#i had this woman as a professor last year--both in person and online

[ohnoitsthebat]

College related rant. Skip if you want

The job of an academic advisor is to advise, not judge. And really, if I don't ask you for your advice, then you really shouldn't be giving it to me unsoliticited.

A little backstory: I decided to go back to college last fall and get a degree in Early Childhood Education. I've had quite a bit of experience in that field, but had been having trouble finding steady employment, so I thought that getting a degree would help. My state also passed a law where education at any community college within the state was free, so I figured why not take advantage of it?

Fast forward to a year later. I changed my mind and decided that I'd rather get a certificate in the field than a degree, mostly because I just don't have the time to devote to classes, and I only needed 3 more classes to graduate with a certificate, anyway. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with getting an associate's degree, and I might do that in the future. But right now, I just can't work it into my schedule, and also, our new governor is a conservative dickhead, so he'll probably get rid of this program as soon as possible.

Anyway, when I talked to my advisor (who is also head of the field) about my decision to change, she did this tsk tsk judgey thing and said that she would recommend that I get the associate's degree, rather than the certificate, because the certificate isn't really "worth it". (She didn't come right out and say it, but basically implied that getting a certificate instead of an actual degree would be a waste of time)

Okay, lady, so are you gonna pay for my transportation? My books and other supplies? Cause yeah, the state pays for the classes, but only 2 at a time, which makes it impossible to graduate. I have to pay for my books, fees, school supplies, and gas money. Yeah, obviously I know that getting a degree would be better, but I can't do that right now. And who is she to judge me? I've also gathered, from the few conversations that I've had with her, that she is grossly conservative (she told me she doesn't like the word "deplorable" and what it implies....hmm, wonder why?) so I really want to spend as little time with her as possible.

tl;dr my academic advisor is a judgmental bitty who is trying to push me into spending more money than i have for a degree.

[sufiiiiiiii]

Following is a post i came across on facebook and i thought i should share it here please read it...

TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE, SEXUAL GROOMING

It has been a strange couple of days. A professor from an esteemed University in Calcutta was called out for sexual abuse and within 72 hours, another professor died by suicide. It is like just when the discourse of power being dangerous, and blind reverence toxic was taking the centerstage, it was hijacked by a sea of obits, outlining all the ways a man has changed the lives of countless students.

I must put this out as a disclaimer that I was not taught by him neither was I a student at xx. I’d like to believe he was every bit as good a teacher as so many people are professing. I was in xxxx University though and xxxx did teach me. So did a lot of professors who are still part of the present Xxxxxx University English department faculty. To say that the last couple of days have been triggering would be to put it too mildly. It has been a nightmare that has punctured my work, disrupted my sleep and peace of mind. Because, suddenly, what me and my friends would talk about in close quarters are out in the open.

I belong to the 2011-2014 batch of xxxx University. I also did my MA in English from there. Back when I studied, there was a professor who was every bit as cool and student-friendly we read about in book and watch in awe in movies. He would chat with us after class hours, have lunch and endless cups of cha with us, drop all filters and share stories of his personal life with us. He was a friend.

Over the course of my time at xxxxxx my friend and I became close to this professor. We would chat all the time, spend every weekend at his house. To us, he represented what we did not find in our parents and peers. He was liberal, eloquent, and possessed a morality which he himself had defined. He flamboyantly told us how he could - and had - sleep with any woman he wanted to. And we, in our early 20s, took it as a trademark of charm. For three years, he was one of the closest friends I had on campus. No topic was off-limits.

We remained friends till much later. I completed my post graduation from xxxx and relocated to Delhi. Later, in 2016 he met me in Delhi. At xxx, specifically. I was alone with him in a room and following a heartfelt conversation, he forcibly kissed me. At 24 then, my only defence was, “I have to leave.”

By then our association had run too deep. I knew he was ‘this’ person…”wicked, charming, flirtatious”. I convinced myself that he was just being himself and pushed it at the back of my head. He pretended it never happened, so did I.

Two years later, my friend and I recollected our time in college. We spoke about everything that had happened to us while we both changed cities. This was close on the heels of the #MeToo movement. By now we had a vocabulary for abuse, some recognition. We realised the professor had actually spent years grooming us, a terminology Indian educational sites neither talk about nor are familiar with. If you check online, the definition reads: “when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them.” This is precisely what he had done.

I understand that whatever happened with me did when I was technically no longer his student. And, for argument’s sake, I was an adult. But abuse hits in retrospect and age is hardly a signifier of age. Imagine, an older, more powerful man slowly alienating you from others in your class, spending years convincing you that you are special enough to be his friend. That this lifestyle is conventional, rational. It is not. It took me many more years to admit to myself and the courage of someone else speaking up to write all this. I expect to achieve nothing out of this. I just want to sleep better knowing that I did my bit in sharing my experience and that those who are in the universities will be less naive than me and my friend was. Also, let me assure you he has done worse both on and off campus. But that is not my story to tell.

[coochiequeens]

BEIJING — For Qi Jia, an office worker and blogger in China, the decision to divorce her husband was not one she took lightly.

"He became so sloppy and had an addiction to gaming," Qi, 39, who lives in the eastern city of Changzhou, said. "I took care of our child by myself."

The couple lived apart, due to work, for 13 years and had little communication, she wrote in a personal testimony posted on the Chinese social media site, Douban.

But a recently introduced law, which gives couples a 30-day "cooling off" period to reconsider their decision to untie the knot, finally compelled her to act. Just three days before the law took effect at the start of this year, Qi divorced her husband.

Download the NBC News app for breaking news and politics

Like many other countries, China's divorce rate has steadily increased in recent years.

The new law is meant to urge couples to reconsider hasty divorces, but the legislation has instead only generated frustration among women who fear that seeking a divorce has now become more difficult.

Such was the rush to beat the new restriction that more than 1 million couples requested a divorce in the last three months of 2020, before the cool off-period came into effect — a 13 percent increase on the same period in 2019 — according to data from the Civil Affairs Bureau.

The feminist writer Xiao Meili called the law a "step backwards" for women and said it limited their rights to freely seek separation from a spouse.

"Marriage needs agreement from both people," Xiao told NBC News. "Divorce should be permitted if one person wants it."

Often that person is a woman.

Around 74 percent of first hearings in divorce cases in 2016 and 2017 were filed by women, according to a report by China's Supreme People's Court.

Other barriers to divorce include a gender income gap, rules on property division that tend to favor men and traditional perceptions of gender roles.

In February, a Beijing court created national shockwaves when it ruled that a woman should receive financial compensation — around $7,000 — for housework carried out during the course of her five-year marriage. The case stirred up a huge public debate about the status of women in society.

Better access to education and jobs in recent decades has improved the financial independence and social status of women in China, who as a result seemingly have less tolerance for unhappy marriages.

However, social pressure is still present — family and friends often discourage women from divorcing and Chinese courts tend to rule against divorce in the first instance, in order to maintain social stability. Divorce still leaves a trace of social stigma for many women.

Sometimes, even evidence of suffering and domestic abuse does not guarantee a divorce will be granted.

In one prominent 2019 case, a woman named only as Ms. Liu, from China's central Henan province, was shown on security camera video being violently assaulted by her husband. Yet the court did not rule in her favor when she filed for divorce in 2020. Liu posted the video online, sparking a debate on social media that pressured the court to grant her divorce.

China's Civil Affairs Bureau has made clear the new cool-off period would not apply to divorce lawsuits that involve domestic violence. But divorce through the courts is nonetheless often prolonged and unfruitful for many women.

Ma Danyang, a divorce lawyer based in Beijing, said the new cool-off period had only increased the anxiety among her clients.

"Couples finally come to an agreement but then they start to worry the spouse might change their mind during the 30-days," Ma said.

"It's quite unfair to women. ... Each day in this waiting period feels like years to them."

But for professor He Xin, an expert in China's legal system at Hong Kong University, the introduction of the divorce cool-off period is reasonable, as divorce is such a big decision. "Many countries already have similar laws," he added.

In China, the rising divorce rate is compounded by declining marriage and birth rates, prompting a demographic crisis as the country's population ages — a big challenge for the government in Beijing, which has ramped up efforts to advocate traditional family values in recent years.

The one-child policy, which was in place for decades, was abandoned in 2015, but this change alone has not been able to stem the crisis in the world's most populous country.

Some think the new divorce rules could discourage couples from tying the knot in the first place.

"Young women now have more awareness of gender equality," Xiao said. Adding, "many single women can still have a decent life by themselves."

All dragging out divorce proceedings because the courts want to “preserve the family bs” does is make women being killed more likely.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 4

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) --- there’s a bit of angst in this part

Word count: 2078

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“That was delicious, thank you!”

“I hope you have room in your stomach for apple crumble,” Mr Jung said, leaning across the table towards you. “June is a mighty fine cook but an even greater baker.”

“The reason he married me, so he says.”

You smiled warmly, enjoying the banter between the pair. Their love for one another was evident. You hadn’t seen such a genuine display of affection in years. The city had jaded your parents and kept them looking for the next big project instead of cosy nights curled up together.

They’re professionals, you reminded yourself when you felt a sense of sadness for your parents. They don’t have time like they do out here.

“Were the heifers put into the bottom field?”

You had almost forgotten Jaehyun was sitting at your side until he cleared his throat then, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, I moved them this morning.”

“By yourself?”

“You had Caleb up in the high fields with you and Avery was otherwise preoccupied with someone,” he continued, and you felt eyes boring into the side of your head on the latter half of the conversation.

You smiled brightly. “It must take a lot of people to run such a big ranch like yours, Mr Jung.”

“We make do with the help we have.”

“We could do with three more men,” Jaehyun muttered, and you looked at him, pausing in saying anything in response when you noticed the dark look within the elder’s eyes.

Blayne was under-populated. You already knew this from the basic land per capita estimates online and in the business proposal for Blayne’s development. If more jobs were created here, then the farms that were struggling would be able to hire more help.

But Blayne also lacked housing. It would need to supply appropriate accommodation for new workers. You stewed over the thought of how many changes would be needed to not only make Blayne easily accessible but also improve the existing community until a dessert plate was placed in front of you.

Blinking out of your reverie, you beamed up at June. “I cannot wait to try it!”

After dinner, you thanked both your hosts generously. “I’ve not had a home-cooked meal quite as tasty as that before.”

“Your mother?” June enquired.

“She’s a professor at the School of Commerce.”

“Ah, she would have been too busy to make meals a priority.”

“It’s okay! I admire her for her work ethic. She’s taught me a lot. Both my parents have always been busy, but that’s how it is in the city.”

