said, "I should have known. He just kept calling, and calling, asking when I'd be home."

I wasn't supposed to be home. It had been planning on going after my mom, and wasn't expecting me. That had probably saved our lives.

The rest of my family came home, along with my uncle and his family. They'd been talking, apparently, about how something was wrong with my great grandfather, how he'd just stopped talking and they needed to figure out what was wrong.

Mom and I exchanged a look.

I don't know what she told them. I'd had enough for the day. I wandered back up to my room, closed the door, and collected myself.

I... I don't remember when exactly he'd stopped talking. That must have been it, right? When he'd been... been replaced? How long had it been? How long had we had that thing in our house, biding its time and waiting to kill us?

It's gone now. My uncle burned what was left of it. We haven't talked about it since.

I'm not sure I'll ever feel safe in my home again.

-

Statement ends.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone just walked in here and confessed to murdering their ailing relative in the midst of some kind of fit. I debated calling the police on this matter, but decided against it. I have some doubts as to whether or not it would be taken seriously, or, given our Institute's reputation, if it would be passed off as not enough evidence, if not outright a prank.

It does fit with the running theme of doppelgangers that I've noticed in several statements. I'm not sure if that lends it more or less credit.

There is... another reason, I did not call the police on this. I had Sasha do some digging on the family, to try and figure out which members were referred to, particularly this "great grandfather". As it turns out, the man in question was recorded as having passed peacefully in his sleep... 16 years before this statement was given.

Statement ends.

[passingdaysthings]

03.5.2023 - Oh boy, peace?

Today is Sunday 

It seems like I really like writing on Sundays, and as usual, I read my last post before writing this one. Taylor and I slightly discussed why I deleted the pictures and videos, and I told him, it was just awkward for me when he would flirt with Victoria. This was something he decided to address only after drinking quite a bit. It seems like he didn’t think it was hardcore flirting, but I said I thought it was and it make me feel awkward. The man literally said he wanted to buy her flowers for Valentines, and he asked her to be his Valentines. Tbh, I didn’t think much of the Valentines thing, and it was more of the flowers thing. He wanted to send flowers to her even though that is not something he would do for anyone. I also told him it was just weird for me because she is my best friend, and she knows about our “friendship”. I guess it’s not weird to him because he probably thinks she doesn’t know anything about our “friendship”. I wonder if he will start acting weird or changing how he acts since I voiced my opinion about it. I really wish our friendship could go back to the regular friendship that it use to be. None of the sexual talk, no sleeping together talk, and just completely delete those 2 months of very relationship type stuff. I may have deleted the picture I sent, but then we just sent new ones. Life would be so much more peaceful if I could just stop this, but I just can’t help it. Why am I like this? I’ve never been like this before, and to be honest, Taylor could go date someone else, and I wouldn’t have much thought about it. I think I need to stop trying to understand Taylor too because that is not going to happen since he never speaks his mind. I need to get over it. I must really be bored or something to let these things continue bothering me enough to write about it.  

Onto other things, I am really annoyed with how my school teaches class because I feel like I am just getting the definition of things and no example. It’s like they expect to know how to work a problem based purely on knowing the definition of something. Like sir? Can I get an example or something related? I just don’t understand why school is taught so different from how things would be taught in real life. I am 100% that I will have to go through training at my future job regardless of what I learned in school. No way I am gonna start a new job, and they just throw me into the deep end without training. That’s how school is currently so it makes no sense to me. Thank you for the example, now would you please work on a problem similar to the one on homework. That would be useful. Also, I hate that homework is graded for correctness rather than completion. My problem with that is homework is used for us to practice what we learned in class, and mistakes are gonna be made because it is our first time learning or doing a problem like that. I don’t understand why it’s graded for correctness like an exam or test. I think that homework should be done, graded based on completion, and then feedback should be given so that our mistakes are something we can use to study for the then graded exam. That just makes way more sense to me. I think I am doing fine though, but it’s annoying how hard I have to work. I would have to say that I am pretty proud of myself for how well I am doing for someone who hasn’t done Calc 1 since high school, and has never taken calc 2, calc 3, dicrete math, and linear algebra untli now. From what I know, most of the people in my program already have a background in this, and I am really part of the minority that hasn’t done any of this before. I am iffy with my python skills though because I googled a lot of that stuff. I have learned that coding is a very interesting thing that no one seems to really know how to do, and everyone resorts to asking others on the internet about it. I am also pretty sure that I signed myself up for a hard time next quarter because I am taking 2 classes which consist of Prob and Stats for Data Science and Python Software Dev. 

Reasons for incoming poor mental health: 

1. I am pretty harsh on myself so I get pretty upset when I don’t understand things right away. Prob and Stats was a class I struggled in during undergrad and Python is very new to me. Failure is happening. 

2. I have been getting distracted pretty easily, but I think that I have just thought of a solution. I am going to use Tracy’s room as my work room. 

3. I definitely won’t have time to play video games so I think the lack of friendship will take it’s toll. Ofc, I will still have my volleyball friends so it won’t be too bad. 

4. I get annoyed when things are taught the way they are currently being taught. I hope that it gets better. I don’t think it was that bad the first quarter. 

I think that is enough for this post because I need to get back to watching Khan academy videos since the async lectures from class are useless. 

-P

[caiuscassiuss]

oppa! | ot7 (prologue)

Description: Being raised by a caring yet distant father, a close, tight-knit family is the one thing you have craved in your short life. After your adventurer father remarries a rich woman, you’re stuck with seven new brothers. Seven very hot, very different men. 

This is not what you meant by family.

(Based on the anime and game Brother’s Conflict, but with a twist.)

Prologue

Genre: Fluff | romance | later angst and smut. PG

WC: 2k

Warnings: For this chapter, none other than cursing.

(After some readers wanted me to post Oppa! on Tumblr, I have delivered! I really hope y’all like this haha)

[ The prologue delivers hints on who each brother will be. These hints will be bolded. Some will be very apparent, some will not. ]

Rubbing your head, your eyes glazed over the notes you took from yesterday’s lecture in preparation for today. Were you on drugs when you wrote these? It looked like chicken scratch. Was that drool in the corner?

Your ears perked up at the strains of loud music coming out of your friend’s Airpods. Hyerim, your closest friend at University, seemed oblivious as she bopped her head to the hard beat. Several classmates around the lecture hall noticed too, yet weren’t as accommodating as you and sent judgemental looks towards Hyerim.

“Hyerim,” you whispered, aware that class was starting in a few minutes. She didn’t respond, still nodding along to the music.

Pursing your lips, you plucked the small pod out of her ear. “Hyerim, your music—”

She gasped, eyes lighting up in excitement. “You liked it? Okay, so I was listening to this random rapper on SoundCloud—”

“Your music's too loud —” you hissed.

“—but the real feature is the producer, who made this beat. His name is Yoongi—” Hyerim continued on obviously, caught up in her own world.

“—that’s lovely, but can you turn your music down—” you pestered, looking around worriedly.

“—but his producer name is Gloss and he’s so talented and hot and his voice —”

Seeing the majority of the seats in the hall being filled up, you clamped your palm over her lips. She let out a whimper, finely shaped brows frowning at you.

“Have you not noticed the five separate glares you are currently getting at this moment?” you said between gritted teeth, enunciating each constant hard. You stared down each person around you who was giving Hyerim looks and, embarrassed, they averted their eyes and busied themselves with something.

“Oh wait, what?” Hyerim exclaimed. Closing a fist over her AirPod, the music continued and her eyes widened as she realized how high she had turned up the volume.

Hyerim turned to the person on her other side. “I am so sorry,” she said apologetically, the random student smiling awkwardly in acceptance.

Rolling your eyes with an unbidden smile poking at the edge of your lips, you turned back to the disaster of your notes. How were you supposed to understand this lecture when you barely wrapped your head around the last one? However, you honed in on your Calculus woes to ignore how your phone burned in your pocket and the latest text you got from your father...

So focused on your lamentation, you didn’t notice the boy behind you clear his throat. Nor did you notice the second or third time he did, each one getting progressively louder. As you attempted to retrace the argument on your paper, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

Whipping your head around, you craned your neck upwards to see where the tap had come from. To your surprise, you saw a very cute-looking boy, bangs pulled into a top knot, smiling apologetically at you from behind you.

“Hi! Yeah, do you need anything?” you smiled.

A blush rose on his chiseled cheekbones and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m super sorry to bother you about this, but I dropped my charger right next to your chair. I- uh, would you mind—?”

“Of course! No worries, it happens,” you comforted, bending down to get the coiled white wire from where your bag sat. “Here you go.”

He got up from his seat to hunch over the lecture hall desk to meet you in the middle. You eyed the large difference between each of your hands’ as you handed back the charger, as well as how huge his shoulders seemed up close.

“T-Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” you replied, turning around to open your laptop.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hyerim’s mouth partially open in disbelief.

“You need something?” you prodded.

“I—” she took a glance at the boy behind you, as if confirming something— “I’ll tell you later.”

Shrugging, you zeroed in at the lecturer at the front of the hall.

“Alright, so what was that about?”

Your Calculus lecture had just ended, and the two of you were in the mob of students leaving the lecture halls to get to lunch.

Hyerim looked surreptitiously around, black bangs swishing around her face. She leaned in like she was about to share the juiciest piece of gossip, and you unconsciously did so too.

“Did you know who that is?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

You felt your forehead crease and you gave her a look. “No, I did not.”

“Really?!” Hyerim pitched her voice high in disbelief.

You gave her a dry look.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Sometimes, I swear you’re in your own world, Y/N.”

Incredulous, you opened your mouth to argue but she waved a hand in front of you.

“That was Jeon Jungkook, Y/N! How do you not know him?”

“Oh yeah,” you snapped your fingers. “He’s that Streamer dude, right? He games and shit.”

Hyerim nodded slowly.

However, you frowned. “I heard he was intimidating and cold and stuff. Are you sure that was him? Charger boy was super nice.”

“That’s the point! It was Jung Jungkook and I have never seen him acting this soft. What did you do, ma’am? Snap him? Flash him?”

“Who do you think I am?” you sputtered. “All I was doing was thinking about how much I hated Calculus, not— not seducing someone!”

Your friend gave you a suspicious look, but decided to let go of the topic. Shaking your head, you walked past the gates of Yonsei university and into the city proper on the lookout for your favorite food place. The beeping of horns, buzzing chatter, and the small of smog filled the air as you zig-zagged between side streets to avoid busy roads.

“Excuse me,” you muttered as you pushed your way through a mob of women all entranced by something above you. Since they were not moving, you huffed and decided to see what was worth all the hype.

It was a huge, flashing LED billboard that was the central focus of the square. On it, a very sensuous looking man with blond hair and a velvet, tight-fitting suit doing some very slick moves in a dark concert hall.

Happy Birthday Jimin! It read in bright white font.

“Wah, oppa is so handsome!” a woman, who must’ve been 5 years older than the man on the screen squealed behind her white medical mask. “I’m so glad our ad turned out well.”

Her friends agreed and ooh and aahed along with her. You turned around to see if Hyerim was following you but she stood, entranced, with the mob of women on the sidewalk.

“You can thirst over him later, preferably when I am well fed,” you snapped irritably, pulling at the pink flowy material of her blouse.

She pouted but acquiesced, taking your hand as you dragged her though the intersection. All you were focused on were some good dumplings, after the mental aerobotics Calculus had forced on you and the emotional stress your father was putting you through. As you turned the corner, you breathed a sigh of relief as you saw no line.

Nestled between a large office building and a parking deck, this tiny Japanese restaurant was a favorite among Uni students for its cheap prices and good food. You usually had to arrive here early to beat the line of students and office workers that gathered here for their dinner breaks.

The cute sign that said Umaido flashed brightly above your head as you entered the restaurant. To the side of the main sigh, a smaller print reading “by the RM Group” glowed, subdued.

Waving over a pimply teen, you ordered two servings of gyoza and waited for Hyerim. She ordered a very conservative meal of sushi and some salad, and you both watched the waiter retreat. Something glossy caught the attention of your eye, and you saw some magazines on the shelf next to your head. The main one in the middle, which looked like a new age artsy publication with a cult following, was simply titled with a white V at the bottom corner.

Like a robot that was powered off, you collapsed in your seat and put your head in your hands. You really did not want to look at your phone.

“Was Calculus really that bad?” Hyerim winced in sympathy, neatly patting your head.

“It isn’t Calc,” you mumbled. “It’s Dad.”

Her expression turned down even more. “What happened?”

Lifting your head from your arms, you propped your chin on your palm and looked out the window. “You know, you’d expect for someone to give you important news in person or at least over a phone call, right?”

“Yeah?” Hyerim asked, lips pursed in confusion.

“Like, if you got remarried or something , you would at least tell your loved ones in person or at least over the phone, right ?”

“... Shit, Y/N.”

Fumbling for your phone in your bag, you ignored the notifications and pulled up your latest conversation. “Look what he texted me this morning!”

Hyerim took your phone and scrolled through it with a manicured fingernail.

Dad : I wish I could call you, but I’m somewhere with limited service.

Dad : I just wanted to let you know I got remarried to this amazing woman, Kim Seoyeon, a few days ago. We met and just clicked, something I haven’t felt since your mom.

Dad : She has seven sons, all of them are grown up. I’m worried about you living on your own, so I’d like you to move in with them. Details coming soon. Love you.

Hyerim was speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My dad has gotten spontaneously remarried to some random woman and now wants me to move in with her sons. Like, geez, it’s not like life changing news was delivered to me in less than a hundred words!” you hissed, voice getting higher and tinged with a bit of hysteria.

“Your dad sucks,” Hyerim pronounced, taking a pointed sip of her iced water. “Seriously.”

“Hey, my dad is not that bad,” you defended. “It’s just… he’s a bit distant. Absent-minded. But he’s cared for me in the best way he could.”

“You and I have very different definitions of what constitutes good parenting, Y/N. This man left you largely on your own since you were five, and now he gets worried about you living on your own? Something's not right,” Hyerim retorted.

Ignoring her in favor of the food that arrived, you practically inhaled twelve of the fried gyoza. Rolling her eyes at your typical running-away behavior, she primly dipped a piece of sashimi in soy sauce and took a dainty bite.

“So? What’s the plan? Are you going to stage a rebellion and stay in your apartment, or go stay with some random men?”

Your response was cut off as cheers broke out from the corner of the restaurant, where a large group of men and women were huddled together.

“Cheers to our National win!” a man announced, his face already a bit flushed. “To Neuron!”

“To Neuron!” the group cheered loudly, and lifted up their shot glasses in celebration.

“To our leader, J-Hope!” the same man pronounced brightly, some sake sloshing over the tip of his cup.