“Busy people don’t often see the bigger picture. I can tell by how eager you were to take up the position out here,” Mr Jung mentioned gruffly and you nodded despite his expression. “A woman of marrying age coming up here all alone is usually unheard of.”

“Perhaps Blayne will leave an impression on Y/N, honey.” June offered, patting her husband’s lower arm fondly. She then smiled at you. “You seem quite confident.”

“I’m hopeful I can make a positive change here,” you stated, your own smile fading when you heard a scoff, and then feet moving across the gravel behind you. Darting your focus to the disappearing man that had been waiting nearby, you looked back at his parents. “Thank you again!”

“We’ll have you over anytime, sugar!”

Turning on your heel, you took the pathway that Jaehyun had just departed down, finding him strapping up the horse that had brought you here earlier in the evening. You stopped near his side, frowning at his efforts. “Should you be asking the horse to work again?”

Jaehyun looked in your direction before returning his gaze back to his efforts, not answering your question.

“Your mother said it was too dark to ride last night. Shouldn’t we take the truck since the moon is now up in the sky?” you prompted, shifting your eyes to the heavens. You gasped in awe. “Wow, I’ve never seen such a clear night sky before!”

“Pollution inhibits that,” Jaehyun explained curtly, yanking on a strap and tightening it into place.

“It’s so beautiful out here, though. It’s a shame not many people have experienced it outside of a postcard.”

“Why don’t you save the speech for someone who is interested?”

“Excuse me?” Staring back at the man beside you, you tilted your head to the side. “You’re awfully moody tonight, Mr Cowboy.”

“Back to that name, huh?”

“Well, since you’re feeling a little cold towards me, I don’t know if it’s my place to call you by your first name,” you explained. Jaehyun didn’t respond again, and you sighed. “What did I do wrong?”

“Are you always this self-centred? Can’t you see the bigger picture than the goal inside your head?” Jaehyun questioned, sliding his hands onto his hips and finally facing you. He looked you over again, much as he had earlier when he first saw you as he jumped down from the wagon. Instead of the kindness you had experienced then, it was laced with scrutiny this time. You lowered your gaze to your outfit and stepped back.

“Hey…” you started, and then squared your jaw.

Just who was this guy to act so blunt with you? You should have stuck with believing he was the rude and full of assumptions jerk just as you had thought of him earlier in the day. Perhaps it was the fresh air and gentleness of the wagon ride that had softened your heart to him somehow. You should have known better to trust in your instincts.

Turning on your heel, you started walking down the drive towards the field you had travelled across from your place to the main homestead on this land. You didn’t get far before a hand reached out and yanked on your forearm roughly. “What are you doing?!”

“Going home!”

“Oh, is that so? Through a darkened field? See, this is why you belong in the city, Y/N. You have no idea about the dangers of a working farm. You’re used to living in tiny apartments and navigating mazes of streets and buildings and-”

“I didn’t come here to have you tell me what you think about me, Jaehyun.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t. But you did come out here all alone with zero understanding of how the country works. You’re here to change how we are? What a joke. You have no concept of what Blayne is about. You’ve not even stopped to take the time to listen to those around you. Instead, you’re dreaming up something big that none of us wants. Can’t you tell that? We might be showing you some country hospitality right now, but don’t go thinking people want you here.”

“That’s incredibly evident, don’t you worry,” you bit back, shaking his grip off your arm.

Jaehyun ran an agitated hand through his hair before looking at you again. “I’ll take you home. Come on.”

“I’m good with directions. I’ll take myself back.”

“What you see during the day changes at night around here. Hate me all you like, but I’ll take you home so I don’t have to worry about you falling in an open drain pipe.”

You opened your mouth to refute the offer, but the image he had painted was enough for you to silently march back over to the wagon. Jaehyun checked everything over again and jumped up into the seat, his hand reaching down to help you up.

Stubbornly, you ignored it and heaved yourself into the seat.

The ride back home was silent, and you preferred it that way. After the outburst in the field, you had little to say to the man. You were grateful he seemed compliant of such silence and didn’t offer any conversation from his behalf either. All the same, you were somewhat holding out for an apology.

You gained none, however.

Leaping down from the wagon, you merely tipped your head as Jaehyun did in farewell and then headed inside without a single word. You watched as the wagon disappeared thereafter, and finally, let out a string of incoherent cursing and annoyance.

You blew a strand of hair away from your face and glowered out the window. “God, I hate him.”

When the morning rose, you got up with a new plan in place. The night before, you had spent the first part of it packing your belongings and then unpacking several times over. You were done with Blayne. If the people didn’t want you here, then you would take heed of their warning and leave.

However, you had been too confident when your boss assigned you with this project.

“They will resist change, you know.”

You nodded. “Of course, but I’m equipped to handle it.”

“Are you?”

“You wouldn’t have pitched the proposal to me if you didn’t think I was the best to acquire the deal, Pierce.”

That, along with the fact that everyone seemingly had bets on when you’d depart played into your new resolve. You would show them just how capable you truly were.

First, however, you needed more information. “Is there a local library or archives here, May?”

“Library?”

You nodded. “Or a town hall? Surely the public can access the information there?”

“Our town hall was burned down ten years ago,” another person at the diner counter mentioned, despite May’s obvious hand swatting him off. He smiled at you. “You’ll have to go to the town over for anything like that.”

“Thank you, you’ve been a great help. Thanks for the coffee, May!”

Once in your car again, you headed back down the country highway and took the forty-five minute drive to the closet township. You cried with comforting relief when you heard the usual bleeps of your phone notification ring in succession.

“Ah, I’m back in a place of proper civilisation!”

Although this township had most amenities, you still were surprised by how small the town hall was. Having no luck there, you went next door to the equally quaint library and piled up all the documents and texts you could find on Blayne.

With a pen in hand ready to take down notes, you picked up the first journal and began to read.

You weren’t aware of how long you spent perusing the history of the area or familiarising yourself with the generations of family lines that were born and bred in Blayne. Stopping on an interesting line in the Jung family, you let out a low whistle. “June and May aren’t originally from Blayne?”

“Perhaps Blayne will leave an impression on Y/N, honey.”

June’s comment from last night pulled a smile onto your lips. At least there seemed to be one person rooting for your stay in Blayne.

It was then when you saw how late into the afternoon it was and you collected up your belongings, asking a clerk if you could take a couple of the history logs with you. After registering with the library and checking them out, you stepped into the warm air, smiling triumphantly at your discovery.

You then pulled out your phone, browsing through the messages you had received. Natalia had contacted you the most, and you pressed call instead of replying, waiting for the call to connect.

“You didn’t let me know if you got there safely!”

“I couldn’t really, the signal out in that place is something else,” you admitted with a grin as you headed to your car. You climbed inside it and then sighed. “I miss you, Natty.”

“Not enough to assure me that you’re alive!”

“Come on, it’s only been a few days, and I’m talking to you now. Isn’t that enough?” you humoured, watching a family cross the intersection up ahead. The little girl skipping across the road seemed so carefree compared to what you had been at that age.

You wondered if the city environment had made you cynical or if that was just who you naturally were.

Natalia cleared her throat and gained your attention again. “Yeah, yeah. So, any hot cowboys out there?”

The image of Jaehyun immediately appeared in your mind, and it ruined your mood entirely. “No. Not a single one.”

“Aw man, here I had you pegged for having a hot summer romance with some farm boy out there.”

“I’m here to work, Natty,” you reminded, both for hers and your sakes. “Even if there was someone handsome, he’s not going to do anything for me.”

_________________

Part 5

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[calwrites]

The Halloween Party

Summary: Reader has lived across the hall from Penelope Garcia for a couple years and considers her to be one of her best friends. That’s the only reason she agreed to go to a Halloween match making party.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.2k

I wrote this very quickly so it’s not the best, but I couldn’t let Halloween go by without writing something for Reid.

——————

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this stupid match making thing,” you grumbled at the blonde currently on your couch.

Penelope Garcia smiled at you over her wine glass. “Well I wanted to go but only if my favorite neighbor did it too.”

“I’m the only neighbor you talk to,” you pointed out. Penelope stuck her tongue out at you and waved her empty glass in the air. You rolled your eyes, but refilled her glass anyway.

You and Penelope had lived in the same building for a few years. When you had seen the brightly dressed woman lugging boxes down the hall, you had offered to help her move everything in. She had intrigued you. You had passed each other in the hall a couple of times after that, but had never really talked until one evening when you heard a knock on your door.

It had puzzled you because you were still pretty new to the area so you didn’t have any friends who would be dropping by unexpectedly. Opening the door, you had found Penelope standing in the hall crying.

“I had a really bad day at work. I just really need someone to talk to,” she had said. You ushered her in and spent the night learning about Penelope’s job as a technical analyst for the BAU. Now whenever Penelope’s team got through with a tough case, she would come collapse on your couch while the two of you drank wine and decompressed.

“You’re also the one who told me to get out there and forget about Kevin,” Penelope countered.

“Yeah well I didn’t think you’d drag me along.”

“It’s not just you! I convinced some of my friends at the BAU to sign up too. Besides, I know you’re excited for the party. You already bought two dresses.” She pointed at the dresses still laying out on your kitchen table. You were trying to decide whether a black dress or white dress would be better for your costume.

“I’m always excited for a Halloween costume party. I just never thought I’d be one of those sad people who signs up for a matchmaking party.”

“Y/N, you are one of the smartest people I know. And I work for the FBI. I know a lot of smart people. The only reason you’re still single is because whenever you get time off from teaching you spend it trying to solve impossible math equations. And I thought you said your match sounded nice.”

You sighed. “Trying to solve an impossible math equation is arguably the most important part of my job. I think the university cares more about that than the courses I teach sometimes. I guess he does seem nice. He’s either very smart or he’s very good at using google to sound smart. Either way, when you look at the data, the likelihood of finding a long term partner through a survey is-“

Penelope groaned. “No! I get enough info dumping at work. Let’s just talk about the party. It’s next weekend and you’re buying clothes for it so I assume you and your partner decided on your costumes. What is it?”

When Penelope had invited you to a Halloween costume party, you had been quick to accept. She then told you that it was a matchmaking party where you had to fill out a survey and were then matched with another attendee. Pairs would have to decide on costumes and then find each other at the party. Until then, pairs wouldn’t know who the other person was. Definitely not your usual definition of fun.

“I’m not telling you,” you teased. Penelope gasped on faux anger before the two of you burst into laughter and decided on a movie to watch.

——————

You stared at your computer screen intently, willing the message to change.