“Hoseok!” the group whooped louder, more rounds going around.

As their cheers quieted down, you turned back to Hyerim. “I don’t know. I think I’ll decide when I meet them. They could either all be idiots or they could be chill. I really hope for the latter.”

“Good plan, good plan.”

An awkward silence permeated the booth since both of you were at a loss to say something.

“Onto lighter things, “ Hyerim forced out brightly, clapping her hands. “Let me tell you about my younger brother’s really hot doctor. His name is Dr. Kim and he’s tall and…”

As Hyerim continued to babble on about the tall, handsome pediatric doctor, you felt a buzz in your pocket.

Dad: Their address is 111 Hannam-dong, Yongsan-su

Dad: They’re ready for you.

Can you guess who each stepbrother is and what they do? Comment below!!

Arc 1: Stepbrother Introductions will be released on February 15th at 8pm ET. It’s about ~15k words of getting to know these boys. Please look out for it!

[blu-eh]

after school summons

[AO3] 

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard.  His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.  

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.  

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”  

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

[ttlmt]

do it bee

alright.

there’s a few things i kept seeing confusion about, so i’ll try to clear it up the best i can with my amateur enthusiast knowledge. 

disclaimer: all of this could be completely wrong. this is just what i’ve learned from working as a bookseller in the past and taking a few classes on publishing and just generally doing a lot of personal research into it both as a reader and with interest in joining the industry. i do not know dan’s individual situation, nor am an expert by any means. i am also coming at this as a canadian, so the innerworkings of uk/us publishing are just from what ive learned here.

you will get through this book: 

bee’s possibly incorrect far too long guide to the publishing industry and how international editions and signed copies might work for daniel howell’s new book ‘you will get through this night’ available for preorder now

follow @daysuntilthisnight​​ for a countdown #shamelessselfpromo

1) the uk vs us edition

the uk cover is the one without dan’s face on it. the us cover is the one with dan’s face on it. its not uncommon to have multiple covers and putting someones face on the cover is a very american publisher thing to do, personally i really like both. the cover you get is dependent on where you/your country order the book from.

if you ordered from danandphilshop or shop.danielhowell, you will be getting the uk cover, as it is a uk business. if you ordered from the us store right when the book was announced and before the signed copies sold out, it will probably be the uk cover (more on that in the bit about signed books). after that, i’m not sure because i do not know how irlmerch’s distribution works. 

one thing to note is all books have an ISBN number which is like a universal barcode for the book at all stores and it comes from the publisher. the beginning of the isbn dictates the publisher/language/product type/etc and the end identifies the particular book. the uk edition and the us edition have different isbn numbers, as will the ebook, audiobook, etc. this is a good way to figure out which edition you are buying from your local bookstore, and you can cross reference with the isbn in uk or us stores. its usually listed at the bottom of the product page online.

if you live in a country besides the us or the uk, it depends whether the book is being distributed or published in your country. distribution is often more cost effective, and is usually the way it works. as far as i know, dan’s book is being distributed (not published) to the countries on this list with the exception of the us where it is being published (not distributed). if a book is being published in a country, it will have a different isbn and sometimes a different cover. if a book is being distributed it will have the same isbn and cover as the country it is distributed from (usually the closest publishing hub, so london or new york in this case).

to know what edition is in your country, you can compare the isbn numbers and/or the covers. you can also take a look at your other books to see whats normal in your country to get sort of an idea. im assuming europe will get the uk edition but im not sure about other countries.

here in canada for example, our books are usually distributed from the US meaning you will be getting the us cover if you order the book from a canadian store. i ordered from irlmerch when dan’s book was announced though, so i think im getting the uk edition.

1.5) covers and book design

most of the time, especially with new authors, the author has very little say in the final decisions re: book cover and book design. they usually get input, and the publisher gets final say. book design is also a very different thing then general graphic design and professionals genuinely go to school for this. thats not to say there arent bad book designs or that regular people can’t do it too, it’s just something to keep in mind. 

2) signed books vs signed editions

there are a few different ways that signed books can work. primarily, there are signed editions and signed books. both are physically signed by the author, the difference is when in the process these books are signed.

signed books is the ‘old-fashioned’ way, where the author will sit at a table and sign copies of their book. the author usually signs on the title page and for a long time, this was the only way to do it. they have already been printed by the publisher so they will have the same isbn as unsigned books. signed books are usually more limited, often they can be personalized, and if you have ever gone to a proper book signing where the author signed the book in front of you, you have a signed book. signed books are also sometimes made available at the authors local bookstore because they are able to sign them in person. as far as i know, the books that were ordered from danandphilshop or shop.danielhowell during the initial signed run will be signed books. i also believe there are/were limited signed books from uk retailers, i think those are/were signed books (not editions) where the isbn matches the normal first edition of the book. 

signed editions are a fairly new thing, and have made signed books so much more accessible which is awesome! signed editions have a different isbn then their normal edition and signed book counterparts. they are technically two different books and are listed as a separate book in stores. that is because signed editions have one (1) extra page. this allows the author to be sent boxes of pages, not books, to sign BEFORE the books are bound. the pages are then sent back to the publisher to be included in the final printed copy of the book.

signed editions help authors to sign even more copies which allows for things like signing hundreds of thousands of copies of a book in some cases. if you are familiar with john green’s books (and hank’s too), he is a large part of the reason signed editions increased in popularity. for example, his book turtles all the way down had a signed edition and a normal edition, they were the same price but the signed edition included the one more page that john had signed. this also allows authors to do fully signed first edition runs, such as john’s new book the anthropocene reviewed (which comes out the same day as dan’s book lol), where every single copy of the first edition is signed (so there is no such thing as an unsigned american first edition, this is becoming more popular for some authors to do especially if the first edition print is not very a large quantity).

if you saw dan’s ig story from today (which was almost definitely a delayed post lmao), he was signing the signed edition papers that will be bound in the signed edition copies of the book in the us. as far as i know, it is only the us publisher that has this option. as you can see on the us store books-a-million, there is a signed edition and a normal edition. they are listed seperately and there are different isbns. the signed edition will be bound with the one extra page that dan has signed. 

both types of signed books have been actually signed by dan and are so cool to have if that’s something you want and are able to get. if not, you’re not missing much.

3) book piracy and pricing

i’m not here to tell you what to do, so i won’t. i know being able to buy books is a privilege and dan is a millionaire. full stop. he doesn’t need the money and you probably do.

books are expensive. the difference between cost and price of a book can vary drastically. does your calc textbook actually cost the publisher $300? probably not, but it does cost more per copy to print less copies of something (like a textbook) then it does to print millions of copies of a nyt bestseller. does a $24 book cost that much to develop/print/distribute? maybe. 

but most of that money goes to the publisher. the fact of the matter is authors get very little from the actual sale of the book (usually only a couple dollars), which okay, not exactly convincing you against piracy but hear me out. the actual number of sales a book has lets a publisher know how successful a book is, which helps to decide how many more prints/editions are made and often dictates future opportunities for authors.

a series of books that i love is very popular on tumblr, but there was a serious problem a few years ago where copies of the book were being pirated so much, sales were down so drastically, that the publisher almost didn't continue to publish the series. in the case of smaller authors or your favourite ongoing series, buying your copy of the book could be the difference between the existence of the next book or not.  in dan’s case, i don’t know what his future plans are, idk if he plans to write more in the future, but i do know that publishers look at previous sales to decide if they are going to publish a book in the future.

ebooks are usually cheaper and more accessible if money is an issue. used books, while not helping with sales, are also a great option if you’re willing to wait and look around. you can often request your local library buy a book and read it that way, or they might even already have it. there probably even audiobooks and ebooks at your local library. stores like am*zon are usually cheaper as well. online stores of large chains like b&n and indigo will often have the books cheaper to match amazon. however if you can, support your local bookstore.

of course if the author is a horrible person do whatever tf you want. also fuck the textbook industry. 

tldr: dan worked really hard on his book with professionals to make it the best it could possibly be. i think it looks beautiful, and it will help a lot of people. the publishing industry is a mess but really cool. check the isbn of the copy you ordered if you want clarification or you can just wait for the surprise. 

[blackchessknight]

Ever Blue And Red

By @blackchessknight for @michellejones-stacy

This was really fun to write, I hope you like it. The premise is not what I expected to write from your prompts but that’s how creativity works I guess.

This is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark,

Summary: To be fair to Peter, he had never planned to become an Enhanced individual that protected people by being bitten by a radioactive spider and becoming Spider-Man. Really, it made perfect sense that even if he hadn’t planned it, he would turn into a siren at the splash of water by eating a weird-looking fruit he found on patrol.

If anything, it was Mr. Stark and Aunt May’s fault because they made him eat something healthy every two hours. If the rule wasn’t there, he wouldn't have touched the fruit. Ok, that was a lie, he might have tried it just because it looked weird, but maybe somebody would have stopped him from consuming it if he didn’t have the eating rule.

On the bright side, keeping this a secret from them wouldn’t be as hard as keeping Spider-Man a secret, he has experience this time.

Spoiler Alert: He doesn’t even last a week.

Read on AO3

First chapter under the cut

Tail As Blue As The Sky Enveloped In Light

Peter wants it known for posterity's sake that it wasn’t his fault.

The case could be made that it was, indeed, his fault, but no judge had made the ruling and he was sticking to that fact. Not that it does anything to persuade the jury from condemning him to being grounded for two weeks after.

It all started that fateful day on patrol, spring break only a few days away. Sure, Peter had a lot of assignments to turn in, but not anything that couldn’t be done just before it was absolutely necessary. The most annoying were the essays for English and History, but hey, even STEM schools needed their students to course them. Anyways, since Peter would be spending the break over at the Compound with Mr. Stark while Aunt May took the week with her coworkers at the Caribbean-very likely being joined by Ms. Potts at some point- the last weekend hadn’t been a Compound weekend. It’d worked great for Peter, he got to hang out with Ned before the break where the other boy would go see family, and also to spend time with May.

It's a bright April afternoon as he swings from the buildings with not much happening when Peter comes across a small playground area with a few trees and some grass parts. The little park wasn’t rundown or badly taken care of and the trees were already a bright green. A few children call him over and he swings down to greet them. He even takes a few pictures with them.

On his way out of the park he sees it. Lying on the grass under a tree is a weird-looking acorn, it's purple with an orange stripe. Peter walks over and kneels down to pick it up. The texture feels closer to a peach and just as squishy. His senses weren’t going off in danger but it wasn’t like any fruit he’d ever seen in his life.

“Karen?” Peter asks.

Karen takes a few seconds before responding. “I haven’t found a match for it, but it appears to fall under the category of fruit.”

Hhmm. Well, that just made it more intriguing. There wasn’t much that Karen couldn’t identify. If the unknown fruit lasted long enough he could even ask FRIDAY or Mr. Stark about it, maybe run a few tests on it, perhaps he just discovered a new type of fruit. That sets it, Peter’s taking it with him.

Peter sets off to where he left his backpack webbed to an alley wall. He reaches the alley and his backpack is just where he left it, which is great-it wouldn’t be good to ask for another so close to the break, it was already his second one this year. Peter changes to normal clothes and proceeds to set the weird acorn inside the backpack, he doesn’t think anything in his back will squish it. With his backpack set, he begins making his way home in no hurry.

On the way, Peter plans all the assignments he needs to do for the week. It’s still early, he can go home to eat, do some homework and go out again to patrol another hour or two before curfew. There’s that calc and chemistry homework due for tomorrow that he’ll work on today. He’ll eat whatever May left for him, hopefully, she left money for Thai. May isn’t coming home until late, they were spending extra hours at the office before the break, half leaving things prepared for their vacation and half coordinating it. His mind travels to the movie Ned and him saw that weekend and the new Lego set they built. Then it takes him to his break at the Compound where he’ll get to train with Rhodey and work on his web-shooters, he’s also gonna work with Tony on the arc reactor and their prosthesis project. By the time Peter became aware he was already in the front of his apartment building.

Inside their apartment Peter finds out May hadn’t left money for Thai, instead there was a nice healthy meal waiting for Peter to warm up and eat. He supposes he should have known better. Peter shuts the fridge door and turns to his room. When May wasn’t able to ensure Peter ate, and ate something healthy at that, they got him these nice meals prepared from a nice restaurant that Pepper had found near their apartment. They all had him about being in a routine for eating healthy, he hadn’t eaten anything they thought wasn’t good for him in weeks. He was able to have a treat once or twice on the weekends if he had followed through during the week. Peter thought it wasn’t necessary anymore, he was perfectly fine now. He’d learned since his eating disorder started, but just try and get that through to them. Apparently, they had to trust the diagnosis more, which to be fair was really accurate, but still, he thought he was already past that.

Peter sits in front of his desk and takes out his chemistry book and worksheet. Maybe he’ll get hungry after working his mind a little, he begins to work.

The alarm on his watch startles him, a big contrast to the quiet room that makes it sound louder than it is. The alarm is a constant beeping that doesn’t cease until Peter presses the shut button twice, once to know there’s an alarm and a second to acknowledge what it's for.

Mr. Stark set the alarm for him to eat something healthy every two hours. They’d also been on his back about eating often and he usually ate a fruit or a bar. Peter looks around his desk, then his room, and notices there’s nothing of his usual stash. He doesn’t want to get up to get something, usually, there are always things nearby but he probably ate them all.

Peter remembers the weird fruit in his backpack from earlier, sure he wanted to research it but his priorities changed. He still has the analysis from Karen to ask FRIDAY with. Peter opens his backpack and fishes the fruit out, it looks exactly as it had when he found it. He doesn’t know what it is, but Karen said he could call it a fruit and he was allowed to eat fruit, since he also had to eat something he saw no flaw in his logic of eating it. Besides, if Karen said that he didn’t eat anything because he was too lazy to get up he would have Happy babysitting him again. No one wanted that. To Peter, the ends justify the risks.

Peter smells the unknown fruit and it gives no distinctive smell. Before taking a bite, he searches within himself for any signs of danger but when he finds nothing he bites it. It tastes good, feels softer than an apple but not quite like a peach as he’d thought. Oh well, it's still good, really good actually. He goes back to doing homework.

Minutes after his little snack break Peter begins to feel weird, not in a Spidey Sense tingling weird, nor it feels like something is happening to his arm weird, more like the insides of his body feel funny. Peter hasn’t ever felt like this before.

At first, Peter thinks it will go away and continues with his homework, but after he finishes his chemistry workout sheet the feeling has only increased. He doesn’t feel anything wrong though, just... different. He starts feeling a little sleepy, not in the sense that his body is tired, it feels like his own body is telling him to close his eyes and rest a little. So that is exactly what Peter does, he puts away his work, goes to his bed, and rests his eyes. It will only be for a bit, he still has time to go patrol a bit after resting a few minutes.