I’ve been out of state for a work trip for the past few days. I didn’t mention it earlier because I was hoping that we would get back in plenty of time. It took a couple more days than we were anticipating though. We’re about to take off, so I’ll make it back in time for the party but I won’t have time to put out on my whole costume. I can just wear the cape or something if you don’t have any better suggestions. I’m looking forward to meeting you tonight.

You chewed your lip thoughtfully before an idea popped into your head. And you began typing back a response.

That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing your Masque of the Red Death costume. I have a new idea though. What character refused to wear a costume to a costume ball?

The response came back almost immediately.

And I was looking forward to seeing your Leonore costume. I’m sure that there are a number of characters who fit that description. Would you like a list?

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

It’s another gothic story. He’s throwing the fancy dress party, but he refuses to dress up. His new wife’s costume causes a bit of a stir. Enough clues?

The reply caused you to get up quickly to begin sorting out your new costume.

I’ll see you tonight, Mrs. de Winters.

A few hours later found you ready to leave. You were thankful that you still had the white dress you had previously purchased with the idea of using it for Leonore. You were even more thankful that you still had a wig from a few Halloween’s ago that worked for your costume. So now, with a white dress and curly dark hair, you were ready to leave.

“Ok I give up,” Penelope said when she opened her door. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the narrator from Rebecca,” you told her. “It’s kind of a last minute costume. I’m glad your case wrapped up today. I would be bummed if I had to go without you.”

“Well it’s a good thing it didn’t come to that.” Penelope looped her arm through yours and pulled you down the hallway, the two of you laughing as you went.

——————

Thankfully the room wasn’t too loud when you and Penelope arrived. Jack-o-lanterns and bowls of candy sat on tables around the edge of the room, and bats and ghosts hung from the ceiling. You and Penelope made a circuit around the room, trying to find your matches.

“Maybe ours guys are running late,” Penelope suggested. The two of you had moved to a snack table while you surveyed the sea of costumes around you.

“Or they’re ditching us.” Penelope gave you a playful swat. You were saved from another attack by Penelope’s phone dinging.

“Oh! Some of my friends are here. Come meet them.” Before you could protest, Penelope was dragging you across the room. Two people stood against the wall talking, but broke into smiles and waved when they saw Penelope approaching.

“Y/N, this is Derek and Emily. Guys, this is my neighbor Y/N.”

You smiled and shook hands with the two FBI agents.

“So you’re the famous Y/N,” Derek grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Famous? If anyone is famous it’s Derek “chocolate thunder” Morgan. The way Penelope talks about you, I was imagining a superhero. She wasn’t wrong.”

“I like her,” Derek laughed.

Emily groaned. “He does not need a bigger ego.”

“Where’s Reid?” Penelope asked. “Don’t tell me he bailed.”

“He said he needed to stop by his apartment first. We came straight from the plane. And don’t worry, Hotch and JJ both assured us they would take pictures of the kids in their costumes.” Penelope squealed and clapped her hands excitedly.

You chatted with Penelope and her friends for a few more minutes before Penelope spotted a man wearing a matching costume to hers. She waved bye to your little group and rushed off to meet him, leaving you with the two FBI agents.

“Oh there’s Pretty Boy,” Derek cried.

“I was kind of expecting you to show up in an intricate costume. You love Halloween, Spencer,” Emily said.

You turned to find a handsome man approaching your group. He was wearing a nice suit and had a leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

“No time, unfortunately.” The man shrugged. “I just had to pick up some books from my apartment. Hi. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. You must be Garcia’s friend.” He turned to you, but didn’t extend a hand. You realized that this must be the young genius Penelope mentioned from time to time.

“Y/N,” you replied. Spencer’s eyes took in your costume carefully. You tried not to shift uncomfortably.

“Are you planning on doing some reading tonight?” Derek asked.

“No. My date and I were discussing a volume of poetry that I have, so I wanted to bring it to show her.”

“What a ladies man,” Emily teased. “How’s she going to know it’s you though? You’re not wearing a costume.”

“Actually, I am.” Spencer smiled slightly at the confused looks on his friends’ faces. What he just said clicked for you suddenly.

“Maxim?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

Spencer blinked at you in surprise before smiling widely. “Mrs. de Winters?”

Emily and Derek looked between of you in slight confusion, but you and Spencer smiled at each other in delight. “We’ll leave you two to it,” Derek teased as he and Emily walked away.

“I’m glad that you’re a friend of Penelope’s and not a complete stranger,” you admitted. “I was a little worried I’d get stuck with some weirdo. Not that you sounded weird when we talked!”

“Well our first conversation was about the statistics of meeting a murderer when online dating. That’s a little weird.” The two of you laughed slightly.

“I’m a math professor, so I’m interested in anything statistics,” you admitted. “I’m kind of a nerd.”

“Same,” Spencer laughed. “You know these last minute costumes were a good idea.”

“I still want to see your Masque of the Red Death costume sometime.”

“Deal, but only if you tell me what you teach.”

You waved your hand. “Oh nothing exciting. Just some upper level math that nobody wants to take. The fun part of my job is trying to solve the Riemann hypothesis.”

“You’re trying to solve one of the Millennium Prize problems?” Spencer asked in surprise.

“I’m surprised you know about it.” Most people you talked to had no idea what the Millennium Prize problems were. You were sure they wondered why a university would tenure you just so you could keep trying to solve a math problem.

“I’ve looked over them before,” Spencer admitted shyly, like he was waiting for you to make fun of him.

“No luck?”

“Way beyond my level.” The two of you laughed slightly. A slower song began to play and couples danced slowly across the dance floor.

“Want to dance?” you suggested. Spencer hesitated and you worried for a second that you had overstepped, but then he smiled and held out his hand.

Neither one of you were very good dancers, but what you lacked in talent you made up for in smiles. You continued to discuss everything from mathematical theory to what working at the FBI was like to classic literature.

“Do you think this is how the Manderley fancy dress party would have gone if Mrs. Danvers hadn’t sabotaged the narrator?” you asked. “They could have been as happy as us dancing.”

Spencer thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t think they could have been truly happy together with all of the secrets still between them.”

“True,” you agreed. “So you think we’re happy?”

When Spencer smiled at you, your heart fluttered. “I’m pretty happy. This is going a lot better than I expected. Not that I didn’t think you sounded great when we talked online! But Derek said something about you sounding too good to be true, so I started to worry that you wouldn’t be as amazing in person, but I shouldn’t have. You’re even better in person.”

You smiled gently back at Spencer. “You’re better in person too.”

Spencer studied your face intently for a few seconds, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quickly, like he was afraid he would lose his nerve if he waited.

Your smile grew. “I’d like that,” you responded.

Spencer put one hand gently on your cheek, the other still resting on your waist, and brought his lips down to meet yours. When the two of you broke away, still smiling widely, you were totally oblivious to the looks of shock and delight on the FBI agents’ faces.

“I think we might have to do this again sometime, Mrs. de Winters.”

“I think so, Maxim.”

Without speaking, the two of you leaned in again, and you were able to capture Spencer’s lips once more. You didn’t think you’d get tired of this any time soon. If only you had taken Penelope up on her offer to set the two of you up last year.

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | i

genre: vampire!jaehyun [ mature | angst | smut ]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

“father, i dreamt about a boy

his hands, bloodied

eyes like the shot of dawn

with the rebellion in his mouth

he tried to conquer

the moon

with the venom of his prayers

he tried to

search for a god

pray tell me father,

how do i love him

with no flesh, all blood

heaven help us,

how could he love me

if i am the sun?”

— jungcity, bane of the devil // i

Raindrops danced in the air as they fall from the clouds with the squalling winds intensifying the impact of it against the glass window panes. The murmurs and complaints filled the whole room, your classmates begging your professor to turn off the air conditioner. Your mechanical pencil lay forgotten above your table as you stare at the horizon from your seat beside the window. Oh, how you longed for your bed in this cozy weather.

Seven a.m. to seven p.m. class should be classified as a mortal sin— you could not, in the life of you, understand that type of abomination. It is cruel beyond reckoning. Especially when you sit on a room of thirty people, doing nothing as the heavy drops of rain and the cool atmosphere it provides slowly lulls you to slumber.

The only thing that prevented you from doing so was the loud slap of your professor’s hands on table, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. “Alright! Stop chattering!” He yelled as he raised a piece of paper in the air.

You slumped back in your seat. Here we go again. Every time your professors raise their hands while holding papers, you could not help but release a groan.

“Here is the plan for your next plate,” he started. “Photocopy it, take a picture of it, it’s up to you.” He then handed the papers to the student in front. You stared as your classmate’s face crumpled into a grimace while he skimmed the document. That— without a doubt— would also be your face once you get a hold of the plan.

“Just like the last time, bind your A3 papers with two fasteners. There must be a separate sheet for the front page. And please,” the professor exhaled, “Please don’t forget your names! How would I give you a failing grade if I don’t know who you are.” The groans rose up again from the students, your own commixing with the chaos of curses and prayers and the laugh of your professor.

“Hey, hey! Haechan!” You grabbed your friend’s shirt as he scurried off to your classmate in the front row. “Take a picture and send it to the group chat.”

He snatched his shirt away from your grasp while glaring at you, “I know! I know! Wait here.” Then he pulled out his phone, waving it onto your face before dashing to your classmate who has the plan.

You fished for your own phone inside your bag when a boy sat in front of you. He rested his arm on your table and propped his chin on his palm. “Damn, I’m surely gonna die before this semester ends.” Mark groaned, his eyes looking at your table.

You chuckled from your seat, “Three major plates to go, buddy.”

“I’m gonna sell my soul to Satan so I don’t have to do any of this bullcrap.” Haechan threw his phone on to the table. Luckily, you caught it before it slid down and shattered on the hard floors. He let out an infuriated sigh before grabbing one of the chairs and sitting on it beside your table.

“It’s that bad?” Mark grimaced as he pressed the power button of Haechan’s phone. The light of the screen illuminated his soft features in an instant, “Wow. Your phone’s brightness could blind a person,” Mark stated while blinking rapidly.

Haechan said nothing as he leaned his head on your table. You peek at the phone yourself, Mark slowing down his scrolling as you leaned closer.

“Five-storey residential? What?!” You exclaimed. Tons of plates are slowly piling up to you bedroom. Your drafting table could not even hold them anymore, they are littered all over the mattress and the whole place. As your eyes scrutinized the image of the plan, Mark let out a curse as he read the requirements of the residential building.

“Oh, no. The measurements are given,” Mark exchanged glances with you. “I won’t do this shit.” Then the phone toppled over the table again after Mark threw it. Haechan snatched his phone back with a special glare meant only for Mark before laying his head back on the table.