Those few minutes turn out longer than he thought. A lot longer. By the time Peter is opening his eyes feeling rested and just… different, the sun has already set and the night has fallen. The only source of light in the room is the lights coming from the streets through the closed window of his room.

Darn it! He probably had missed his dinner time! Peter looks wildly until he finds the digital clock on his nightstand that reveals he was still just within his time frame before Karen would alert Tony, or May. He’d been asleep far longer than he'd planned.

Peter is starving like he hasn’t in months, so much so he would eat that flavorless mush of food they’d made him eat that day at the Medbay after their “intervention”. He sets for the kitchen, takes out the plate with his food, and sets it in the microwave as the instructions show in the note.

You would think that Aunt May and Mr. Stark would be lenient that he missed his meal because he was sleeping but that was actually a very important point to them. Once he’d been awoken by a blaring alarm, it had almost given him a heart attack, he had thought it was an emergency, maybe the sky had been falling. It hadn’t been anything alarming other than him missing his snack. And not even mentioning that one time in class where he’d been called to the principal’s office for forgetting his snacks at home and Mr. Morita personally getting him a protein bar. That had been a horrible day. He still couldn’t really look Mr. Morita in the eyes.

The microwave beeped and Peter went to pull out the dish. He grabs a fork and napkin on the way to the couch. Karen may tattle about his food consumption but never where he eats. To be fair, Karen only has eyes in the suit mask, the rest of her input comes from his Starkwatch and Starkphone. Peter’s little humanoid golden robot, that he built with Tony’s help, C3PO, comes forward and sets his little arms up for Peter to place his plate on. Peter turns the TV on and settles back to continue his current series on Netflix.

Peter had been starving and food had never tasted so good in his life. He basically inhales it. Something not as good as he had been told but he was hungry. C3PO leaves with the napkin, the fork and the plate to the kitchen and Peter finishes his episode as he digests his food.

When the episode ends he gets up from the couch and walks to his room. As he walks in he sees R2D2, the little robot he’d made by himself at the lab in the Compound, having what seems his own little party in his room. R2 even has some music to dance with as he moves around the room.

Peter’s idea was to change again into his suit and patrol until his curfew but he feels a tug towards the water. He already did a patrol today, it had been a calm day. Peter decides he’ll settle for the night, finish some homework, and do more time on patrol tomorrow, he’ll make up for today then. Right now he will take a shower and finish his homework for Monday, be free for the entirety of the weekend.

C3 enters the room as Peter exits it to go to the bathroom. Peter might have programmed them with some personality traits reminiscent of their movie counterparts, and it usually ends with a bit of a friendly argument between the two. The good thing is Peter will be away while they do it, the bad thing is he’ll probably still hear them while he showers.

Peter takes off his clothes and sets his hand under the spray of water to feel its temperature. Once it’s to his liking he clambers inside headfirst. The water soaks his brown curls then covers his back. Peter backs his torso so his legs get sprayed with water and the change is fast, so fast it would probably be pretty seamless for anyone else. Peter doesn’t have time to react to the sudden feel of his legs knitting together and turning scaly before he loses balance with a startled yelp. Peter reaches out to the shower wall with a hand and sticks, stopping his fall but the momentum sends his back to hit the wall and Peter slides down, landing on his butt.

He blinks several times as he stares at his legs. Or more importantly, where his legs should be. In their place is a mermaid tail, just like the movies. It's a light blue like a clear skyline in New York mornings, with shiny scales that turn white when the light hits them and see-through red shaded fins. The tail seems to start at his hips but it fades up into his stomach with smaller scales, not a clear cut. Peter can feel the tail, he can feel it as if it were his legs but they feel different.

This isn’t normal, is it? This isn’t some long overdue side effect of the spider bite, right? This shouldn’t be happening, should it? There’s no way this is normal. This has got to be in the Top 10 weirdest things to happen to him. It fights for dominance right up there with the spider bite.

Peter takes a deep breath, he feels the fins and wills one to move as if it were his foot. In front of him, the fin moves. Peter shoves himself back startled, his head hits the other wall of the shower with force and he winces. He brings a hand to rub at his head, even if it doesn’t really make the pain lessen. He makes the other fin move, makes them both move at the same time, makes them move in opposite directions.

Peter stops playing with his fins. Wow, he has fins now, he has a tail. He can move the tail too. He has full control of it. It’s rather flexible too, more flexible than he’s become with his enhancements. Okay, so, he has a tail. He has a mermaid-merman?- he has a merman tail. He has a tail that is blue, and he can move it. It is right in front of him. Peter reaches for the middle of the tail with his finger and pokes it, sure enough he feels the poke, both in the tail and with his finger. It's real.

Alright, cool. So now that the shock has worn off it’s time to figure this out. Does this mean he can breathe underwater? Is he a merman now? Does he have to live in the Ocean? Would a lake suffice? His powers stayed, he was able to stick to the wall. Does that make him a Merman-Spider? Spider-Merman? Siren-Spider? Is he no longer allowed to eat fish? Do mermaids eat fish? Does this mean mermaids are real?

You’re getting distracted, Peter. Focus.

Was he a merman forever now? How did he even become one?

Yeah, focus on that. The how.

This isn't alien tech, that's for sure. He hasn't encountered anyone with alien tech in a while. That’s one out. So then… magic? Was magic real? Were there wizards? Was there actually a school for wizards? Oh gosh, that would be so cool. Like, Wanda Maximoff had magic, right? That's what she used? Or was that something else? It could have been magic, or maybe kinetic energy manipulation, that was also a possibility; but the idea of that being magic was always an option. Wait, he's getting sidetracked again.

Right, what caused this.

Ok, well, it couldn't be the spider bite either, it'd been far too long since and it didn’t make logical sense to be a result of it. Or... it could be if this was the product of a second reactant to the DNA alterations caused by the bite. Like, sure it would be weird to get a tail as a reaction, but so had gaining the powers of a spider through the bite of a radioactive spider; maybe they wanted to gain the powers of a fish and it mutated into a tail. Peter hadn't gone swimming recently and definitely hadn't been bitten by a fish but maybe he had, or eaten the radioactive fish by accident. He shouldn't have trusted that fillet, it had tasted too good. It could also just be a coincidence from another substance, really if this was a reaction he needed to know the second reactant.

Peter sees the water fall and splash on his tail and continue down the drain as he thinks. Water! Peter snaps his head to look at the showerhead. That was the reactant, water! The moment his legs got wet he got a tail!

Ok, so it wasn't a late side effect from the bite. That was good to know. It didn't rule out a reaction from the after-effects of the bite but it did give less evidence in its favour. So far the contenders are radioactive fish, reaction to his spider DNA, and magic. Only one of which Peter actually had knowledge of.

Peter sits up and moves forward to shut the water off. The tail was cool and all but he was kind of stuck in the tub. Peter lifts the end of his tail and moves the fins with narrowed eyes. He moves the fins close to the wall and then touches it, he wills them to stick and they do. Ok, he has better mobility than he thought he would. Feeling excitement fill him, Peter uses only his tail to lift his body and it works. He balances himself on his tail. He is definitely a Spider-Siren. He can stick, has strength, he assumes it also has his superhealing.

Peter grabs a towel from the rack and sits back down in the tub, he starts drying his upper body. The scales shimmer as he moves and Peter wonders if they would look the same dry. He sets the towel around his neck. Peter lifts himself from the tub and sits on the toilet lid, splaying the tail across the bathroom floor in all its glory before he grabs the towel around his neck. Peter starts drying his tail and the feeling is weird, he feels the towel through the scales and it’s closer to feeling something through his nails.

Peter has the sudden urge that his legs come back so he could experience the difference in them. Peter is scrubbing where the body of the tail meets the fins because it feels really good when the change happens. Peter senses the change a second before it happens but he is too confused at his Spider Sense telling him about it to notice what the change is . He lifts his head, dropping the towel, and looks around. Nothing is amiss and the sensation leaves. Peter turns back to pick up the towel and continue, now to try out the feel on his fins when he stops dead on his way to pick it up. His legs are back. His legs are back as if the tail was never there.

Peter pokes his legs, and just like the tail, they’re there. He moves them to make sure he has control over them, he does. He sets his palm on his leg and is surprised to find them completely dry, not even moist.

Peter looks back towards the shower, then he looks to his recently regained legs and back at the bathtub. He turns his head to his legs then the shower. Legs, shower, legs, shower. Peter bites his lower lip.

Like yeah, it could be a fluke and he may get stuck with a tail, but it could also be like his spider powers that he has control of. The tail disappeared when he dried it, it could be that if he gets his legs wet again the tail would return, and then it would disappear when he dries himself again.

What kind of scientist would he be if he didn't test out his hypothesis? He had to try. Besides, the worst thing that can happen is he has a tail, he'll figure it out later if he can’t dry it out. He has a feeling it will work anyways.

Peter fills the bathtub around three-quarters full. This is insane and just the type of experimenting he likes, trial and error. Taking a deep breath, he positions himself above the water holding himself by his arms, legs stretched out in front of him, parallel to the water below. All he needs to do is lower his arms and he will get his legs in the tub filled with water.

Peter lets out a little nervous laugh as he looks at the water. Like ripping off a bandaid. Peter takes another breath, releases it, and lets himself fall in one motion that splashes water over the tub’s edge.

The tail returns and this time Peter knows what he’s feeling. He realizes it's his legs morphing into a tail. It takes his legs a second to become a tail and it doesn’t hurt. It’s not a feeling he can put words to, other than from now on he can call the feeling his legs morphing into his tail. A part of the tail shimmers under the translucent water and his fins stay between water and air near where he thinks his knees would be-his tail is far too long to fit in the tub- while Peter moves it a little. He lifts the end of the tail and lets it smack back into the water, making a big splash that brings a joyous laugh from him. It worked as he’d suspected, the tail appears when his lower body gets splashed with water. Peter lifts himself from the bathtub and sits on the toilet seat.

Peter grabs the towel he first used to dry himself and begins to redry his tail. The same weird feeling of drying his scales returns. Willing his legs back as he dries Peter lifts the towel and grins. Where his blue tail had been are his legs once more.

Peter grins at the water, a rush of excitement cursing through his body. He has a tail now.

Just as abruptly his grin comes it falls and his heart begins to beat loudly in his chest. Oh god, he has a tail. He can't tell Aunt May, she'll freak out and ground him. And he can't tell Mr. Stark because he'll reprimand him, then tattle to May who will freak out and then they'll ground him together.

Ok, ok, ok. He can’t tell them, no big deal. He’s Spider-Man, he’s kept that a secret, he can keep this a secret. He has to figure this out first, then maybe he’ll tell them. If this is reversible they might never find out.

Does he want to reverse this? Food for thought.

He’ll figure all that out later. Right now Peter is going to take a bath, experiment a little, and then him and Karen will have a conversation about how much of a snitch the Babysitter Protocol makes her before starting his investigation.

[sankyeom]

𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 (𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎) // 𝚜𝚒𝚡

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍'𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢!𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎. (𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝��𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖)

𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 // 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 // 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝

You were excited to have Hyerin on the paper because she was an amazing photographer, and it meant that you had an actual shot at having a female friend for a change. Of course, you wouldn’t trade Jinyoung, Yonghee, Hyunsuk and Eric for the world – Sunwoo was on thin ice after pranking you one too many times – but it would still be nice to have a female presence around.

“Okay guys, let’s get started,” you happily commenced the meeting when everyone arrived in the media room. “Eric’s been working on an idea about sustainability in school that he’s going to need your help with, Hyerin,” you began, causing both Eric and Hyerin to nod and smile at each other. “I’m sure you guys can figure out exactly what you need. Who’s turn is it for layout this week?”

“Mine,” Jinyoung said, taking brief notes on a post-it note about the different tasks that you had to layout during the meeting.

“Great! Then does anyone have any ideas for the cover piece this week?” you asked, giving everyone an opportunity. The cover piece was the front-page article and the most important part of the newspaper. If it wasn’t interesting or eye-catching enough, people wouldn’t even pick up the issue at all. “I had an idea that I think is more enticing than Eric’s issue on sustainability, no offence,” you quickly added. Eric waved you off to show you that he was fine. “I was thinking… Since Jinyoung is a member of our newspaper team and he’s running for dance team captain, we could make our cover piece an interview,” you suggested, smiling at your team to see what they thought.

All of your friends already knew and liked your idea, so it was really up to Hyerin to see what she would think. “I think that’s an amazing idea,” Hyerin stated, looking genuinely excited about it. “But doesn’t that seem a little unfair?” she added. “I mean, it would seem biased if Jinyoung is the only person that gets an interview, just because he’s on the paper and the editor’s best friend.”

You deflated. Hyerin was completely right, and you felt embarrassed that you hadn’t considered this. “Oh,” you sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. So it’s a no-go, then?”

“We could just interview everyone instead,” Hyerin suggested. “There are only three nominees so it wouldn’t be so difficult to get an interview with them all.”

You thought it over. On one hand, you wanted Jinyoung to win and have an advantage over the others. On the other hand, you wanted to be a fair editor and have the popularity of the newspaper increase so that more people would join the staff in the future. “I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed, feeling that it was truly the best way to go for the paper. “Since Eric is going to be busy with his piece, Yonghee, Jinyoung and I can interview.”

Yonghee brought something up. “Since Jinyoung is being interviewed, maybe it’s best if he sits this one out. Just so nobody feels like it’s biased,” he reminded.

You nodded. “Right. Okay, Yonghee why don’t you interview Hwang Hyunjin, and I’ll interview Jinyoung and Na Jaemin,” you modified since Hyerin was only the photographer and had no involvement in writing or interviewing. She would also be busy taking portraits of the nominees, so she wouldn’t have time for interviews and such.

“I’m okay with it,” Jinyoung agreed, although his expression had hardened and you could tell he was just being nice. “I have to work on the layout, anyway.”

“So it’s settled,” You said, nodding. “Jinyoungie, why don’t you work on the horoscopes for this month too since I’ll be doing two interviews instead of one like I originally thought?”

Jinyoung gave you a two-finger salute. “No worries, boss,” he added with a wink, causing you to roll your eyes at your best friend. Still, you smiled back at him and could see – now more than ever – why so many people thought that you and Jinyoung were dating. The two of you had been friends for so many years that the playful relationship you had often came across as romantic to others, but it was something that you guys simply ignored.

“Jinyoung, do you have the other nominees’ numbers? If possible, I want to schedule the interviews for tomorrow during our newspaper meeting so nobody has to work outside of our meeting hours to do this,” you mentioned, causing Jinyoung to nod.

“Oh, Jaemin’s my best friend,” Hyerin added from her seat next to Eric. The two of them had excitedly been chatting about how Eric was going to expose the school for preaching sustainability but still using plastic utensils in the cafeteria when she spoke. “I can just tell him to be here tomorrow after school and he will be.”

“That’d be great, thank you,” you appreciated, happy to have one less thing to worry about. You glanced down at your agenda and nodded slowly to yourself. “Okay. Jinyoungie, send Yonghee Hyunjin’s number and then we can get to editing the other articles we have ready for this week’s paper!” you smiled, closing your agenda and grinning at everyone.

Jinyoung nodded, immediately grabbing his phone to do as you said. “This is exciting,” Hyerin said, glancing up at you. “Thank you guys for letting me join. I know I was supposed to sign up last year but there was just a lot going on,” Hyerin said.

“Of course, we’re glad to have you!” you encouraged her.

Hyerin beamed. “I can’t wait for you to meet Jaemin tomorrow,” she added. “I think you’ll get along really well.”

You paused. Jinyoung was your best friend in the world and he meant everything to you. If you could take all of his burdens away, you would. You didn’t know how you felt about interviewing someone else for the position that Jinyoung had been working for all his life. After all, he wanted to major in dance in University and this captain position would really help him get a scholarship that he deserved; especially since he worked so hard to have good grades while his mum worked three jobs. You also knew that Jinyoung wasn’t Jaemin’s biggest fan – not even close. Still, you smiled, even if it was a little forced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Okay guys, meetings over. Go dance your little hearts out – or in Yonghee’s case, student council your little heart out,” you encouraged your team. Yonghee rolled his eyes at your lame joke, still giving you a grin and a hug on the way out.

“My article is going to rip the school to shreds,” Eric said happily, running a hand through his hair before giving Hyerin a high-five.

“Hopefully it’s enough fuel for Yonghee to actually implement some changes,” you agreed, knowing how much power media could have over people.

Jinyoung grabbed his backpack, but not before tapping your nose gently with his finger. You scrunched up your nose before giving him your attention. “Are you okay?” you whispered, leaning in closer so nobody would overhear.

He sighed. “I don’t know,” he frowned, running a hand through his hair. “This just feels weird… I don’t like getting involved with Jaemin,” Jinyoung admitted. “And I don’t like the idea of you spending time alone with him, either.”

“I know,” you acknowledged, feeling sympathetic. You didn’t know why Jaemin and Jinyoung didn’t get along, your best friend had never told you of the reason behind their feud before. “It’s just an interview, though.”

“I know,” Jinyoung echoed what you said, leaning over and kissing your cheek lightly. He pulled away, eyes shaped like half-moons as he grinned at you. “Let’s not worry too much about it. Are we still on for after practice?” he asked. You usually walked home together since he only lived a few blocks down from you.

“For sure!” you agreed. “Hyerin and I are gonna walk you boys to practice and then we’re going to the library,” you added.

“To study, or whatever else we get up to,” Hyerin added happily, linking her arm with yours and pulling you away from Jinyoung. “Hey,” she whispered, walking ahead towards the dance room as Eric and Jinyoung trailed behind, bantering. “Are you and Jinyoung…?” Hyerin trailed off, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You grinned. “No,” you denied, shaking your head. “We get that a lot though.”

“Jaemin and I used to get that a lot too,” Hyerin recalled. “But now I’m dating Jeno so people don’t really make that assumption anymore,” she added. “It gets a little annoying sometimes, huh?” she asked knowingly.

“A little,” you admitted. “It’s not that big of a deal though. People are just curious.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to add to those people,” Hyerin laughed. “I never used to see it between Jaemin and I but I guess, looking at other best friends who are even closer than we are, I see why people might make those assumptions.”

The two of you excitedly discussed your afternoon plans and before you knew it, you had all arrived at the dance studio.

“Rin!” Lee Jeno cheered when he saw Hyerin, eyes lighting up and lifting into a cute eye-smile. He ran over and embraced his girlfriend, who was rolling her eyes at how dramatic he was being.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing at the PDA. Before she could introduce you, Jaemin pulled her aside. He seemed wide-eyed and panicky, more so than he usually was due to his ridiculous caffeine intake. “Nana?” Hyerin asked. “What’s up?”

“How do you know Y/n?” he asked, eyes flashing over to where you were introducing yourself to Jeno. He watched you laugh at Jeno’s words before giving Jinyoung a huge hug goodbye.

Hyerin furrowed her brows in confusion. “I tutored her in multivariable calc last year,” she told him. “And she’s the editor of the newspaper. Why, how do you know Y/n?” Jaemin blushed, quickly diverting his eyes when he saw you look back at him. He cleared his throat before looking over at Hyerin, who looked all too smug. “Oh my god. Y/n’s the girl you have a crush on,” she realised before squealing. “Oh, this is perfect! I can introduce you!”

“No!” Jaemin whisper-yelled, shaking his head and putting his hands on Hyerin’s shoulders to stop her from jumping in excitement. “It’s not perfect! She’s Bae Jinyoung’s best friend. This is a nightmare!”

Hyerin rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. Why is that bad? You get along with everybody.”

“Not him,” Jaemin shook his head. “It’s a long story, but Jinyoung and I have had a feud going on since kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten?” Hyerin echoed in disbelief. “Jaemin. That’s childish.”

“It was,” Jaemin agreed. “But then it started getting personal. So no, you will not introduce me to her, I don’t want her to ever see me ever again.”

Hyerin made a face. “Really? How are you supposed to flirt with her if you don’t want to see her.”

“Oh my god, who said anything about flirting?” Jaemin asked. “I’m sticking to my brand and pining in silence until I get over her. It worked for you in middle school,” he added, thoughtful.

Hyerin rolled her eyes. “It may have worked for me, but it won’t work for Y/n,” Hyerin’s eyes lit up, remembering what the paper was working on for the week. “By the way, I found a way for you to campaign for dance team captain,” she added. Jaemin tilted his head, listening. “The paper is doing a profile and interview on all the candidates.”

“Really?” Jaemin asked, earning a nod from Hyerin. “That’s awesome!”

“Right?” Hyerin grinned. “Now, all you have to do is meet Y/n in the newspaper room tomorrow after school. Easy as pie,” then she slapped Jaemin on the shoulder and left him with his mouth hanging open.

i wonder what started jaemin and jinyoung’s feud...

[spaceskam]

follow up to this (ao3)

“Wait, start from the beginning.”

Alex let out a straight giddy laugh as he complied. He ended up skipping his programming fundamentals class in favor of pacing around Maria’s dorm to try to put together what the hell happened that morning. He’d done his best during Calc, but ended up being nothing more than a total waste of space trying to pretend he could think about something other than those lips and that tongue.

“Okay, so, I was sitting on the dresser, right? And we were just talking like normal and I was drying his hair and‒”

“I can’t believe he asked you to dry his hair for him and you thought he was straight.”

Alex pursed his lips for a moment and thought about. “Okay, but considering he’s a 5’11 baby, I feel like he’d have me do that if he was straight.”

Maria tilted her head back and forth as she considered it. “Okay, valid, continue.”

“So he just kinda stares at me for a moment and I was like ‘what are you doing?’ and he was like ‘I’m gonna go take my test’ and I told him to go and then he pulled me off the dresser,” Alex said, feeling flustered all over again as he thought about it. In the moment, it’d startled him due to the quick movement, but now it made his heart race for a completely different reason. 

“Like, by what? Arms, thighs, waist?” Maria quizzed, clearly trying to picture it in her mind. Alex giggled again and she just smiled at him.

“No, it was by my literal foot. I tried to kick him and he pulled me off by my foot,” he explained.

“And he managed to catch you?” Maria clarified.

“Yeah, he caught me and pulled me like real close, like, full-on chest to chest, I could smell his toothpaste and stale vodka kinda close,” Alex said. Maria gave an impressed look.

“Damn.”

“Right? And then I was like ‘hey, are you fucking with me because that’s rude’ and shit, but then he just kissed me.”

“What kinda kiss? Like, a peck or, like, the Notebook, kissing in the rain kinda kiss?”

“It was just a little peck,” Alex said, bitting down on his bottom lip as he played it over in his mind for the billionth time, “At first.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know! So, he gives me a little peck and then he pulls back just enough to make sure I was into and then I was just suddenly it was like all tongue and skilled shit that I barely knew how to follow and he was basically holding me up at that point because I think I was dying. Seriously, Maria, I know I don’t have much to compare it to, but he kisses like a fucking god,” Alex groaned, but he was still feeling fuzzy. She was smiling at him all the same.

“I bet, he’s got great lips,” she pointed out. Alex tossed his head back as he thought about them. They really were great. “So now what?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “I haven’t talked to him since it happened. He had a Chem test this morning and then he probably took a nap while I was in Calc, so no time to talk. Then he should be getting out of Philosophy and heading to his Calc class right now.” Maria snorted, shaking her head.

“You have his schedule memorized?” she asked.

“Well, yeah,” Alex said like it was obvious. Maria pressed her fingers to her lips.

“I don’t have my roommate’s schedule memorized,” she said, biting back a teasing laugh, “I don’t even know her last name.” 

Alex shrugged again. She knew that he was weirdly close to Michael and that he posed as some sort of caretaker, but she didn’t really know the extent. He didn’t want to share that he washed his clothes and pulled him out of bed and packed his backpack. He knew from an outsider perspective, he sounded like a pushover, but he wasn’t really ready to face that fact.

Instead, he’d much rather focus on the fact that he’d been kissed.

“Oh, you’re such a goner,” Maria laughed, “But he really hasn’t even texted you?”

“No,” he admitted, pouting slightly as reality slowly began to seep in, “What if he doesn’t actually feel the same and he just kissed me for no reason? What if it makes things weird? Or, worse, what if he moves out because he did it while he was drunk and he’s embarrassed?”

“Okay, now you’re just overreacting,” she teased, “I’m sure he’s just busy with school.”

“Knowing him, his phone is probably dead,” Alex said, blowing out a breath of air, “I’m kinda scared to go back to my dorm.”

“Why?” she scoffed.

“Because what if he doesn’t come back?” he pointed out, “He goes and gets plastered every night. What are the odds he’s going to actually come and have an adult conversation with me?”

“Oh, honey,” Maria said, “You expect a boy like that to have an adult conversation with you?” 

Alex stared at her for a moment and painfully realized she was right. There was no adult conversation to be had. They kissed, it was good, but that was probably it. Maybe it would happen again, but the chances were that he would be confused the whole time.

“I’m stupid for liking him, aren’t I?”

“It happens to the best of us.”

-

Sure enough, Alex was right. Michael didn’t come back after class.

Instead, he stumbled in at 2 in the morning, bringing the strong scent of weed with him and waking him up in the process. Alex didn’t show any signs that he’d woken up because he didn’t really want to speak to him again until he was sober. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the benefit of an adult conversation, but he could confront him Michael knew where he stood. 

And where he stood was this: stupidly in love with his roommate who he’d known for, like, two months and had already become his mother.

“Hey,” Michael said, voice soft as though he was trying to be quiet despite the fact he was literally right beside Alex’s bed. Alex tried not to react, keeping his face to the wall and staying still as he felt Michael touch his shoulder. “Hey, Alex, wake up.”

“Why?” he asked tiredly, “It’s two in the morning.”

“Prime time for talking,” Michael decided. That caught Alex’s attention and he rolled over, facing the man who was just high enough to look at him with a sweet smile. 

“Talking?” Alex asked, rubbing his fist against his eye, “You wanna talk about why you kissed me?” Michael searched his face with his bloodshot eyes, smile falling just a little bit.

“Thought you didn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Alex yawned, “I do mind that you proceeded to ghost me for 18 hours after.”

“I didn’t ghost you.”

Alex pushed himself up onto his elbow and scoffed, “Oh, yeah? What do you call it when you kiss someone and then ignore them until you’re high again?”

Michael didn’t answer, just stared at him for a moment. It had Alex questioning why he even woke him up in the first place. Clearly, all he wanted to do was stare at him. Or maybe he was high enough to think this was a successful conversation. Alex wouldn’t put it past him.

Before Alex could tell him to go to bed, however, Michael leaned in for another kiss. His breath wasn’t great and the tip of his nose was fucking freezing where it pressed in beside Alex’s, but the idea of pulling away seemed beyond his better judgment. Because Alex was sleepy and desperate and he couldn’t seem to think of a reason not to kiss most boys back, much less this one in particular.

Michael’s hand reached for his face after the first, closed-mouth kiss, using it as leverage as he pushed himself up onto his toes to get in a better one. Alex could feel his heart picking up the pace and something low in his stomach turned as he parted his lips first this time. Michael smiled at the sensation and tilted his head, placing one open-mouthed kiss on his lips that seemed to only serve the purpose of catching Alex’s bottom lip between his teeth. He pulled back, bringing Alex with him just a little and just smiled at him when he let go. That’s when Alex should’ve stopped it, should’ve said, “you can’t just seduce me like that” and sent him to his own bed.

But, instead, he grabbed the back of Michael’s head and pushed his tongue into his mouth despite the fact he tasted like pot. If Michael was going to act like that, Alex was going to at least get something out of it.

So, they stayed in that uncomfortable position, Alex’s hand in his hair and kissing him feverishly. Michael kissed back with just as much desperation, his inebriated state causing him to make little content, desperate noises over and over. Each time Alex tugged on his hair or held him in place to kiss him harder or did something that should’ve been gross or sloppy but felt hot in the moment, he’d make those little noises and it was driving Alex insane.

Michael was trying hard to get closer, all but balancing on the edge of Alex’s bed by his chest and hands. It made it sort of hard for him to breathe and yet he still never stopped kissing him, choosing that over breathing. Alex moved his hand to his bicep, squeezing it as he pulled away slightly.

“Okay, you are basically panting into my mouth right now,” Alex whispered, “And that’s really only hot when you’re wearing less clothing.”

Michael blinked hard, seeming to marvel at him with a look that again had Alex feeling like it was a glitch. If he had any sort of faith that Michael liked him that way, he may have even considered it to be lovesick.

But then, in the blink of an eye, Michael hoisted himself up and scrambled onto the bed. Alex couldn’t help but laugh as Michael squished into the small bed with him, moving in for another kiss which he accepted willingly. His hand stayed in Michael’s hair and Michael’s hand went to his waist, legs interlocking as they pressed close. He wasn’t sure if it was required since the bed was so small or because he just wanted to be that close.

They kissed for awhile, kissed until fatigue started taking over again, kissed until Alex was too tired to kiss back. That in itself was strange. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been that comfortable. And, technically, this whole thing made him anxious because he had no idea what Michael wanted. But here he was, falling asleep.