The rain continued to ravage the roof and the ground as the three of you rested your heads on your desk. Chatters and the shuffling of drafting materials once again dominated the whole room, with a few of your classmates cursing at the back as they play their online games.

“I had at least thirty-minutes of sleep today,” you declared. Your eyes feels heavy and your body seemed to be softening and turning into jelly by the sleep deprivation.

“Wow. I didn’t even have a blink of sleep myself.” Haechan mumbled, face still covered by his arms.

After your heavy nap, the three of you woke up with red-rimmed eyes. If you could continue sleeping in your room until tomorrow, you would. But of course, that is not possible.

Your classmates started to pack their things as the professor came back and dismissed the whole class. It has always been like that; your prof giving yet another plan and then dismissing the whole class two or three hours earlier than the scheduled time. You would have not attended today’s class if not for the other plates that needed to be submitted.

Despite the sullenness of your house because of your brother’s absence, you still wanted to go home and nap. It does not matter if you have mountains of plates to do, what truly matters is you, going home to the tranquility and safety of your house before midnight. It was a habit you’ve grown accustomed to since the untimely death of your parents.

Your path goes different ways from Mark and Haechan. That’s why you sat alone in the bus as they stand in the waiting shed while waiting for theirs. Both of them waved at you, mouthing the words ‘take care’. You answered them with a slight wave of your hand before putting on your earbuds.

The rain has calmed down already, leaving the stores drenched, the highway splotched with circles of rainwater. Yet the lightning still dominated the skies, white lights flashing like roots reflected in your irises as you stare at the bleakness of the heavens through the bus’ windows. The speed of the vehicle made everything blurry; from the blustery wind slapping against the trees to the lights from different stores. They filled your sight as the music continued to blast in your ear.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, stopping the music. You glanced at the screen and saw your brother’s caller ID. Johnny. Automatically, your brow shot up to your forehead. He has been away for two weeks now, doing God only knows what on the other side of the ocean. Of course, your big brother calls every night to check up on you. But tonight, he called earlier than usual.

You attempted to slide the green button when your cell phone flew away from your grasp, your head hitting the seat in front of you, eliciting a loud groan to escape from your lips. Loud protestations echoed from the students and elders alike, their own faces bedraggled as they recover themselves from the impact of the bus drawing to a halt.

“What happened?” An elderly woman asked, her hand on the middle of her chest while breathing heavily.

“There’s a person who crossed the road.” The conductor explained, but his words sounded unsure.

The woman’s eyes widened, “Is the person alright?” She stood up from her seat, one hand grabbing the railings in front of her.

“That’s what we’re confused about, Ma’am. The person is nowhere on the asphalt. He ran with a dashing speed… it’s impossible.” You didn’t know if it was amazement or fear that was laced with the conductor’s voice, but his statement caught your attention nonetheless.

The nagging curiosity inside your chest spreads like wild fire. If ever your intuition is right, you have to find that person or whatever that is. A speed like that could only be achieved by one creature. Your brother might call you a freak or a delusional little girl again, but it might be the only way to get answers. Answers that he did not bother to find when your parents died.

The truth is, years ago, your parents had their inopportune death. But the authorities has not yet to find the murderer. How could they? When there was no DNA in the crime scene but your parents’. How could they? If the murderer was not even a person to begin with.

Deep in your heart, you know. You know the world is enfolded with mysteries that a human mind would not be able to perceive. Cloak-and-dagger as it is, you understood that reality the moment you saw the two dots that were obviously from a penetration of fangs embedded in your parents’ necks.

‘Vampire! Vampire!’ was your unending scream at the morgue. Since you were only a little girl back then, no one paid attention to you. Not the policemen, not even your brother.

It did not surprise you when everyone called it a hopeless case. In their eyes, it was. But in yours, it’s not. Ever since your parents were murdered, you have been drinking the myths and lore of vampires. Day and night you devoured books, watched vampire sightings, studied their strengths as well as their weaknesses. It simply was a thirst you could not quench.

It was like that until you started college. You could not simply search for a free time to indulge yourself about those undead, blood-sucking creatures any longer. But every articles, every information, were still plastered to a blackboard inside your bedroom. A reminder of what you have been sleuthing for all your life.

Yellow lights illuminated the pool of waters on the asphalt road. You tiptoed as to prevent your shoes from getting soaked. Plastics, styrofoams, as well as vegetables skins from the uncollected drenched trash bins littered all over the street.

At long last, the shadow of your apartment appeared. Darkness invaded the vicinity, a quiet reminder that there isn’t any person present inside. You pulled out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, ten missed calls from Johnny were displayed in the notifications. Frustrated from what happened inside the bus, you continued to ignore his calls earlier, despite your phone vibrating continuously.

Your phone’s flashlight casted a white light upon the dimness. Keys in your left hand, and your phone in your right, you struggled to jam the keys into the hole. When the gates finally opened, you sent Johnny a text that says you’re already home.

“At long fucking last.”

Your phone went flying to the grass yet again as you saw a figure looming in the shadows. A silent curse slid past your lips as you hurriedly picked it up, dead and wet grass sticking onto the screen. Once again, you pressed the flashlight button to see through the darkness.

And there, in the corner near the door, a man with a bloodied face stares at you with a cigar in between his lips. Spontaneously, your heart thudded frantically in your chest. You wanted to shout, but the scream bubbled out in your mouth and then nothing came out.

“Who are you?” You managed to ask.

The man didn’t answer. He pulled something out of his pockets. You took a step back. Only when he struggled to light his cigarette you realized it was only a lighter. His hands continued to shake, and you have no idea why haven’t you screamed for help yet. They say curiosity killed the cat. Right now, you do not doubt the saying as your curiosity ascended your fear.

“Care to light this for me, kitten?” He stretched out his hand to offer you the lighter. His endearment catching you like a deer in the headlights.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? All bloodied?”

The man sighed and started to light his cigar again. “The name’s Jaehyun. I’m friends with your brother, Johnny.” He offered you the lighter once more, “Now, will you light this up for me? As you can see, I’m shaking and bleeding.”

After his last word, you glanced up and down his body, the light of your phone following your action. And then you saw as blood poured out from a wound on his side. You hadn’t noticed it earlier because of his black shirt.

“What— I don’t— are you alright?” What stupid, stupid question. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. Is this why your brother were so eager to call you? Because apparently, his friend stands bloodied in front of your doorstep.

“I feel like shit but I’m alright.” Smoke puffed out of his lips as he succeeded in lighting his cigarette after numerous attempts. “Won’t you open the door?” He nudged his head to the direction of the door. You blinked and felt the keys in your palms again.

“Tell me what’s happening first.”

It’s cruel, but if he manages to stay alive while blood gushes out of his stomach, you believed he could concisely explain to you what’s going on.

“Women are so fucking difficult,” he mumbled. “I will tell you everything once we’re inside and you’re stitching up my goddamned wound.”

“What?!” It was a scream more than a word. “Listen, I don’t know how to stitch up—”

He cut you off, “Well that’s a pity.” Then he threw away the bud of the cigarette to the ground. “Listen, I’m going to pass out anytime soon,” then he licked his lips, “Better open this door so we could get to business.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything to me.” It’s childish and you feel pathetic, but you said it anyways. Perhaps this man in front of you has a bottle of conscience in his system despite his unkempt look.

Jaehyun only looked at you, face impassive. “You’re not my type.”

You choked on your own saliva. “You’re unbelievable.” You ignored his smirk as you sauntered up to the door. Both of you were enveloped in a silence, the only noise coming from the keys jamming into the keyhole.

Another darkness greeted you as you opened the door, you searched for the switch with your sweaty hand. The metal tang the keys left on your palm wafted your nose, making you feel gross and dirty.

You wrenched the keys out of the hole as the light finally infiltrated the living room. Your brow shot up when Jaehyun made no move to enter the house.

“Invite me first,” he stated.

If you could raise your brow higher, you would. His question was unexpected for someone itching to enter your house mere minutes earlier.

“Come… in?” You reluctantly offered.

There was mischief and bad news in his eyes as he stepped inside the house. “So the authorities would say that you invited me willingly.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” You demanded, gripping the doorknob tightly.

He only winked at you. But you are not having any of it. It was a bad idea inviting this stranger inside.

“Get out.” You ordered. Jaehyun attempted to say something but you repeated the words with enough ferocity. “Get out!”

He held up his hand, his right pulling out something from his pockets again. A paper.

“Here.”

You stared at the paper for a good two minutes before you snatched it away from his hand.

This is to certify that the apartment owned by Johnny and Y/N Y/L/N has been sold and therefore owned by Mr. Jung Jaehyun.

No. No, no, no. The paper must be a trick. It’s probably a forged paper made by this man in front of you to take his advantage and trick you.

“This is forged.” You balled the paper and threw it his way. Jaehyun picked it up with bloodied fingers. His shirt was now saturated with his blood. But you could not bring yourself to care now that he poses a threat to your safety.

“Forged? Do you not recognize the lawyer who signed this paper?” He started to flatten out the paper again. “The best in town. You could go to his office right now to inquire about this. But I won’t waste money if I were you.”

For the second time that night, you snatched away the paper from him. It was completely crumpled, but the texts printed out were still glaring at you. You skimmed the printed letters with your head spinning, eyes only stopping when you see three signatures below. One for your brother, one for Jaehyun, one for the attorney. It was signed by a pen, that much you’re sure of. Being an architecture student familiarized you to different type of pens. You’re certain they had used a ballpoint pen to sign the contract.

Still, you went dumbfounded as you let the realization hit you. Your brother, Johnny, just sold your apartment for this blood soaked guy in front of you.

“Since when?” You asked through gritted teeth, not looking up from the papers.

Jaehyun let out a frustrated sigh, his hand clamping his wound. “Since last week.”

“Will you…” You sighed, it was so difficult to get the words come out, “… will you let me stay the night? I promise I’ll go first thing in the morning.” Your hand which is holding the paper shook. Mixed feelings of anger, shame, and confusion swirled in your head.

Jaehyun waved his hand before sitting on the sofa, his bloodied hands imprinting the arms of it red. You bit back the anger as you realized that you have no rights to be angry.

“You could stay the night, of course.” He reclined his head, “But stitch me up first before you go packing.”

How had he managed to stay alive with the loss of too much blood, you have no idea. But you shook your head and declined him again, “I don’t know how. You might get an infection.”

“Needle… I need a needle,” He breathed and shut his eyes, you panicked as you thought he passed out already. But then he opened his one eye and fixed it to you, “I’ll do it myself.”

“Why don’t we just go to the hospital?”

It was embarrassing that you only thought of the idea now. But Jaehyun only snorted, “Trust me, that’s the last resort you’d think of if you truly knew me.”

There is no point talking to him. His mouth pours metaphors you could not be bothered to comprehend. So you trudged the distance to the small drawer laying just below the television and grabbed the sewing kit inside.

You laid it on the table. Jaehyun groaned before grabbing the needle and the thread. He does not look pained. He looks more tired. And only when you were sitting beside him you noticed how pale he appeared to be. His lips looked wan, his face pallid.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hos—”

“No,” was his monosyllabic reply. You didn’t press any further.

Jaehyun started to insert the thread through the needle, but like his dreaded attempts to lit his cigarette earlier, his aim to get the thread through the little hole went in complete vain. “Fuck,” he muttered as the pin dropped on the floors.

“Let me.” You finally offered before picking up the needle and seizing the thread from his grasp. With your one eye shut close, you dampened the needle with your tongue before thrusting it through the hole. In a blink, you succeeded.

“Here—” You were cut off once again when Jaehyun’s body fell back on the sofa. His eyes closed. The nervous and shock kicked in your stomach as you leaned closer to him but felt nothing in his chest. He doesn’t look like he is breathing, too.

“Oh my God, don’t fucking die.” You repeated the words as you grabbed your phone and dialed nine-one-one. Sweats started to form in your forehead, your own heart beating in a panic-stricken rhythm.

The ringing stopped, and the voice of the person from the other side greeted you calmly.

“I— there’s— I—” Your words are incoherent from the panic that is vibrating from your head to your toes. The person tried to calm you down but to no avail. You inhaled and exhaled, mind blank. “I—” Then a hand grabbed your wrist. You jumped in your seat, only to see Jaehyun, wide-eyed looking at you.

“I told you, no doctors.”

“But— how— what?” How is he alive?

“I am fine. Just really need to stitch this up so I could recover easily.” Then his eyes started to lose their life again.

“Don’t! Don’t sleep! Stay awake!” You screamed at him. Jaehyun began to lose consciousness again. The forgotten thread and needle was back on your hands in an instant. Loud sets of profanities reverberated from your mouth as you lifted his shirt. You exhaled as you saw the long laceration starting from beside his navel to his waist.

“I can’t do this alone, I just can’t.” You swallowed, praying that his innards won’t slide out of his stomach. Where did he get this wound?

“You have no other choice, have you?” He whispered, voice straining. “Just close it and stitch it. I won’t scream,” he expressed.

“That’s not my problem! What if.. what if I’ll make it worse?”

“You won’t.” Jaehyun looked at you with hooded eyes.

This is not what you’ve expected to come home to. The schedule was to go home, eat, shower, and start your plates. Stitching up a long god-forsaken wound wasn’t on your to-do list.

You closed your eyes, trying to inhale and exhale. When you felt like your mind was clear of worries, you finally opened your eyes and started to hold Jaehyun’s skin. The tang of blood filled the whole room, your fingers sliding as it touched his bloodied skin. You let out a breath before clamping the open wound with your fingers, your other hand working its way to pierce the needle into his skin.

Goosebumps ran down your spine as you felt the needle pierced his flesh. White thread came out red as you pulled it to fasten his skin back together. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand as you pushed on with your work. With each pierce and puncture, your tension and the shaking of your hands lessened.

“Are you okay?” You asked Jaehyun when you were finally in the middle of the wound. He did not utter a word ever since you started; not a protest nor a painful scream.

“Yes… it does not hurt.” His voice came out as a whisper that you doubted his answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If I am in your position right now, I would’ve screamed like hell. Imagine, we didn’t use any anesthesia, but you still managed to look comfortable and calm,” you mumbled, trying to keep Jaehyun awake.

“Do you wanna know why?”

“Why?” A small chuckle resonated from your throat then. Jaehyun popped an eye open, and you waited for some dramatic lines like ‘I’m used to the pain’ to escape his lips, but his answer drew you to a sudden halt instead.

“Because I am a vampire.”

previous | next

[soulmate-game]

I might make this a tumblr only mini-series of connected oneshots, and I might or might not put them up on AO3 when they are all done. We’ll see how I feel.

I know I submitted this AU to Multifandomscribette, but this is my take on the prompts I gave them. This is not the same AU, and I am not using their headcanons. Just the same basic premise of Marinette being Stephen Strange’s biological daughter.

You know Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, but this story is about

Lady Strange, the Grand Guardian.

What is with this family and alliteration?!

—*—*—*—*—*

Stephen Strange was a narcissistic, emotionally constipated bastard. But he was rich, well known, and handsome, which counted for a lot when he decided he needed some time to relax, unwind, maybe with another human.

And when Sabine Cheng realized what had happened, that night she had catered for a high society medical conference gala in the States, she vowed to never drink again.

She also vowed to never tell Strange about the child growing in her womb. The only person she ever told about her child’s true origin was Tom Dupain, the man she started dating a month after her chance encounter with Doctor Stephen Strange. Nine months after that, when Marinette was almost a month old, she would propose to Tom in blatant disregard of tradition. She would be waiting for years if she wanted Tom to get up the courage to ask her, and even though it hadn’t been a full year yet Sabine knew what she wanted. Seeing the gentle way Tom held her daughter, their daughter, seeing the way he looked at the little baby as if she hung the stars for him, well that only solidified the little Chinese woman’s love for the french man.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would not know about her true father’s origin until she was twelve, when a science lecture at school had her asking Sabine who had blue eyes in each of their blood lines.

When Sabine hesitated, Marinette knew instantly that something was wrong. Sabine never hesitated. She was a whirlwind of decisiveness, always knowing what to say and how to act. Hesitation wasn’t a part of her.

Sabine told her everything. How her biological father was someone she only met once, how he was a successful surgeon who had won many medical awards. How he didn’t know she existed.

Of course, Marinette was immediately obsessed. Hurt by her mother’s secrecy, she turned her feelings of betrayal into curiosity and researched everything that there was to research about Stephen Strange. Apparently blue eyes ran on his side of the family. His own were more icy than hers, closer to a blue-gray, but familiar all the same. Both his parents were already dead though, so there went her hope of having another set of grandparents.

Marinette even went so far as to read the research papers he had written, and did follow-up research until she understood as much of it as she could. It helped that Professor Mendeleiev was more than willing to sit down and go over the medical papers with her so they could try to understand it all together.

One day, while Marinette was sewing a new dress, she paused with her needle in the air and stared at her fingers. After that day, she took much more pride than before in how steady her hands were. Her father was a surgeon, it must have been a biological trait. She clung onto anything that connected her to the oh-so mysterious Stephen Strange.

And then came Marinette’s thirteenth birthday. The same day that Stephen Strange was in a car accident and deemed in critical condition.

If Marinette kept an app for American news sources on her phone and set them to alert her if the name of her biological father was mentioned in any reports? Well, her parents didn’t need to know.

She didn’t tell her parents about the reason she was so morose for the rest of the day. She didn’t tell anyone.

She cried herself to sleep when Doctor Stephen Strange was declared to have irreversible nerve damage in his hands, and again when he went missing on a mysterious “vacation” that no media sites seemed to have any information on. She didn’t know why she felt so much connection and pain for someone she had never met, but she couldn’t help it. She would keep researching, keeping her eyes out for any mention of the man online without any luck.

That is, until Master Fu and the Miraculous entered her life. Slowly, she began to neglect her obsession with her biological father. Her passing crush on Adrien Agreste even faded away, never having much traction to begin with because of her overlying concern for the father that didn’t even know he had a daughter.

When Marinette was fourteen, the city of Paris was flooded and she had to swim through the quickly bloating bodies of the dead in order to defeat an Akuma. She reversed the damage and everyone who died was resurrected with no memory of their demise, but Marinette would never forget. All it took was a glimpse of the wrong face on the streets and she would be overcome with a panic attack, with the sight of glassy eyes and blue faces.

That was when Hawkmoth’s attacks picked up in intensity. When people began to die during Akuma attacks more frequently. When Marinette stopped sleeping in quite so much.

Her obsession over her father was a mere footnote by then, something she would idly look into on her ever increasingly rare free time with no success.

When Marinette was fifteen years, six months, two weeks, and two days old, Master Fu died. Marinette assumed the alias of Lady Strange, alongside her identity of Ladybug, so that the Miraculous wielders could contact her and know she was the new Guardian without knowing that she was also their leader in the field.

On the one year anniversary of Lady Strange being the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous, there was a worldwide magical disturbance.

Unlike Fu, Marinette did not limit herself to reacting to Miraculous problems.

—*—*—*—*—*

When Stephen glided back down from the equivalent of thousands of years bargaining and dying with Dormammu, he expected Hong Kong to be in a mess. It had been, from what he remembered of the scene before he created the time loop.

But it wasn’t. Instead, the streets looked as if no damage at all had been created. Kaecilius and his remaining zealots were tied up, quite literally, in what looked like string and hung upside down from a lamp post. Sitting down on the curb of the sidewalk and giving him a dangerously sharp glare was a young woman in a spotted costume, a mask over her face. When Strange realized he could not get any of her features to stick in his memory, he realized what she was.

Another magic user, but different from a Sorcerer. Her Neptune blue eyes bore into him with an intensity he was wholly unprepared for, but had no problem baring. After dying almost a million times, a guy tends to grow a backbone of vibranium.

Wong and Mordo stood on either side of the girl, both at a respectful distance. Wong had this wide-eyed look on his face, so much more expressive than usual that it caught the new Sorcerer Supreme off guard. Wong looked… awed?

Mordo, on the other hand, was regarding the girl with a look of barely disguised disdain and distrust. That was in character though, so Stephen didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he walked over even as his bargain with Dormammu kicked in and Kaecilius’s cult was banished to the Dark Dimension.

“You reversed the damage, then?” He asked without beating around the bush, glancing down briefly to assure that the Eye was, indeed, still on him. It was. The girl stood up, her eyes continuing to blaze with an unknown soup of emotion.

“I did,” she confirmed easily. It wasn’t until he stopped only a few feet away from her that the sorcerer noticed how small she was. The only detail his mind allowed to stick with him besides that fact was that she also looked young. Too young to have to deal with a mess like this. “You might not know of me. The Temple Of Guardians made a deal centuries ago that all records of their existence and our own magic be removed from any Sorcerer sanctums.”

“The temple that appeared in Tibet out of nowhere more than a year ago?” Strange asked, eyebrow raised. “I remember the Ancient One briefly mentioning how much of a hassle it was to hide their reappearance and teleport the temple’s location somewhere new. I was under the impression that all the members of that temple have been in a pocket dimension separate from this reality for almost two hundred years.”