“Hey,” Michael whispered, placing a hand on his cheek and smoothing out one of his eyebrows. Alex lazily opened his eyes to try to stay away for him, but he was tired and the feeling of Michael’s leg in between his was possibly his new favorite comfort method and his eyes closed right back. “I’m sorry I’m fucked up. I don’t wanna fuck you up.”

Alex hummed in response, fading even more until he was asleep entirely. Still, Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead and held him.

When Alex woke up the next morning, Michael had already gotten up and gone to class all by himself.

[promethes]

how an idiot like me got into good schools

A quick run-through of my academic history and how I got into good colleges will be below the cut! I’m also including a list of some of the schools I got into for reference. I apologize in advance for how messy this is, but my memory is shitty and I remember random things that I keep throwing in lol. (and for people congratulating me, thank you very much, but I got into all these schools last year lol! so keep in mind I graduated high school in 2019)

If all you came for are the basic stats and you don't want my rambling: I went to a public school GPA: around 4.4 on 4.0 scale (3.9 unweighted) SAT: 1520/1600 APs: 10 (4 3s, 2 4s, 4 5s) Extracurricular: mainly NHS (around 300 volunteering hours), StuCo, Varsity Golf, and Quiz Bowl

EDIT: comments made by the readers who reviewed my application are available here!

First off, I am not an einstein! I am blessed that I pick up on stuff easily and gifted in academics, but I’m nowhere near a genius. For a little backstory, I went to a public school in Michigan for the entirety of my pre-k - 12 education. When I was in the third grade, the district introduced an accelerated program. We took a quasi IQ test and if we tested high enough (I think the threshold was 80%? If I remember correctly I got a 97) we were put in a class that was 2 years ahead in English and Math. We stayed grouped together for the rest of our public schooling, basically a core group of around 20 people. Since we were the first year of the program and our grade was exceptionally gifted for some weird reason, it was a very high achieving group of students, so I’m going to include their stats along with mine for comparison because colleges also factor in your peers when they look at your stats.

I’ll start off with basic stats:

I got a 1520 on the SAT. My grade had around 5 - 10 people achieve over 1500. Some of them had been studying for years, while others (me) did not know that the SAT existed until that year and couldn’t afford any private tutoring and had no patience for the study books from the library. I’m lucky to have an aptitude for the skills they were testing. I did not take any SAT subject tests.

For GPA, I think I ended up with around a 4.4 on a 4.0 scale. I was around 15/350 when it came to class standing, so I was far from the valedictorian. I think our valedictorians got around a 4.6 or 4.7.

I took 10 AP tests. I got a 3 in APUSH, World History, Language and Comp (I fell asleep lol), and Chem (I will get into this class a little later). I got a 4 in Literature (I fell asleep. Again.) and in Psychology. I got a 5 in Calc AB & BC, Comp Sci Principles, and Environmental Science.

AP classes were really pushed in my high school, especially onto my grade, and I don’t like being told what to do lol so I pushed back and took fewer AP classes than most of my peers (valedictorians ended up with maybe 15? It’s crazy) and basically only took classes I was interested in or that I had to take because I had exhausted the rest of the curriculum.

I also dual-enrolled in 2 classes at the local community college since I’d exhausted the curriculum at my high school for things I wanted to do (english and comp sci). I want to make it clear that I never sat down and planned how I was going to maximize my schedule or how I’d take the most advanced classes, I just fell into it since we had already essentially skipped two grades. Most people didn’t dual enroll since they wanted the AP GPA boost.

For extracurriculars, I mainly focused on Quiz Bowl, Golf, NHS (volunteered around 350 hours in 3 years I think) and Student Government. I never had any leadership positions and just kind of fucked around most of the time. Most of my peers held several leadership positions throughout the years and did like a bazillion things. 5 of them even traveled to Europe for some science research thing where they presented their research. I was not that big of a nerd.

In junior year, I stumbled on something called Questbridge and decided to apply because I wanted the money for the scholarship. I became a Questbridge college prep scholar, which then led me to apply for the National College Match. I didn’t rank any binding schools so I didn’t match, but I did apply to several schools with their application. If you are a low-income high achieving student, I highly recommend looking them up. I was the first person in my school to do this program and encouraged my peers to do it too. I think 4 of us were Questbridge scholars.

As you can see, I had good numbers, which probably got me past the first wave of application look throughs. However, I’m fairly confident that what made me stand out was my essays. I always stress this to whoever asks me for advice: do not write a perfect essay, write YOUR essay. I can only imagine how bored those poor people are of reading about someone winning a soccer game or a spelling bee. Add some pizzazz in there. Talk about your flaws and your mistakes and your unique life experiences! 

For example, my personal essay wasn’t even in essay format! I wrote it like journal entries, focusing on my sophomore year when my life was Extra Tumultuous and I was going through homelessness. I did not say I was homeless once in the essay. I just did day by day entries of what my life was like during that time and through that the readers were able to see that I loved to read, that I am fiercely protective of my single-parent family, and they saw how I handled adversity. I want to stress that I’m not encouraging poverty porn at all. I did not write it to make the reader feel bad. I simply relayed what I thought about in a day, focusing on both big and small.

I also wrote about funny things related to academics, partly to explain my transcript and partly to be funny. This is the AP Chem thing. I actually dropped out of it after one term (so about a third of the way through) so I could dual enroll in a class I was interested in instead. My chem teacher HATED that since I was good at chemistry (hate it. Hate that subject so much) and tried to convince me to stay. One of the things he said was “You’ll never be ready for college if you don’t take this class! You wouldn’t even be able to pass the AP test!” so I said bet. dropped the class and signed up for the AP test that same day and showed up almost every day for the rest of the year and dicked around the entire class, taking naps in the back of the lab, sitting on his desk, cracking jokes about whatever he was teaching. I got a 3 on that exam purely out of spite with only half the information I needed. So write about stuff like that. It’s fun.

The fact that I had no guidance in writing the essays was actually really good for me since I just kind of let loose. My UChicago essay read like I was on crack, and they loved it so much that they literally mentioned it during the welcome speech for their little college visit in April.

And don’t sweat over the small stuff! The short answers don’t have to be perfect and mind-blowing, just answer honestly. For the “why Yale” supplemental essay I just ranted about how beautiful their library is for a good 300 words (at some point I said I needed my inhaler because it was that breathtaking. I made a Yale admissions officer read that.) I ranted about Howl’s Moving Castle to Columbia. I told them my favorite magazine was the American Girl ones for their arts and crafts! I have a friend at Columbia who literally sent them a picture of her in a duck costume as a supplement. They loved it. So don’t lose your mind trying to sound worldly and educated. You’re like. 17. Just answer honestly and don’t think too hard about it.

I was also extremely lucky to have a dedicated counselor who sat down for hours with each individual student to write fantastic letters of recommendation. She really made it clear what I had achieved and what challenges I’d faced.

So. tl;dr: I got lucky. Unless your parents donated a couple billion to the school, there are no guarantees. Sometimes you can have the stats and perfect essays and amazing extracurriculars and you can still get rejected because they don’t think you’re a good fit with the school compared to the rest of the applicants. There’s limited space in the student body. I got into schools my valedictorians didn’t get into even though I was academically less than them in every possible way. So let yourself shine through your essays and know you’ll end up in an environment that values the person they saw in those essays.

I got into a lot of schools, and don’t really have a record of all of them, but here are some of the top ones I can remember off the top of my head:

Yale, Columbia, University of Chicago (likely letter), Northwestern, University of Michigan, Northeastern, CWRU, UNC Chapel Hill, and a couple other schools here and there that slip my mind at the moment.

[kachinnate]

for the ask thing: Trust Issues + Darkfic + “Do not tell anyone you saw this.” go wild

send me prompts!

16 (trust issues) + f (darkfic) + 38 (”Do not tell anyone you saw this.”)

Today feels.. off. 

  And not in the floaty, surreal ‘oh-my-god-it’s-happening’ weirdness that comes with it being his last first day of school. Jared genuinely felt like something, something, wasn’t fucking right, but he couldn’t pinpoint what the hell it was. 

  It was probably something stupid, like. Something he maybe forgot to do in his morning routine, or whatever. 

  But regardless, it was off-putting and he kind of hated it. 

  He couldn’t shake it, try as he might. The day kept going, and he kept feeling more.. just, misplaced? The only person he could imagine talking to about it was Evan, but he hadn’t seen the kid anywhere today. 

 @TheInsanelyCool_JK [8:45am] very lame of u to chicken out on the /first day/ 

@TheInsanelyCool_JK [9:58am] ….okay wait are you seriously not showing up evan wtf 

   He doubted that that was the weird thing. Or, at least, the only weird thing. The weird thing that was off-putting. Evan not being around or talking to him was, unfortunately, not something super out of the ordinary. 

  Anyway. 

  Sitting alone at lunch would’ve undoubtedly made him feel even worse (unconsciously, whether or not he wanted to admit it, he had been planning on sitting with Evan), which is how Jared found himself walking to the computer lab. If you could believe it, his AP calc teacher was the type to assign homework on the first day, due by Thursday, so he figured he might as well get a start on it since he wasn’t doing anything else, right?

  The first sign that he should’ve turned right back around and walked his happy ass out of there was the printer choosing the moment he walked in to whirr to life, scaring the absolute shit out of him. 

  “Jesus,” he hissed, jerking back a little, watching the little lights on the printer start blinking. It made a bunch of clicking noises, as printers do, before spitting out a single sheet of paper and then shutting off again. 

  Jared blinked, glancing up. 

  ..well. It didn’t look like anyone else was here. 

  Maybe it was someone from, like, a nearby classroom that connected to the wrong printer? 

  He couldn’t tell you why he felt the need to pick up the paper to see what it was. 

  Cue the second sign that he shouldn’t be in here.

  …

  dear connor murphy,

stop killing yourself stopstop stop that’s why i can’t get OUT of here, it keeps repeating and i ca nt get it to stop and its your fault it has to be what else could it fucking be???

just don’t!! and stay away from me!!! 

i dont know what else to try anymore i thin/k this might be pointless 

writing the letter doesn’t help and not writing the letter doesnt help i dont know how tto help you you wont LISTEn when i try to explain it t o you or talk you down i just want you out of my life and i want out of THIS for fucks saake 

i dont know why you’d think this but if you’re connor’s parents he didn’t write this letter, ple ase leave me alone please stay away from me 

sincerely,  me

... 

Oookay. Alright. Awesome. That’s not fucking terrifying or ominous at all. 

  Someone making fun of Connor Murphy wasn’t anything new at all, but.. this was on a whole other fucking level, right? What the fuck was going on? 

  “..Jared?!” 

  Cue his second almost heart attack. 

  Jared flinched back, eyes immediately snapping up to the source of the voice. It had sounded familiar the moment he registered someone else was speaking to him, and sure enough, upon looking up, it was, in fact, Evan. 

  “Jesus fucking Christ, dude, you can’t sneak up on people like that,” Jared snapped, the free hand not holding the piece of paper moving to rest over his heart. It’s thudding like fucking crazy in there, if just hearing it in his ears wasn’t telling enough. 

  When Evan doesn’t say anything, Jared takes a moment to actually look at him, look back at the wildly terrified eyes staring back at him, and..

  There’s kind of a lot to take in. 

  Namely, the fact that Evan’s arm is in a cast, and that it looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His typical anxious energy has been replaced with, like, this crazed hysterical panic, because the second-hand feel Jared is getting off of him is, like, scaring him. A lot. 

  There’s dark circles under his eyes. And he’s shaking badly, like Jared had been the one to almost give him heart failure in the middle of the computer lab. 

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jared manages, trying to mask the unease settling over every inch of him. 

  Evan blinks hard, eyes flickering from Jared, and then to the paper in Jared’s hand. 

  “I.. did you get that from..?” Evan completely ignores the question, twitchy eyes flicking up to the printer and then back to the page. 

  “I..” Jared glances down at the paper, and then warily back up to Evan. “This.. is this yours?” 

  Evan doesn’t respond verbally. He does, however, rip the paper out of Jared’s hands. 

  “What the fuck?!” Jared hisses, the quick action again scaring the shit out of him. He can’t even tell anymore if he’s being unnecessarily jumpy, but he’d like to say that all things considered it’s pretty fucking warranted. “Evan, what the hell is going on? What is that?” 

  “Don’t..” Evan starts to say, taking trembling steps back. He has no reason to look as horrified as Jared feels, panicked eyes looking back and forth between the paper and Jared. “I.. I don’t think this will.. it’ll.. change anything.. He’s not.. you’re..?” 

  He murmurs other shit too, under his breath. Jared can’t hear him. 

  Jared needs to get out of here, literally every nerve in his body is screaming at him to run, but at the same time he knows that he has no reason to be scared of Evan, it’s fucking Evan. 

  Right? 

  “Evan?” Jared tries again, taking a very hesitant step forward. 

  Evan must have decided on something, because his wide eyes suddenly snap back up to Jared and stay there. “Do not tell anyone you saw this,” he says, voice low. 

  “What are you fucking talking about, dude—?!”

  Evan shoves past Jared, the computer lab door slamming shut behind him a few seconds later.

[snow--blanket]

good morning kisses

pairing: isaac/napoleon fandom: ikemen vampire word count: 2405 ***

“God’s breath—”

“I don’t—” Napoleon ‘the terror of France’ Bonaparte started, but cut his sentence short. “How?”

“I don’t…. know. Sodium bicarbonate was supposed to—um, make the…” Isaac struggled to word it in a way Napoleon could understand. When faced with panic and distress, his brain immediately resorted to scientific lingo like a liar did with high pitched intonations. “The black thing float.”

“I was out for an hour—”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

Napoleon walked to the fridge and tapped the sign kissed to it, as if asking for an explanation. It read: NO SCIENCE EXPERIMENTS IN THE KITCHEN.  He tapped the sign, once, twice, three times, all with increasing tempo, until the paper slid off the magnet and fell to the floor, much like Isaac’s heart did. He hated disappointing Napoleon. “What happened to our friends with benefits contract?”

Benefit was a loose term used in between them—namely, Isaac would help him with his calculus homework (trig too, if Napoleon was particularly loathsome that day) and Napoleon would help Isaac to not get bullied by Arthur and Dazai. It worked, but he really should talk to Napoleon about toning down his manly hero voice when he came to his rescue. He felt too much like a damsel in distress then. Isaac did not have a lot of pride, but he did have some of it, and he would like to keep that portion for future use, like when he corrects the barista’s spelling of his name. But he had made more trouble than benefit to Napoleon, and his face flushed as he berated himself. “I’m sorry,” Isaac said in a panic. He would play his trump card, what he called the Coward’s Calling: just beg for forgiveness until Napoleon got irritated and shoved it under the rug. It had a limited use though. If he were to use it now, he couldn’t use it for the next two or so weeks as it had a cooldown period and he needed time to gather his pride again so he could throw it away and grovel for mercy. 

“You already said that.” Drat. Napoleon often let it pass, but he supposed today’s… grievances were too big to let it slide. They both looked at the foaming pot of yesterday’s burnt curry. In Napoleon’s words, Isaac was to clean up his own mess, and he had to clean out the pot with the charred bottom without scratching it silly. You’re a genius, Napoleon told him. Figure it out.

Contrary to his expectations, Napoleon broke out in a laugh. Isaac hated it when people laughed at him—Leo’s was a condescending, older brother laugh, and he hated that. He was not a child. Arthur and Dazai’s were teasing, and he hated that too. They weren’t close friends. Strangely, his flaming cheeks were not caused by anger at Napoleon’s laughter, but rather embarrassment, for he knew that Napoleon always laughed at him like he was an idiot. Isaac truly felt like he should retreat into the cupboards as Harry did. “Are you done laughing yet?” 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just…” Napoleon wiped a tear from his eye. “Y’know, this is why people with theoretical physics degrees still don’t have jobs. You’ve used up so much of your brain thinking about—black holes, or something—”

“The fabric of time and space,” Isaac mumbled.

“—That, yes! Proved my point! You’ve used up so much of your faculties thinking about whatever that is that you don’t know that Arthur probably mixed in citric acid into your baking powder solution to…” Napoleon gestured to the foaming pot, and it looked like a witch’s cauldron. “...cause this. This is a textbook prank, ma cher.”

He might not hate Napoleon, but he sure hated the way that epithet rolled off his tongue. It made his chest feel scratchy, for some reason. “You’ll see,” he said instead. “When this physicist figures out how to make planets habitable, I’ll give you the opportunity to eat gourmet space dust when I leave this place.” Like he said, he didn’t have a lot of pride, but he did have some of it, and he wouldn’t let Napoleon drag the name of science through the mud. Physicists weren’t largely responsible for making a planet habitable, but he hoped Napoleon wouldn’t catch on. Isaac wasn’t very good at this comeback thing. Arthur and Dazai forced him to use his wits for driving them away instead of focusing on lectures. And he couldn’t even do it well!

“Ha! I’d love to taste it.” Ugh, he hated the way Napoleon smiled when he said that, too. The itch on his chest doubled. Now he had to figure out a way to phrase the symptoms to Arthur and let himself play patient for a while. The last time he went to Arthur for a consultation, he couldn’t forget the face he made when he said “it feels like my whole skin is being flipped inside out”. Even a savant doctor can’t figure out what’s wrong with you if you don’t know how to express it.

“Step aside, genius.” Napoleon bumped Isaac out of the way with his hip, looking much like a mother who had her work cut out for her. 

“Don’t come crying when calc comes up in class,” Isaac said bitterly, and then tested the word on his tongue. “...Jock.”

Napoleon chuckled at that, and then shooed Isaac away. He felt embarrassed that he wasn’t able to clean up such a simple mess, but being called a genius—even if it was said mockingly—made his chest inflate in pride. At the very least, he would be of use when it came to academia.

***

It was raining—storming, even. Isaac’s bleary gaze wandered to the glaring neon numbers on the alarm clock. 5:34 AM. Maybe Vincent would be up at this time. He got up from his bed, rubbed his eyes awake, and walked to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. He vaguely recalled Vincent saying he wanted to paint the sunrise, and knowing the kind of person he was, he was probably staying up until sunrise. Unlike his reputation as a “bad boy”, Theo was the earliest to sleep in, and earliest to wake. He could use more hours, but he liked to spend the early mornings to make pancakes for Vincent, especially if he was feeling anxious the night prior. 

As Isaac passed Napoleon’s door, he stopped, clasping his hands together in a prayer. May whoever who wakes him up be blessed with questions with graphs in their exam. Then he remembered Arthur, and he changed his prayer. May whoever wakes him up gets his face punched. It doesn’t even have to be by Napoleon. Anyone will do. After that, he wished some more, hoping that he was his British counterpart, and that all his coffee was third-grade and cold. When he finished praying, he headed to the communal kitchen, where he found Arthur fiddling with an empty tin of coffee. They were fresh out, it seemed. Isaac held the physical and psychological urge to fist pump the air. “Finished?” he asked, even though he knew they were, indeed, no more. God was by his side.

Arthur rattled the coffee tin, offended. The smart, clever, golden-tongued part-time mystery author and full-time medicine major was reduced to a witless man when he was caffeine deprived. It felt like the sun had died to let the moon breathe a little, except the sun was Arthur’s dreadful tongue, and Isaac wished it was eternal night. There was something that bothered him, though. “Working on a new manuscript?”

“Not today, though, shame.”

Isaac hummed, moving past Arthur to reach for the powdered chocolate malt stashed in the cabinet. “I actually read some of your novels, you know. They’re not bad.”

Arthur cocked a brow at this, leaning on one side of his body as if he was a seesaw. “Oh?”

Isaac did not have a lot of pride, but he wouldn’t lie. “Yeah. I can see why you’d want to be a doctor.” Hm. Vincent wants it with milk, if I remember correctly...

“Pray tell,” There was a Cheshire grin playing on his lips, and try as he might, he couldn’t truly wish for Napoleon to kiss those lips of him to shut him up. The thought made him feel itchy again. 

“The line of reasoning you use to explain things for your mystery novels,” he started, putting in three spoonfuls of the chocolatey goodness into the mug. Vincent’s had some dabs of yellow and blue paint on them, so it was hard to mix them up. “They’re a bit similar in how you would diagnose a patient. You take a glance at them, try to infer their history and habits, and then you would investigate further for a diagnosis. I think it’s quite…” Isaac hesitated—not because Arthur was undeserving, but it was the first time he recalled ever talking to him in this manner. “...Brilliant. You are, that is,” Isaac finished, pouring some hot water into Vincent’s mug as he stirred it. Saucer, saucer...

Was it the trick of the light? As Isaac reached for the saucers behind Arthur, he swore it  looked as if he was blushing, the light dusting of embers on his cheeks as if the light above them both were a fire. Isaac took a sip of his own mug of chocolate, peering at Arthur all the while. He breathed in, steeled himself. “As I am a scientist, allow me to hypothesize, instead of deduct.”

His flustered British counterpart seemed all too accepting of the offer. Strange. It wasn’t normal for Isaac to be the one in this position. Isaac stifled a sigh. How he wished the night would last indeed… “You usually stay up late writing for your books, but I haven’t heard you write anything for the past week when I walked by your room.”

When Arthur was silent, Isaac continued. “You only use about two spoonfuls of coffee beans when you make coffee, but even factoring the fact that Theodorus and Mozart drink coffee, the amount seems to be decreasing exponentially, instead of it’s usual rate.”

Isaac eyed the ticking clock on the wall. 5:40 AM. It was nearly sunrise, and he was sure Vincent was painting without a care in the world. “Thirdly, your clothes smell like paint sometimes.” This final proof put the fire in Arthur’s face again. Isaac offered his hand that held Vincent’s mug and saucer. “It’s almost sunrise. Go bring this to him.” 

Arthur took the mug and saucer with a dumbfounded look, and Isaac savored that look for a while, knowing it was as rare as a blue moon. Feeling awkward, Isaac took his mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. He stopped at the entrance of the kitchen and glanced at the witless, silent mystery writer. Take that. Maybe he was good at this comeback thing after all. “Well… just pretend you didn’t see me, I guess.” He wasn’t good at lying, so feigning ignorance was the best he could do. 

When he turned, Arthur’s voice stopped him. “I have a deduction.”

Isaac turned his heel, looking at Arthur, and took a sip of his hot chocolate. It had gotten slightly cold. “Yeah?”

“You’re in love with Napoleon.”

“Wha—” He choked, searching for the right words. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He didn’t even allow him the slightest shred of decency or subtlety! After he was so gracious in merely insinuating his crush towards Vincent! “You—”

Arthur grinned his cocksure smile, and Isaac truly wished Theodorus was here to punch him in the face. This blathering, insensitive, witless, shameless, atrocious man! “Your face tells it all. You should never become a detective.”

“I don’t—” Isaac said, and then sighed when Arthur kept a level stare, his blue eyes like discerning glass looking through him. Isaac put down the mug of hot chocolate on the counter and then sank his face into his hands in embarrassment, bracing himself for the teasing laugh from Arthur. He hated that. “Was it that obvious?”

As if to apologise for his sudden declaration (which may or may not be truth), Arthur hummed, taking his time. “Not really. It shows on your face, though.” He put down Vincent’s mug, leaning his elbow on the counter.

He lowered his hands—eyes still averted from Arthur’s gaze, and chuckled bitterly. “What? Do I look like I’m researching him or something?” That was usually the case with whatever held his interest, whether it be astrology, chemical compounds, physics problems that seemed impossible at  first, and then revealed themselves to him, like a magician that made a one second mistake in the sleight of his hand, and Isaac began to understand. He wasn’t that self-aware of his own expressions, only the things he’s said. And he’s positively sure he’s never spoken of Napoleon in an intimate manner, much less romantic.

“No, not at all. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

Isaac scrunched his brows. “The opposite of love is hatred.” 

Arthur laughed, and Isaac just tried to be patient with that. “Not at all, chap. I’m saying—when you’re with him, you don’t try to… dissect him, and whatnot. Your love for him makes you human. There’s no glaze in your eyes when you understand something, no foaming at the mouth when you don’t. You’re just…” Arthur stretched his arms wide. “Here. With us, on the ground.” The mystical way Arthur said it made it sound like the kitchen was the entirety of the world. It might as well could’ve been. Arthur was quiet, and his gaze returned to Vincent’s paint blotched mug. “He makes you feel alive, doesn’t he? Like you’re here.”

Isaac stared into the small waves the water made when he nudged his own mug. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

“Then that’s that,” Arthur said, grabbing Vincent’s mug as he patted Isaac on the shoulder. For once in his life, Isaac didn’t shudder when Arthur winked at him. “Good luck,” he said, and left the kitchen. Probably to Vincent’s room. 

Isaac sighed. Right then. If Arthur could do it, then he could at least try. He brought the cup of hot chocolate with him and knocked at Napoleon’s door, knowing full well that he would be asleep, and that he would try to kiss him again.

His chest itched, but he didn’t bother to question it this time.

[skzsauce01]

3.14

Description: March 14 is both White Day and Pi Day. You're a sucker for puns, so obviously Felix has to make you a pie.

Warning: none

Word Count: 2,116

Pairing: fem!reader x Felix

Contrary to what his friends thought, Felix is not a complete idiot. Sure, he might be failing calculus, but he knows your handwriting like he knows the Pythagorean Theorem.

He knows it very well.

The note attached to the box of chocolates is not signed, but the sharp curves of your characters are a dead giveaway. He can't lie; seeing the store-bought box makes his heart sink. He hoped you had some semblance of romantic feelings for him, but he never saw an inkling. However, when he pulls off the white ribbon, he is ecstatic to see that his previous assumptions were wrong: the heart-shaped chocolate inside is hand decorated with lines of icing and carefully dotted with pink sprinkles, which means you are actually into him. He is smiling so much. He yells down the hallway filled with tired teenagers who couldn't care less about how he has a Valentine.

“My crush likes me back!” he shouts, earning him a few grossed-out looks.

He leaves the chocolate in his locker, but he tucks the note-- Happy Valentine's Day, Felix <3-- into his calculus textbook and thinks of less than 3's all the way to class.

However, last month's delight is now this month's dilemma. He almost forgets about White Day until Chan asks him what he is going to give you in return. His nervous laugh gets a sympathetic look and a well-intended but not helpful suggestion to buy an expensive box of chocolate. The two main problems with Chan's idea is that Felix has limited funds and anything store-bought just doesn’t show off what a great boyfriend he can potentially be.

Never mind that he doesn't even know when White Day is exactly.

Google tells him that it's on March 14. Felix has been stuck doing math for multiple hours per day, so his first thought is That's Pi Day.

Then it hits him.

He'll make you a pie. A pie so beautiful and delicious that it will make the relationship official. Instagram official.

He's jittery during the entire day. He has only a couple days to make sure his plan goes smoothly. The pie has to be perfect.

After school, Felix takes the bus to the grocery store and searches up apple pie recipes on the way there. His eyes grow wide as soon as he realizes how much work he has to do. To motivate himself, he opens the front cover of his calculus textbook and rereads your handwritten note from last month. This will all be worth it, he tells himself.

When he arrives at the grocery store, he heads straight to the produce section. Each recipe recommended different kinds of apples, so screw it; you are going to get an everything apple pie. Like an everything bagel, but apple pie.

Back at home, he has Chan in a Discord call with him as he dices up apples and cuts strips of pie dough. Chan's not doing much, just reading aloud pie making tips that Felix has seen over thirty times while looking up recipes. Felix tunes him out at what has to be the fifth mention of squeezing lemon juice on top of the chopped apples to prevent browning.

"I know already. I know what I'm doing," Felix says. "Why are you so worried anyway?"

Chan's voice is shrill and tinny as he practically screeches out, "Because you've never made a pie before, and you only have until tomorrow to get it done!"

"High risk, high reward?"

"That's not how it works!" There's a sigh from Chan's end. "Why did you choose pie? Chocolate would have been fine, too."

He considered just melting down and molding chocolate for your White Day gift. However, the homemade chocolate you gave him on Valentine's Day was so elegant and elaborate, a normal gift wouldn't suffice.

White Day also happens to be on Pi Day, and Felix knows how much you love a good math pun and a good apple pie. Hence why he is spending the night before White Day baking.

He tosses the diced fruit with the apple pie spice he picked up at the grocery store.The apple-and-spice mixture goes into the store-bought pie crust soon after, and then Felix searches up how to make a lattice.

Actually, why doesn't he put Chan to work?

"Chan, how do I make a lattice?" he asks, using the same tone he would when talking to Siri.

Chan grumbles, protesting that he's not his personal AI assistant, but Felix can hear him typing away. While Chan reads off a list of instructions and sends him video links, Felix wipes his flour-dusted fingers on his no-longer-white apron and checks his phone for messages from you. There's nothing new; the latest message in the chat between the two of you is still a picture of question 19 of his calc book with a big question mark drawn on. He sees that you haven't even seen the message yet, so you must be busy.

Felix picks up the strips of dough and follows Chan's instructions. It's easier than he expected, but the design still looks off.

Oh well. It's not too late to start over without ruining the entire design.

"Did it turn out okay?" Chan asks, breaking Felix out of his thoughts.

"It's… not bad," is the best answer he can give. He takes a picture and sends it to his friend.