“They have,” the girl confirmed with a nod. “But before that, one of the Guardians escaped that fate. He became the Grand Guardian, and was my teacher until he passed last year. He named me the new Grand Guardian to take his place,” she turned, looking at something that Stephen couldn’t see. “I have illusions keeping us from being seen by the crowd, but it would be better if we took this inside the sanctum,” she said, nodding her head to the Hong Kong Sanctum’s door behind them. Strange simply nodded, more than willing to distract himself from his immeasurably long torture by indulging his curiosity. If this girl showed up and went out of her way to repair the damage the sorcerers and Kaecilius caused, then he wanted to know why.

“Wait,” Mordo barked, walking up to have a heated discussion with Strange that ended in the former storming off. Stephen knew he should be concerned about his former friend’s desertion, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for it yet. Focusing on the mysterious girl in a ladybug suit was an easier topic for his exhausted mind to latch onto.

When they got inside, the Sorcerer Supreme saw that she had even reversed the damage in the building. He saw a few scattered disciples rubbing their heads and looking around in confusion from their spots crouched on the floor. Stephen was almost certain he had seen those same people as corpses before.

The ladybug-spotted girl had scarcely removed her gaze from him for even a second, and easily picked up on the older man’s train of thought.

“My powers reversed all the damage I could handle, including physical wounds and death,” she told him. Strange blinked.

“That explains why I thought you all looked odd. Your clothes are spotless and you don’t look like you’ve fought at all,” he directed that comment to Wong, who merely nodded. “But that doesn’t explain how you can do such a thing. I’ve been intensely studying magic and magic theory for the past almost three and a half years, and I haven’t come across any healing spell that can be this effective without the subject of the healing themselves helping to work the power through their body. I know you are not a sorcerer like we are, but what exactly is your magic? Who are the Guardians? And who exactly are you?”

The girl pursed her lips, waiting until the two older men led her to the still-wrecked tea room. Her power hadn’t been able to reach that far when she had to focus on reviving so many people without the regular Cure. That only worked on victims of Miraculous magic, what she used on the Hong Kong streets and the Sorcerers was a more advanced usage of Tikki’s powers that she learned from both Fu and her periodic visits to the Tibet temple.

“The Guardians are a group of monks dedicated to the protection and distribution of Miraculous, which is essentially magic jewelry. I would normally go on to say how this might sound unbelievable, but you have a very similar pendant around your neck right now,” she pointed out once they all sat and Wong conjured some tea for them all. Stephen tensed at her mention of the Eye of Agamotto, his eyes narrowing. Did she..?

“I know what is inside the Eye,” she confirmed his silent thought, her voice soft but firm. “And I don’t care about it in the slightest. It is probably a good reference point for my explanation though. At the birth of the universe—“

“The Stones came into existence, each one representing and controlling a core aspect of reality,” Strange interrupted impatiently. “I am the Sorcerer Supreme, girl, I already know that.”

The young female rolled her eyes, huffing. “If you listened patiently, you would know that the story you were told is only partially true,” she snapped back with false patience. “The Stones were not the only things of great power to be created during the birth of the universe. Kwami, the first living beings to be born, were also created. They are each living representations of abstract concepts, some of which overlap with the powers of the Stones. The first to be born is the Kwami of Creation. She is essentially the goddess of creation itself, the living embodiment of that very term in every way. She is the source of my abilities, she lends me her power as I am her chosen Wielder. It is that same power of creation that allowed me to essentially counteract the destruction that was caused today, by having a condensed form of her power combat the direct source of the destruction and nullify it. The second Kwami to come into existence is her counterpart and the only one equal to her in power, the Kwami of destruction. There are a lot more, including the Kwami of illusion that used her power to keep us from being seen outside. And the Kwami Of time, which allowed me to experience the time loop you created,” the girl’s eyes sharpened again, boring into his own. “I left it after the equivalent of a few weeks, when I realized I couldn’t join you and do anything to help. The Kwami Of Time is about two-thirds as powerful as the Stone by itself, and there are more than double the amount of Kwamis as there are Infinity Stones,” she took a deep breath. “My job as Grand Guardian is protecting all of them, and distributing the jewelry they are bound to as necessary to combat world or reality threatening events.”

Strange remained quiet after that, drinking in the information and doing his best to wrap his head around it. Perhaps this young woman wouldn’t mind telling him more at a later date, especially seeing as they held equivalent ranking in two separate secret magical organizations. His eyes trailed down to a necklace she was wearing.

“How many of these pieces of jewelry—“

“Miraculous,” She corrected. “That is what they are called.”

“... Miraculous, then. How many are you capable of wielding at once, if they are so similar in strength to a Stone?” Wond asked, crossing his arms. The pigtailed girl leaned back from her spot sitting on the ground with them, humming in thought for a second as she decided what to tell them. A glance at Stephen seemed to make up her mind.

“Creation and Destruction hold equal power to a Stone. The Miraculous one stage lower than that hold four-fifths the power of a Stone. The last tier, where the Time Miraculous sits, is two-thirds,” she told them from memory. “I can wield Illusion, which is on the second tier, along with two third-their, and both Creation and Destruction at the same time,” she admitted. “But it saps a lot of my energy and I rather not ever do that again, if you don’t mind. I can wield all of the Miraculous though, since all of the Kwamis like me and are loyal. I can wear any three at a time, and I can switch between them as quickly as I need to.”

Strange really needed some sleep. Five thousand year’s worth of sleep would be nice. He ran a hand over his forehead, wondering who in the world gave this much responsibility and power to a child.

“One last question, and then you can spend the night if you wish, we’ll begin reconstruction of all the Sanctums in the morning,” Stephen spoke, forcing his back to straighten and his eyes to meet the girl’s. “You never answered it, actually. Who are you?”

The girl's mouth twitched in the first semblance of a smile he had seen on her yet.

“When I am in this transformation, I am Ladybug the hero of Paris,” she said with a grin. “Spots off.”

A soft pink glow ran down her body, very similar to the ring of power that sling rings produced to make portals. It left behind an adorable teenage girl with blue-black hair pulled back into pigtails, and striking blue eyes. She was clearly of Asian descent, but there was something else very familiar about the sharpness of her jaw or the stubbornness in her lip.

“My real name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. However, I go by an alias whenever I act as Grand Guardian, so that there is an extra layer of secrecy to protect me and my loved ones. I created that alias based on my biological father, who was never told that I was even conceived,” she said meaningfully, never losing eye contact with Stephen. His eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s pitiful, but what does—“

“My alias is Lady Strange.”

Wong barked out a short laugh before he forcibly covered his mouth, his eyes filled with sadistic amusement as he watched Strange’s reaction. The elder Strange, that is.

The new leader of the Sorcerers opened and closed his mouth like a fish, completely caught off guard. He looked over to Wong.

“Is there a spell to test paternity?” He asked warily. Marinette’s smile fell a bit, but Wong nodded.

A few flashes of orange light and two green ‘99% Match’ results later, Strange let his head fall into his hands.

“Alright, Marinette,” he finally managed to mumble through the slightly trembling appendages still covering his face. “I just spent thousands of years in a time loop with the Lord of Chaos, my back aches, my head aches, I will deal with this in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. Figures my own blood relation would end up in a position of extreme magical power, must be genetic. I still have questions, but sleep comes first. Don’t expect me to be a good parent. I really need sleep.”

Marinette just giggled, standing up and helping her father to his feet with surprising ease. “Just tell me where to go and I can drop you off in your room. No more magic for the rest of the day, you’re clearly spent. And as long as you make an effort, I’ll be fine. But don’t expect to ignore me and I’ll just go away, I have ways to track you to the ends of the universe and across the multiverse and time itself, and I will not hesitate.”

“Yep, she’s your daughter alright.”

“Sleep, Wong. It’s good for the brain.”

[tightlaces]

Fire Hazards: Chapter 1

Summary: Eren gets involved with a sketchy crowd, so Mikasa swoops in to save him, yet again. At least...that’s what she thinks she’s doing.

Genre: Modern grunge AU

Pairings: Mikasa/Annie, Mikasa/Eren

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Word Count: 1,140

As soon as Mikasa pushed the front door open, she knew they were in trouble.

The house had what appeared to be a small living room, with small but well-placed windows, a nice television, and a cozy, carpeted floor. However, the room was crammed full of mis-matched furniture (much of which did not seem to belong in a living room at all), decorations, and chip bags in varying states of emptiness. A small forest of houseplants all but blocked the television from view. What appeared to be a bathroom sink was stashed in the corner, unconnected to any water source.

Along the walls, cabinets and bookshelves were lined with liquor bottles and collectible figurines. With the stagnant summer heat, the smell of unwashed bodies, weed, and neglect hung in the air. A chalkboard balanced on the back of a couch read:

HOUSE RULES:

BE YOURSELF

DON’T BE BERTHOLDT

Mikasa sighed.

“Oh!” A tall man with a sensitive, thoughtful face was tending to the houseplants. Finally noticing Mikasa, he stood up, and extended a hand, which was covered in dirt. “Are you - “

“Where’s Eren.” Mikasa demanded, flatly. The man’s mouth hung slackly, and he pointed to the first room on the left.

Mikasa kicked the door open. Inside, Eren sprawled on a mattress, which lay directly on the floor with no bedframe or cushion. The moment he saw her, he cast his video game controller aside.

“Mikasa!” he cried, jumping up to embrace her. She gave him a strong squeeze back, feeling a rush of relief and gratitude to finally see him in person, to be able to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight.

They sat on the mattress together, catching up and exchanging light kisses. Mikasa bit back her reprimands and interrogatories about his schoolwork. For all her disappointment upon seeing the living room, she wasn’t surprised.

“It’s great to see you again,” Eren told her, filling Mikasa with a happy warmth. “I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone! Well, you met Reiner before.”

“Will you give me a tour?” Mikasa asked, smiling, knowing that Eren would be excited to show her around.

Eren showed her the bathroom, which, thankfully, was cleaner than the living room. However, the kitchen brought back the feeling of churning trepidation to Mikasa’s stomach. Several half-eaten food items were left out, some seeming fairly fresh and others...less so. A steady stream of ants marched from a hole in the wall, to a sticky spot near the trash can. The recycling bin was overflowing with beer bottles, with additional bottles stacked next to it.

“It’s good you’re recycling,” said Mikasa, searching for a positive note.

The countertops were covered with various items, including expected items like a microwave and toasters (but why did they have three toasters?), but also miscellany like a wrench, an unmarked glass vial, and a crumpled sweatshirt.