Chan laughs at the crooked placements and the less-than-stellar job Felix has done at cutting the strips. "I can tell it's a lattice at least. Is it baking yet?"

"You're more anxious than I am," he remarks as he sticks the pie into the preheated oven.

"Well, someone has to be! It's your first White Day together! It has to go well."

"Which is why I'm making an apple pie for her!" Felix shouts. He realizes how loud it was and apologizes. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It's fine. I was being annoying, wasn't I?"

He says, "Yes," with no hesitation, and Chan laughs.

"She's your first girlfriend, and you're pretty much my little brother. I have good reason to be stressed out for you," he explains. Felix hears him typing again, and he has a feeling he's about to receive more unsolicited advice. "Anyway, did you put an egg wash on it? All these recipes are saying something about an egg wash."

"Chan."

"Right," he sighs. "I'll stop."

They switch topics to something not pie related. Felix complains about not understanding calculus, while Chan groans about how long his statistics problems take him. After a heated debate on whether calculus or statistics is harder, Felix phone buzzes with a message from you.

When he checks it, he sees a picture of your notes with a bright red circle drawn around a section labeled, "Partial Sum Decomp. When the Denominator's Power is Greater than 2."

His phone buzzes again, and a new message from you reads, "I gotchu babe."

He is so grateful that you pay attention in class. He sends back a heart emoji as Chan calls out, "You still there?"

"Sorry. Y/N texted me," he says as he reads another message from you.

Y/N <3: Wanna do homework together?

Me: Sure

Felix puts his phone on the counter and tells Chan the news. "I'm going to do homework with Y/N now. See you tomorrow?"

He can hear Chan smiling. "Have fun. Don't spoil the surprise."

"Stop projecting your worries onto me."

Before Chan can defend himself, Felix ends the call and starts a new one with you. He quickly gets a chat message that just reads, "Don't call me out like this >:(."

You answer the Discord call. "Hey."

Your voice is clear and sweet, a stark contrast to Chan's anxious ramblings. Felix smiles. The lilting in your voice is soothing, and he can tell you just woke up from a power nap based off of your soft tone.

"Hi," he says back. "Sleep well?"

There's a brief pause as you wake your brain up to formulate an answer. You reply, "I slept for three hours straight, but I also dreamt that I got a 47 on yesterday’s test."

He laughs because your dream is going to be his reality. "You'll be alright. You know what's going on."

"But the last question!" The sleepiness is replaced by fiery passion, and he hears the unmistakable sound of you slamming a palm against a table.

He lets you vent again and checks the pie in the oven. He thinks it's turning out well? The apples are bubbling a bit, and the crust looks more brown. He's never made one before; how can he tell? There's only a few more minutes left to bake it for.

With you still talking and oblivious to the world, he rushes to his room and grabs his textbook with his homework tucked inside. Just as he's back at the counter, you finish ranting.

"... I checked three times! Seungmin said he got something completely different! I think I got it wrong," you say.

"You'll be alright," he repeats. He knows he sounds like he doesn't care, but you truly will be alright. The last quiz you got a 92 with only half an hour of studying. He's also very worried about the pie because it is bubbling over now. "You studied for five hours."

"Seungmin has the highest grade!" Before he can retort that Seungmin isn't that smart, you let out a frustrated sigh. "Never mind that. Let's just do homework. I finished up to 25."

"Uh, okay." The apple pie won't stop bubbling, and he grabs a pair of oven mitts. He cracks open the oven door, and a blast of steam hits his face. "I'll catch up, and you can…" He trails off, trying to come up with an idea while taking out the pie. At the very least, it smells good.

"I can give you all the answers?" you joke.

"That will be great," Felix replies. He sets the pie down on the counter with a heavy thud. He then starts furiously typing into Google, "bubbling pie."

"What happened?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. "Did something happen?"

He's scanning blocks of text, so he carelessly answers, "I don't know if I messed up your pie or not since it's spilling over."

"My pie?"

His mouth drops open after realizing what came out of it. He now has two options: admit defeat and tell you the truth or lie to you and potentially make things worse.

He decides to go with the former. He presses a small section of the lattice with his index finger and watches it sink into the filling. Goodbye, hard work. He managed to screw up just like Chan predicted with a single sentence. He doesn't want to lie to you about something as silly as this. You know when he's lying anyway.

"It was supposed to be a secret," he quietly says. "It was your White Day present."

There's a moment of silence and then a burst of laughter from you. "Felix, you made me a pie? But you never baked before!" There's a softer laugh, and you sigh, "That's so sweet of you. Thank you."

His face feels as hot as the oven. The lattice section starts breaking off. "I wanted to do something special. And I know you like your puns."

"Pun?"

So, you forgot. With a grin, he says, "It's Pi Day tomorrow, too."

"Felix Lee, you're an amazing boyfriend," you declare. "I will gladly accept your pie."

He quickly yanks his finger out. "Really? Chan said it looked kind of bad though."

"You made it! Of course I'm going to take it. Felix, I will take whatever you make, no matter how horrible it looks."

He is so proud. And a little offended that you actually think his baking is hideous. He snaps a picture of the finished pie, which has cooled down a bit and stopped bubbling like a witch cauldron, and sends it to you.

He hears the notification sound from your end of the call and your nails clicking against the screen of your phone not long after. After a few seconds of waiting for the picture to load, he hears you laugh.

He loves your laugh so much, but maybe not in this scenario.

"Oh my goodness. Chan was not kidding when he said it looked bad!"

"It's not that bad!" he protests. "You said you would take it no matter what!"

The laughter dies down, but there's still a playfulness to your words. "I know, I know. You're the best, babe."

"Mmmnh. Anyway, question 19?” he asks cheekily.

~ ad.gray

[its-pronounced-quoassoint]

Power Rangers AU

A Sanders Sides fanfiction.

Relationships: romantic Logicality, Demus, Prinxiety, Remile

Warnings: swearing(mainly Remus and Virgil), poorly written fight scenes/minor violence, stupid pining, kissing/making-out/PDA(no smut cause I can’t write that. . . sorry), sympathetic Deceit and Remus, food mentions, more warnings/warning details will be at the tops of chapters

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post).

This fic has been under review for a long time and I hope you all like it. More chapters to follow!

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Chapter 1-Red and Green

Roman wasn't the biggest fan of fifth hour. Sure, school would be out soon and he wouldn't have to deal with the disgrace of a teacher his peers had nicknamed 'Ms. Demon', but that simply wasn't good enough. An hour in her class felt like months to Roman and his B- reflected that perfectly. Roman felt the world grind to a halt and begin a sluggish jog the second that fifth hour bell rang and there was no way of getting out of it. The only upsides to the class were his passing grade and the ability to listen to music without his teacher realizing. Most of the time Roman found himself discretely nodding his head to a spotify broadway playlist and doodling aimlessly, wishing to whoever could read his thoughts, that something interesting would happen.

On this particularly sunny day, his prayers would receive an answer. 

'Ms. Demon' was twenty minutes into her monotone explination of another pre-calc unit, when the alarm system went off. Roman along with thirty other sleep-deprived teenagers jumped and looked around panicked. If he remembered correctly, this alarm meant they were under attack yet again.

Fricking Dragon Witch always interrupting me while I’m listening to The Prom, Roman thought, begrudgingly taking out his earbuds.

The P.A. system crackled to life and everyone turned to face the speakers. 

"Students, remain calm, this is not a drill, we are under attack." The voice of the vice-principal stated, clearly shaken. "Your instructions are as follows, leave your belongings where you are and stay in your classrooms. I repeat, stay calm and stay in you-"

The power cut off. People began quietly standing up and searching for their phones. A few students even began a hesitant walk to the door. Roman felt his heart beat and breathing quicken as a girl in his class opened the door and examined the hall, no other students had dared to walk the hallways. It was eerily quiet in the school as the hairs on Roman's arms and neck stood up. Suddenly a scream down the hall echoed to everyone's horror, followed by the collapsing of a wall and thunderous yells of fear and anguish. A wave of students began racing down the hall. Screaming and crying filled Roman's ears. Roman jumped up, he shoved his phone and ear buds in his pocket and hopped over desks to get out of the door. He looked down the hall to see a part of the building completely in rubble and more students running for cover. He began following the crowd, helping fallen students and frantically searching for his brother. 

Remus has world economics this hour I think. Run, run, turn left, run, on your right. Find Remus, find Remus. Roman began chanting instructions to himself. He reached Remus' classroom and looked inside to find it empty. Hoping that his twin had run for cover with the others, Roman ran to leave the school. He continued calling Remus's name and ran himself winded, letting the crowd pull him along. Remus was nowhere to be found. Roman’s twin was strangely tall and wore obnoxious clothing, so he should be easy to spot, but as hard as Roman tried, he couldn’t see him. 

Roman stopped where he was, a mistake as he soon learned after getting run into by several other students. He knew his brother would have grabbed his phone, so Roman pulled up Snapchat and checked the map to see if Remus was there. He found the icon and saw that Remus was quickly leaving the McDonald's across the street. 

"Remus I swear." Roman grumbled and continued his run. 

He made it out of the school and was immediately bombarded by the sound of the fight behind him. Roman wasted no time racing to find Remus. 

"Remus! Remus! Where are you?! For godsake Remus! I will-"

"ROMAN!!!" Remus' screeching was heard above the crowd and Roman ran to him. 

"You were at McDonald's!?!?!" Roman scolded once he had reached Remus. 

"I was skipping alright! You try sitting in that class for an hour everyday!" Remus retaliated. 

"I do sit in that class for an hour everyday Remus!" Roman yelled back. Remus looked like he was going to give a snarky retort, but suddenly he grabbed Roman's shirt and pulled the both of them to the right. Roman stumbled around and looked to where he had previously been standing, to see that Remus had pulled him away from falling debris just in time. He shook off Remus's hand and the two began sprinting for cover behind the nearest building.  

The twins leaned against it, catching their breaths. Roman ran his hands along his face, wiping off sweat and dust. He decided to sneak a look at the battle from where he was and peeked around the brick building. There the Black Ranger was wielding his axe and attacking the Dragon Witches's minions. He sliced through several of them and proceeded to dash through another horde of them, cutting each one down. Roman watched, mesmerized, barely noticing Remus move beside him to watch the battle unfold. The aliens appeared to have stopped arriving and the Black Ranger made quick work of the remaining ones. The battle looked almost won. 

Then Roman saw it. A hurling ball of purple fire rappidly falling from the sky. The Black Ranger didn't seem to have noticed it and Roman began to fear he wouldn't have time as it continued its descent. Suddenly he felt his body get the best of him and Roman jumped out from his hiding place. 

"BLACK RANGER, ABOVE YOU!!!!" Roman shouted. 

"What the hell are you-" Remus tried to pull him back, but looked over to see the Black Ranger narrowly dodge out of the way of the purple fire. 

More fire began raining from the sky directed at the Black Ranger who managed to dodge it the best he could. 

"Can you just stop moving!" A voice suddenly yelled out.  

A humanoid figure dropped from the sky and looked at the Black Ranger, more annoyed than angry, certainly a change from the typical attacker. The villain’s black and purple armor spiked up and circled their body. Six purple eyes glowed bright under the shadow cast by their hair and pointed crown. Considering the other cartoonish monsters the Black Ranger has fought, this one was pretty minimalistic.

"Sorry, but I don't exactly plan on dying any time soon." The Black Ranger stated. "You on the other hand-"

"Yes, yes, justice will be served, peace will be restored, blah blah, trust me buddy, no one wants me dead more than I do m’kay." The villain crossed their arms and shook their head. "But look, my mom is pissed and if I die she's just gonna bring me back and have me fight you all over again. So do us both a favor and let me capture you." 

"Not a chance!" 

"Ugh." The villain threw their head back and whined. "Why can't this ever be easy."

"Being evil will never be easy as long as heroes are around to stop you!" 

"I. Get. It." The villain puncutated each word with a clap. “Look, just turn yourself in and let's get this over with."

"I'll never surrender to you!" 

"Great." The villain groaned again before disappearing and reappearing behind the Black Ranger. 

The Ranger turned around and blocked the purple fire that was blasted at him. He continued dodging each fireball thrown. The fight continued as the villain lobbed purple fire and the Black Ranger battled on the defensive, clearly trying to minimize futher damage. Then, an opening appeared and the Ranger charged, shoving his axe at the villain who dodged and blasted him with fire on the back. The Ranger fell to the ground in pain and accidentally dropped the axe as he rolled. He began crawling to his weapon as the villain approached. 

“Remus! We gotta help!” Roman whisper-yelled at his brother.

“Why?!” Remus exclaimed. 

“C’mon just grab something!” Roman told him. 

Remus and Roman quietly snuck out of their hiding place and each grabbed the closest heavy object. Roman found a street sign that had been uprooted while Remus grabbed the nearest trash can. The two snuck closer to the villain and Ranger as fast as they could. 

"I'm not gonna do any of that 'any last words?' stuff.” They said, looming over the Black Ranger, fire swirling around their hand as it pointed at his chest. “We both know I'm not gonna kill you so-"

That was when Remus full-force chucked the trash can at the back of the Villain. They stumbled and flailed a little before regaining composure and turning to face the brothers.

"Ow, what the-dude!" They rubbed the back of their neck. 

Roman chose that moment to swing the sign at the at the villain who teleported away.

"You have no clue what your doing now, do ya?" The villain asked from behind the two condescendingly. 

"Wha-"

Suddenly, the Black Ranger's axe was thrown into the villain's side. They winced and looked down at the wound. Roman saw as purple blood began seeping out of their newest gash.

"Dammit." The villain said flatly before disappearing, the axe dropping to the ground.

Roman and Remus looked around for them fervently.

"Don't worry, he's not coming back." The Ranger told them, in clear pain. 

"He isn't?" Roman asked. 

"No, but he'll be sending more minions to attack us. You two need to run." The Ranger told them. 

"No way! You're hurt!" Roman protested. 

"How did you get hurt anyway, doesn't that suit make you basically indistrucable?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"To some weaker attacks yes, but a full strength blast from Prince Virgilius is gonna hurt bad." The Ranger winced. 

"I didn't understand anyting you just told me." Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"That's because you have an I.Q. of negative twenty." Roman sneered.

"Says the one who almost failed seventh grade social studies." Remus retorted.  

"Geography is a hack and you know it!" Roman huffed.

Remus looked ready to say something in return, but was cut-off when hordes of minions began spilling into the Earth through a breach in dimension. 

"Like I said, minions." The Black Ranger sighed. "Run."

Roman raced beside the Ranger and put his left arm over Roman's shoulders. He began helping the Ranger along and the three began trying to get away from the swarms of minions, but were caught up to quickly.

"Roman, you need to leave me so I can fend them off. You and Remus have to run." The Black Ranger told them.