Eren caught Mikasa’s eye and laughed nervously. “It’s not usually like this,” he said. “Bertholdt just tried one of his crazy recipes. He gets really down if they don’t turn out.”

“I see,” said Mikasa doubtfully, scanning the countertops. “So,” she said, to change the subject. “Which are everyone’s rooms?”

Eren had told her about his housemates. Reiner, she’d met before. He was several years older than Eren and served as something of a mentor, helping Eren pursue his dream of starting his own business. If Mikasa remembered correctly, Eren and Reiner met at a student event about business leadership. Reiner seemed like a put-together, stand-up guy. His clothes were always perfectly ironed. Mikasa hadn’t imagined him living in a dump like this.

The other two, Mikasa had never met, though she had heard they were both friends of Reiner’s. Bertholdt and Annie.

“Reiner has the largest bedroom. Then, this is Bertholdt’s room,” announced Eren, gesturing at a corner of the living room that seemed to be a nest of blankets, pillows, and clothing. There was no discernable shape or orientation to it. “He pays reduced rent because, you know, no privacy.”

“Makes sense,” said Mikasa. “Does he take care of the plants?”

“Yep!” said Eren cheerily. “Oh, so you saw him earlier?”

“Just for a second,” confirmed Mikasa. “He seems nice.”

“He is very nice,” said Eren. “He really makes the house a home.” At that, Mikasa glanced around at the piles of clutter, nonsensical objects, and general state of uncleanliness.

“And this,” said Eren. “Is Annie’s room.” Annie’s door was closed and unmarked. Mikasa couldn’t tell if she was home or not. “Annie’s cool, but...it’s hard to get to know her,” whispered Eren.

A lot of things about Eren’s new house bothered Mikasa, but the fact that he was living with another woman was not one of them. In the five years they had been together, Eren was consistently loyal and mindful. Sure, he had some crushes, but they were innocent, a mix of attraction and admiration that Mikasa found almost endearing.

It was one of the many things that made Mikasa feel proud of their relationship. Unlike other couples, they were not jealous, and rarely had serious fights. She never doubted Eren’s loyalty. Things were straightforward.

That was what kept them together for so long, when others doubted whether a long-distance relationship would survive. Mikasa’s job in disaster relief took her all across the state, wherever and whenever emergencies struck, so she and Eren were unable to see each other regularly, or even to always know when they would next meet. But their love and trust was so consistent and reliable as to make up for the logistical uncertainties.

However, Eren was not quite so dedicated to everything else.

“Hey, Eren?” said Mikasa, as they walked to the grocery store for a few things. “Are you ready for school to start?”

“Oh, yeah!” said Eren. It sounded more like “I forgot” than “I’m ready”.

“It’s in a couple of weeks, right?” asked Mikasa, although she had already looked up Eren’s school calendar online.

“Yep!” said Eren cheerily. “Only one more semester! I’m gonna crush it!”

Eren was already a year late to graduate. He only had two classes left to finish, but he couldn’t seem to put it all together to pass. At first, it was understandable mistakes with class planning, a last-minute change in his major, and then one truly overwhelming semester playing catch-up. But now, Mikasa suspected that Eren was just too passionate about everything else in his life.

“Does that one professor still teach it?”

“Yeah, Professor Zoe,” said Eren. “I think we started getting along better last time.”

“What did they say to you? If you fuck around in my class again, I swear to God I’ll end you?”

“Yeah!” said Eren, laughing. “They’re so funny.”

Mikasa bit her lip to quell the worries swirling in her head, and bought Eren an oversized stock of pantry staples instead.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Study Sessions

Calum’s always wanted to go back to school and it’s the first midterm that makes him realize just how long it’s been since he’s been in a class. Thankfully, Noa’s nice, albeit a little too organized, and more than happy to help. 

Who asked for a 21 page long fic about Calum, Valentine’s Day, smut, and poetry? Bc I got one hot off the presses. 

There is 18+ content in this fic. Please, no one under the age of 18 interacting or reading. Thank you!

You can support me on ko-fi. I’m saving up for graduate school.

____________________________________

Noa really wants to kick herself. She always left her pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack. Everything had a system; everything had a place with Noa. The placement of the full-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room, the cleaning supplies, the rotation of who cleaned what, making sure her books were always in the same spot, and always, always putting the pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack was important to Noa. She was sure it drove her roommate up the wall in their dorm room. But Brooklyn, Noa’s roommate, could be just as anal retentive about the trash and boxes from their addictive online shopping, and keeping the room free other people past 11 pm. Their crazies matched. So things worked out well. 

Maybe Noa was panicking a little too much about a pencil pouch. That didn’t really matter though. Her system was out of whack and she would have to backtrack to the science building on the other side of campus before making a loop and going to the library after class. Her printer refused to print properly and while it was annoying having to go to the library at the end of the day to type up and print out her notes to study later, it made catching group dinner with her friends easier on Thursday’s because she didn’t leave the west side of campus to go to her dorm. This did, however, mean that when Noa was going to get a lot more steps in today. Not bad, but not ideal. 

This also means that she’s going to have to use a laptop. She hated using her laptop because it meant she’d have to rewrite her notes so there were no gaps in her notebook. Noa could see that it was a very contrived system--at the end of the day, all she needed were the notes. That’s it. But it mattered to the deep recesses of her mind. It had to flow from handwritten notes to her laptop, no matter how she had to backtrack 

“Here, I have an extra.” 

Noa blinks at the hushed voice. A black pen slides in next to her open notebook. The hand is tan and tattooed. She knows those initials anywhere. Calum. She smiles and looks up to him, even if the shadows cover his face thanks to the bucket hat. It’s a staple she’s noticed over the course of the semester. “Thanks. Promise I won’t steal it,” Noa grins. 

Calum exhales his laughter. “I’d be a little upset but they are really good pens to write with. So I’d understand.”

“I’m a woman of my word, though. So you won’t have to chase me down.” Noa dates the top right corner of her blank page and then pulls out her book. She hates the book. She wasn’t able to get a copy to rent and had to kick out 50 bucks for the anthology for class, one she never really use again either. 

Calum gives a hum in response, his own pen twirling around his fingers. The professor, a man in his late sixties at the youngest, with thinning white hair and thick circular glasses walks in through the doors. There’s still five minutes before class starts and the chatter amongst students quiets just a little but doesn’t stop. Calum looks to her notebook, the way she’s written the poet’s name at the top of the page, her handwriting is tight together with a lot of width for each letter. It’s pretty with a little mess to it.  

He’s noticed that she normally uses purple ink for her notes and part of him feels bad for not having a purple pen for her. “Sorry it’s not a purple pen,” Calum states turning to face her. 

How the hell did Calum notice that? Sure she had a color for every class she took each semester. But surely no one else would’ve noticed that. It had only been three weeks of the semester. No one could’ve known that besides her group of friends and her roommate. “No, no, it’s okay. I forgot my pencil pouch in my last class so you really saved me from having to use my laptop.”

“Don’t like it?”

Noa shakes her head, feeling some of her Senegalese twists falling from the bun she put it up into on her walk across campus. Though this part of campus was walkable the heat of summer was dry and it took no prisoners some days. “I remember everything better if I write it down in my own words instead of just typing everything down the professor says. It’s like I’m not learning anything.”

He gives another nod. Though Calum studied for his high school diploma on some late nights, on tour buses, hell even in the studio, he liked sitting in class. He liked processing things and attempting to get the right words together to understand the core of things. He liked the sense of normalcy. It was nice to be learning not just from a textbook but from everyone else in the room. Sure this is just a poetry class, and sure he hadn’t really known what to expect with a title like “Modern Poetry from 1920” but he was straddled in and was surely going to see until the very end. 

Before Calum can respond, the professor clears their throat. He fishes his book out of his bag too and flips to the poems that he read the night before. “Hope everyone’s having a great day,” the professor starts. Even from the fifth row of the tiny room, Calum notices the shakes in the older man’s hands. The room is full of three to four gray rectangular tables pushed together to create rows. They sit two at each table comfortably. Each row sits about forty students comfortably. 

“A quick reminder, your first midterm is next week. All the poets we’ve discussed including today’s poet is going to be material that I will pull questions from. I’ll be providing the excerpts if a question calls for it. I’m saving about ten minutes at the end of class for us to discuss it more in-depth.” 

With a quick dab to the corners of his mouth, he finds a volunteer to read the first poem up for discussion. Once the first reading is concluded, the professor looks around for another person to read. Noa lifts her gaze and she locks eyes with the professor. A fucking rookie mistake. Something she knew better of in her eighteen years of being in school. But here she is making it. They smile at her and point at her. “Miss Noa, right? Why don’t you read for us?”

With a nervous habit of biting her pens, Noa puts Calum’s pen down and picks at her nails underneath the table. She nods and lets her eyes drift down to the page. “When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s/ edge, unseen, the salt ocean/lifts its form.” Her voice is a little shaky and though William Carlos Williams's poem is short, she becomes more confident by the end. 

Calum watches her reading more than he listens. In the three weeks classes have started, she’s never read. Neither has he. But it’s already a little awkward to walk around campus, being in a classroom isn’t too bad but it’s a confined space. He knows people are looking. He knows that they know who he is. He does what he can do just blend in and even hide. He likes listening to her reading. Her insights in class have always kind of blown Calum away too, now that he thinks about it. 

As discussion opens up, Calum finds himself taking fewer notes than usual and waiting for Noa to speak again. She doesn’t say much about the first poem but the second about the death of a cat she cuts in to make reference to Robert Frost’s poem. “I know there’s a literal connection of fire and ice in each poem but there’s death in both pieces too. Frost and Williams’ are on opposite ends of the same spectrum in a way. Williams is talking about fleas that couldn’t escape death and Frost mentions that nature is powerful that if it doesn’t take you with the sweeping fire then it will swallow you up with water. Williams's titled his piece, ‘Complete Destruction,’ and he details the destruction of a pet, of maybe even memories. While Frost is more metaphorical with some religious undertones too about the destruction of society and earth.”

Calum grins a little, watching the way she shrugs at the end of her thought. As much as if she weren’t so sure of herself. When she glances over to him, he nods at her, writing down a condensed version of her thought. The class goes on and the professor ends early like they stated. There are a few questions about the style of the midterm but not too many about the content. So the professor pulls up a small canvas bag. “Before you leave, feel free to grab a piece of candy. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you guys may or may not still have classes after this. So I hope it helps your day just a little. I have chocolate and non-chocolate options.”