"No, you need help Sir, we can't let you-" Roman started.

"How does he know my name?" Remus asked no one in perticular.

"-protect us when you’re injured and I know you’re the Black Ranger, but you can’t fight all of them off alone!” Roman finished.

“Please listen!” The Ranger interrupted the both of them. “We don’t have much time before we’re completely surrounded, so you two better start running!”

“We are not leaving you!”

“You don’t decide who I can and cannot leave behind Roman!” Remus screeched.

“Will you shut up!” Roman stopped him. “I’m sorry, but like I said, Power Ranger or not, you shouldn’t be fighting alone like this. So, Remus, grab the nearest stabby-thing and let’s help him defend Earth from aliens.”

It was quiet for a bit. The Ranger didn’t seem to want to argue any longer and was more focused on the massive amount of aliens running toward the three. Remus laced his fingers together in front of his face like he was praying and looked at Roman.

“Ro Ro-“

“Please don’t call me that.”

“You had me at ‘stabby-thing’.” Remus sighed before turning away and beginning his search for said 'stabby-thing'.

Roman did the same, quickly scrambling over to pick up the sign he had used earlier. Roman stood next to the Ranger and smiled at him. Preparing himself for the battle before him. Then the minions were on them.

One after another the monsters attacked Roman and the Ranger. Roman slapping one with the sign and forcefully jabbed at the others. He swung the sign around and tried to knock out as many as possible. He wasn’t as effective as the Ranger, who though he was hurt, had an actual weapon that could hurt the minions. 

Roman realized his brother was no longer in his line of sight and accidentally let his guard down. Remus, stop going where I can’t see you- Roman’s thoughts were interrupted as one of the aliens grabbed him and held him down. Roman struggled against the grip and tried to pull himself free, but to no avail. 

Then, something happened. Roman wished he had been able to fully see what was actually going on, but all he really understood was; a red glowing object had come from nowhere and wrapped itself around Roman’s right wrist. 

“Roman!” The Black Ranger called from a ways away. “Listen to me!”

“Okay!” Roman yelled back, trying to get a better look at what had just attached itself to his wrist, but the minion just tightened its grip.

“I need you to say, ‘Red Ranger, activate!’." The Black Ranger told him, trying to keep his voice steady as he fended off the monsters.

"What!?!" Roman squeaked.

"Say it! Trust me!!" The Ranger called.

"Red Ranger!! Activate!!!" Roman yelled. 

Then his world dissolved. Everything was gone, no monsters, no Ranger, no Remus, nothing. Just a blank area. Roman looked around, it was silent except for his own shuffling as Roman stood up. Roman looked toward his hand, finding a red bracelet that had wrapped around his right wrist, seeping red light. The light spread, covering Roman's body. It began to solidify into armor. Roman closed his eyes to protect himself from the brightness, only to open them and find his head in a helmet. He stared at his body, now covered in a suit similar to that of the Black Ranger. In front of him a red glowing blob began taking form. Roman stared, bewildered, as the red light formed a sword, the blade jagged and intricately designed, the hilt pointed toward Roman, as if imploring him to take hold of it. Roman complied, gripping the sword tight, and closing his eyes once again as he was fully enveloped in red light. 

Roman opened his eyes and found himself standing in a small clearing of monsters. The minions staring at him an awe. Roman felt a grin stretch across his face as he brought the sword back a little and thrust it forward into one of the monsters. It collapsed into dust and Roman continued. The monsters fell out of their daze and Roman made his way to the Black Ranger helping him cut each of the aliens down. 

---

A long ways away, Remus was running like a mad man trying to escape the aliens who had followed him. He cursed them and their bloodline, soon finding his breath shortnening. He cursed his dramatic brother one last time before collapsing on the ground. He took in several deep breaths and tried to get up, only to have his vision turn blurry and his head spin. The boy fell back down again, waiting for the aliens to come and eat him alive. However, before he could meet his demise, Remus felt a sharp pressure apply itself to his left wrist. A cool metal object had encircled around him and Remus could feel it pulse a little. He tried to look at it but was once again met with a dizzy, sickening feeling. 

Then, his world was white. 

---

Roman saw from the other side of the block as a green flash exploded from the ground. Before he could ask the Black Ranger what that was about, he was attacked by another swarm of aliens. Which he made quick work of. The ground became littered in dust and it looked like the aliens were losing their high numbered advantage.

“Roman!” Remus’ voice cut across the courtyard.

“What?!” Roman shouted back snappily.

Roman turned to his brother’s voice and saw a suit much like his own and the Black Ranger’s, but green. Remus barreled toward the two swinging a spiky mace in his hands. He turned several of the minions to nothing and met Roman and the Black Ranger in the middle of it all.

--

Soon, each alien had been destroyed and the three stood among dust. 

“This is amazing.” Remus breathed swiftly. He swung the mace around playfully.

“This is insane.” Roman nodded aggressively. Catching his breath forthe first time in a while. “Are-are we Rangers now?”

“Welcome to the team.” The Black Ranger laughed weakly. He grabbed his side yet again and looked at the twins. “You two need to come with me.” 

[artificialqueens]

The mistakes we're going to make (Jan/Jackie) - Meggie

A/N: Hey all! I had the pleasure of writing this little gem for Molly for our gc’s gift exchange. I really enjoy writing this dynamic, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you to Mac, Mia, and Alex for prereading for me. Y'all are the real MVPs.

Summary: when i look at you, all i can see are the mistakes we’re going to make (the future’s so bright)

They’re graduating high school tomorrow night, but all Jan can think about is her calculus final and whether or not she can scrape by with an A.

She’s done the calculations approximately 47 times (and had Jackie check them over nine more because Jan’s shit at math now apparently), and she knows she has to make an 82 on the final to pull an A in the class. And that will get her an 89.5 which rounds to an A. She’d rather not cut it that close, thank you very much.

To anyone else, a B would not be the end of the world, but it would be Jan’s only B. Ever. To get out of high school with a perfect GPA, an unblemished transcript, a perfect record… That’s been her goal ever since she graced the hallways of R.P. Charles High School three years ago.

So after finishing Ms. West’s history final, she pulls out her calc book and dutifully studies her notes. They’re meticulous, her rounded penmanship in stark black ink. She purses her lips and wonders if she has enough time to redo them in colored ink according to her color-coding system.

Behind her, Brita mutters to herself and furiously erases a sentence in her essay. Written responses have always been her downfall. To Jan’s right, Gigi takes a mirror out of her purse and retouches her lipstick.

“Why are you studying?” Gigi whispers. “You literally just finished a test, and it’s a half day. We’re done after this.”

“Yeah, but my calc test is tomorrow, and Ms. Hytes is not as lenient a grader as Ms. West.” Jan sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

Gigi pulls a face. “God, why’d you even take calc? You didn’t need the credit.” Gigi had taken personal health instead of a math class. She said their final was about sexually transmitted infections, which apparently is the new name for sexually transmitted diseases.

Jan shrugs. “I wanted to be—”

“—valedictorian, yeah, I know,” Gigi finishes. “Well, anyway. That didn’t work out the way you planned, did it?”

At the front of the room, Ms. West clears her throat and widens her eyes at the girls. Gigi sits back in her desk and primly folds her hands. Jan is free to once again study her notes, but Gigi’s last words still sting.

She had only taken calculus because it was an AP class, guaranteed to get her extra GPA points she would need to wrap up the valedictory. What she hadn’t counted on was being terrible at calculus.

Sure, geometry hadn’t been a walk in the park, but trig had been a piece of cake. So she figured that with a little bit of extra studying, she could carve out an A and stake her claim on the title of valedictorian, something she’d wanted ever since she had learned what the valedictorian was. (Kindergarten. When her parents had taken her to see her cousin graduate. And the pretty girl at the front had gotten up to make a speech in front of all her classmates, and everyone had to pay attention to her for a whole ten minutes while she talked about things that were important to her. Jan wanted that.)

But in March after third quarter grades were calculated and the honors had been announced, she’d ended up salutatorian, literally two hundredths of a point behind Jackie Cox. It had been a two-man race between her and Jackie all throughout high school, but the difference had been that damn calculus class. Jackie had an A; Jan had a B.

Jan’s parents had doted on her just the same as they would have if she’d been valedictorian, taking her to dinner at her favorite restaurant, celebrating with cake and sparkling grape juice out of the champagne flutes usually reserved for New Year’s Eve, but Jan couldn’t help but sense a little tinge of disappointment behind their smiles. Close, but no cigar. She’d still give a speech, but it would be shorter, and no one really cared what the salutatorian had to say. She’d worked so hard for four years to achieve the top honor and now she had to stand back and watch someone else deliver her valedictory.

Even if that someone was her very close friend.

There’s a certain closeness that develops between students when you take all the same classes for four years, and Jackie Cox had been in all of Jan’s classes since freshman year. By design, their schedules had ended up being very similar. It helped that they were into the same extracurricular activities as well. They were both athletic, both involved in student government and the debate team. They even both participated in the spring musicals: Jan onstage in a lead role, Jackie backstage as part of the tech crew.

But as their friendship grew so did their rivalry, at least on Jan’s part. She’d always seen Jackie as a reminder that she had to work harder to be her best. With Jackie, everything always seemed so effortless. Her poise, her perfection, even the way she spoke and carried herself. Jan felt like she herself was constantly obsessing over everything she thought and said. When she looked at Jackie, she felt like the other girl just had a natural ease about her.

She’d tried for years to be more like Jackie. But the feeling grew especially deep after they’d received their first calculus quizzes in October and Jan’s was emblazoned with a fat, red D. Jackie’s, on the other hand, sported an A.

Ms. Hytes had asked Jan to stay behind after class so she could encourage her to either drop the class or consider hiring a tutor.

Failure was absolutely out of the question. So Jan asked for help. She asked Jackie for help.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jackie, she wouldn’t be pulling a B in calculus. Not at all. In fact, she probably would have failed out at semester.

So now that there’s this final that she has to prepare for, there’s only one person she trusts to help her study for it.

Jan catches Jackie in the hallway (their lockers are nowhere close because that’s the way life—and the alphabet—works, but Jan is good at getting what she wants), and asks her if she feels ready for the final tomorrow.

Jackie sighs, the exhalation blowing the dark curtain of hair off her forehead. “I mean, I think. I might look over my notes again tonight. You feel good about it?”

Jan laughs, high-pitched, a tell-tale sign of her anxiety. She hates that she wears her emotions like an oversized sweater. “No, actually. That’s kind of why I’m here.”

So anyway, that’s how they end up on Jan’s bedroom floor, calculus books open in their laps, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and glasses of Dr Pepper set aside because Jackie is a Professional when it comes to this whole studying thing.

(That’s probably why she’s the valedictorian and you’re not, a hateful, nasty voice whispers in the back of Jan’s head. Because she’s dedicated to studying and you’re worried about whether or not she likes your cookies.)

She won’t think about the fact that for the past six months, she’s also been concerned about whether or not Jackie likes her.

It’s not exactly something she’s prepared to deal with.

Jan’s dated before, of course, but they’ve always been boys. And now, all of a sudden and by some act of whatever god exists, she finds herself having a massive crush on Jackie.

So she’s bisexual. It’s fine. She’s had years to deal with this, and she’s always kind of wondered.

Honestly, she’s chalking it up to academic jealousy.

Jan just wants to be like her, that’s all. It has nothing to do with the way her long, dark hair cascades in waves down her back, or the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs, or the way Jackie had caught her backstage right before opening night of Carousel and grasped her hands and told her to break a leg and knock them dead and basically be the best Carrie anyone had ever seen before kissing her cheek.

Except it totally does.

“So to compute the three-by-three you have to multiply A by the two-by-two determinant of the matrix,” Jackie says, marking something in her notebook. “Now, how do I get that?”

“Huh?” Jan asks stupidly, brought back from her reverie by the question. “God, I’m sorry. I’m just…” She scrubs her hands down her face then immediately regrets it because her eyeliner is now definitely smeared. “I’m out of it.”

Jackie nods and presses her lips together. She breathes in quickly like she’s going to say something, but changes her mind at the last minute. She taps her pencil on her notebook.

“Sorry I’m wasting your time,” Jan says sheepishly. “You can go if you want…”

“No!” Jackie says quickly. “No, it’s not that. I just… I’m just wondering…” She sighs. “Things have been kind of weird between us ever since spring break… Since the honors were announced, and I just…” She shrugs. “I guess I just want to know if you like, hate me for being valedictorian over you.”

Jan gasps. “I could never hate you.” She hadn’t known that her disappointment was quite so palpable. Then she decides that Jackie deserves to know the absolute truth. “I was disappointed. My parents expect a lot out of me, and they… They’ve been pushing for this since, like, forever. I just didn’t want to let them down.”

Jackie’s eyes widen. “Salutatorian is letting them down?”

Jan shakes her head. “You don’t know my parents.”

“No. But I think I kind of understand. ” Jackie closes her book and pulls her knees into her chest. “You know my parents immigrated from Iran, right? So like, the American dream? That’s all they want for me. And that includes college. A good one.” She laughs. “My mom wants me to be a doctor.”

“What do you want to be?” Jan asks quietly.

Jackie’s quiet for a moment before she shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s actually asked me that before. Isn’t that wild? I’m 18, and I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

Jan shrugs. “We’re 18. I don’t think we’re supposed to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives.”

“I know one thing I want to do, though,” Jackie says, smiling. “When I get to college, I’m going to kiss a girl. I’ve always wanted to. I mean, I know I’m gay so like. That’ll be nice.”

“You can’t do that here?”

“Are you kidding?” She scoffs. “My mother would kill me. And that’s before my dad finds out.”

Jan shrugs. “You could kiss me. If you wanted.” Her cheeks fill with color. She’s never this brash, this forward. But the opportunity had presented itself and she’d taken it. “I mean, or not. Whatever. It’s fine—”

“Jan.” Jackie’s looking at her, dark eyes narrowed as her hand creeps up to cup her chin gently, and Jan has just enough time to gasp in a shock of air before their lips meet softly, tenderly, slowly meshing together. Kissing Jackie is so much better than kissing any of the boys she’s ever dated before.

Jackie pulls away far before Jan wants her to, and she’s left wanting more. She shudders a sigh and opens her eyes slowly.

“Wow,” she says.

“Yeah,” Jackie replies, brushing the hair off her shoulders. “That was… Umm. We should probably study, though.”

“Right. Of course.” Jan blushes again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Distract you.”

“Jan…” Jackie’s hand falls softly over her knee. “We can kiss more when we get through matrix determinants, okay?”

Jan isn’t sure what it is, but something about this new teaching method suddenly makes perfect sense.

She makes a 93 on her final and finishes the semester with an A.