He upturns the bag gently, shaking the wrapped candies onto the table next to the podium. Laptops are shut, people get up to venture to the candy. Noa slides the black pen across the gray table to Calum. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Without much thinking, in the shuffle of packing up belongings, Noa lets what she intends to be just a thought fall over her lips. “I haven’t had a Valentine’s in so long, candy from a professor feels special,” she jokes. 

Calum laughs a little, pocketing the pens and stands. “What’s your poison?”

Noa looks up at him, the cut of his jaw and the soft smile on his lips, puffing out his cheeks. “I’m a dark chocolate fan. But anything chocolate is fine.”

He nods and shuffles, backpack thrown up over one shoulder. Calum gets to the table and picks up what he estimates to be the two biggest Hershey's kisses on the table. He picks up one for himself too. Noa finally gets her backpack zipped and she slides out from between the tables. Calum drops the kisses into her hands when she pauses at the door to the classroom. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart shouldn’t flutter like it does when Calum smiles at her. She pulls the twists down and slips the silk tie around her wrist. “I’m sure you’ve got someone to get too. But thanks, though.”

Calum pushes open the door to the English building and holds it open for her. “See that’s where you might be a little wrong on your analysis.”

Noa scuffs, attempting to bite back the smile. The kiss doesn’t last long before she’s biting into the candy. She shakes her head. The joke is cheesy but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t like it. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

They pause at the end of the pathway that leads up to the building. Students are carrying on around them, to and fro they scuttle across the asphalt and brick. “Do you have another class after this?” Calum asks. 

“No, it’s my last one of the day.”

“Since we’re both lonely on Valentine’s Day, do you mind if we study together? For the midterm? It would really seal our fates.”

Noa nods. Who is she to say no to Calum Hood? She could say no of course and it’s as the breeze kicks up another heavy and slightly stale pocket of hot air that she’s reminded of her misplaced pencil pouch. “Shit, I have to go to the science building. I left my pencil pouch there. I have no clue if there’s another class in there and like I need that.”

“I-I can walk with you. If you’d like. I don’t get to see much of the campus.” Calum keeps his schedule to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He’s here from about eleven to four most days and then he heads back home. Hanging around campus would only serve to get Calum caught but he knows it might be awkward to offer his place to study. 

“Are you sure? It’s kind of far and I’m not a slow walker.”

Readjusting his hold on his strap, Calum nods. “Lead the way.”

Noa ties her hair back. “Less scenic route to get there. More scenic route on the way back.” When she steps, it’s more like a run. Noa cuts straight across, over the grass and dodging the bushes. Calum wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her power walking like his mother when they go to the grocery store wasn’t it. He keeps up though, regrettably passing by the dogs playing fetch without cooing at them. 

They cut behind buildings. A less-traveled path Calum can tell but it’s well known amongst though that have to use it to get to and from classes. He watches the others power walking past him and he’s glad he was able to keep most of his classes in buildings close together. Though parking was terrible and required him parking sometimes a block away, it was better than this walk, especially on the short time they had between classes. 

His thighs start to burn just a little when they reach the towering brick building. It looks almost like every other building on campus, minus the sign hammered into the ground--it’s the only thing that denotes its uniqueness. Noa takes the front stairs two at a time. “Holy shit, how do you do this every other day and still live?” he huffs once they enter. The lights are bright against the sterile white tiles and marble. Another marker, he notes, the older buildings on campus have dimmer light, less white. This has a more modern feel to it. 

“I don’t. I die about three minutes into the walk.”

He’s laughter leaves him in bursts, as he attempts to get his breathing back. Thankfully she stays on the first floor. Any more stairs and Calum’s sure he would’ve just opted to wait at the doors for her. The room she stops at does have some students piling in but she doesn’t stop for too long. When Noa ducks her head inside, she notices her pencil pouch sitting on a folding chair at the back of the lecture hall. Not where she left it. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to go sifting through some three hundred seats in the classroom. 

She’s quick to grab it. She can feel the eyes of the other students looking at her. Because she doesn’t raise a ruckus, the stares don’t last long and she closes the door quietly behind her. “You all good?” Calum asks. 

She holds the black pouch with roses up and grins. “All good. I just hope I didn’t kill you with that trek.”

He watches her slip into the front pocket. “I mean, I died about two minutes into it. But I’m okay now.”

Noa sucks on her teeth, a tsk falling over her lips. “Gotta keep at it. You’ll be a pro at it in no time. Is the library cool? Doubling seal our fates?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The walk back is less intense. They take the asphalt paths and go the long way around in front of buildings. They stop for a moment to just watch the dogs running on the green. They loop back around to the English building and continue on down past it. “So are you getting a degree or auditing classes?” Noa asks. 

“Auditing. I thought about going back full time but it works better for me to just audit them. The whole getting grading thing still kind of gets to me.” Calum likes to fulfill his curiosity. He just didn’t want the fear of failing to hinder him. And while he had loaded his schedule at nine credits, which was only three classes, it was more than enough. He was tempted to drop one of his classes and though Calum wasn’t super fond of the intro to psychology class, he wanted to tough it out. Prove to himself that he didn’t have to avoid the obstacle but could instead tackle it head-on.

Noa gives a hum. “Gives you time to still work on music?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t shocked that she knows. He is glad though that she doesn’t treat him differently. That she hasn’t made a huge deal of his fame. He wishes he could cloak that, at least here at school. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I was Community Health Sciences. I switched to Public Affairs last year. So I have another semester tacked.”

The trek to the library feels somehow too short and too long at the same time. Calum’s sure it’s his thighs still angry at the stairs to get inside the science building. He learns she has an older brother and that’s she the first one in her family to go to college. She worries about the extra semester and the finances but her parents have encouraged her to keep going. Noa finds out that Calum has a dog and if he had to pick something to study it would probably be in English. He could see himself in Religious Studies. Calum’s not sure though and he’s glad he doesn’t have to be sure. He can just take whatever for the moment. 

Inside the library, Noa goes to make a beeline for the open computers and then stops. “We can book a study room? I’m not sure if you just want to be, like out in the open?”

Calum looks around. It’s nearing about 5 in the evening. No one is really in the library. Most people have plans. There’s no reason to sit inside the library on Valentine’s Day when one can drink in sorrows or be out celebrating. “Whichever you prefer.”

“Let’s just get a room. I doubt anyone’s going to be hanging out here on a day like this. But I doubt you’ll be back here at all. So why not go for the full experience? The only thing you're missing is final’s week and hunkering down in a study room where you pull an all-nighter and show up to your class in your pj’s and with your pillow in your backpack.”

He doesn’t want to believe that actually happens. But she says it so matter of factly. “You’re kidding right?”

“I am speaking from experience.” She walks one of the open computers and pulls out her laptop. She logs into both of them and then pulls up the scheduling system for the various study rooms located throughout the library. “We can only technically schedule in thirty-minute blocks for up to two hours. But there’s a trick around that.”

Calum logs in as he’s instructed to do on her laptop and they agree on a room. She books it, for every hour and when the blocks show up gray for Calum on his refresh, he goes in and books it for every half hour so that they have the room from 5 to 8. “So the library has pretty strict rules about noise. Generally, the higher the level you are the quieter you have to be. The second floor is as far as I go. You can talk inside the study rooms but nothing super chatty unlike the ground floor,” Noa explains on their ascent. “I have my notes from the other classes printed out. And I was going to type up the notes from today before working on a study guide. How does that sound?”

“Anything sounds good right about now because I literally have no clue how I’m supposed to study for this at all.”

Noa grins, cracking open the door to their room. It’s tucked towards the back of the floor, in a corner. It’s behind the bathrooms and not too far from the stairs so it’s not hard to navigate to and from for bathroom or snacks located in the vending machines on the first floor. “Trust me that’s my entire college experience. You kind of figure out what works best for you as you go along.”

The room isn’t big by any means. The white table sits in the middle of it with two trash cans near the door and a whiteboard that holds the left behind lettering of study sessions past is the complete setup, not including the four chairs pushed into the conference length table. Noa drops her bag into a chair and finds her pencil pouch, she pulls out a couple dry erase markers and an eraser in a plastic bag. 

“Do you want to write down the different poets we’ve studied on the board? Start there at the very least.” 

Calum, putting his bag down in the free chair, nods. It’s when he glances down at his phone just to check the time that he worries for a moment that he should get home to Duke but after shooting a quick text to his roommate he confirms that someone is there to take him out and feed him. Noa opens up her laptop, notebook and pulls the textbook out too from the depths of her backpack. 

Calum’s handwriting is mostly uppercase and narrow. But it’s mostly neat. The markers thankfully don’t squeak on the board. He draws columns for each poet, thinking that will at least help contain the guaranteed mess of ideas during this window. He even goes a step further and creates squares for each poem, scribbling down the titles into corners 

The room’s not even that hot, while Calum browsing through his notes. Noa’s been typing for a while since he finished setting up the drawing board. But suddenly from the walk around his jacket is too warm. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it but out of some sort of habit, out of routine, Calum snagged the extra layer and now he was regretting it. It’s like his body finally caught up and he slips out of it. 

“I thought we were studying, not getting a show,” Noa teases. The thought slips through her lips with a grin. She’ll admit that she does find Calum attractive. Most times he didn’t really flaunt his body or even his status in class and that made him even more attractive. But she didn’t think she’d ever have a shot. She didn’t really think she had one now all things considered but he was the one that asked her for help. But he had started it and she was just going to see if it would continue. 

Calum feels the heat immediately flooding his cheeks. “It’s just warm, is all.” 

“Kidding, sorry.” Her gaze flicks up from her screen. Her fingers are still going, the taps echoing amongst the silence of their room. 

Calum recognizes that gaze, the smirk that tells him she is joking, but she is also not joking if he’s willing to take that step. Calum goes back to his laptop, he’s on nothing right now just staring at a blank google doc. But he makes the initiative to break the tension and ask her what her school email was. “We can just use a Google doc to make things easier.”

As she rattles it off, Calum adds her. Maybe Noa completely misread this. Maybe he really only wanted to help to study. It definitely was a hit to her pride. She almost felt like a deflated balloon as she typed down the last bullet point in her notes. “I’m going to print these out. I’ll be right back.”

Calum nods, watching her leave with her laptop in hand. His brows knit together. She sounded hurt and Calum feels like he could absolutely kick himself. Of course, he found Noa attractive. He would’ve made a move and even though he wasn’t technically getting a grade for this midterm he wanted to at least feel confident going into. God, he was an idiot. Even after all the partying, and all the girls before, Calum still finds a way to fuck something up--even innocent flirty. 

Standing at the printer, Noa exhales. Just a hit to her pride, a hard hit too. But she wouldn’t chicken out. That’s for sure. She’d march back up there and she’d see this study session through. She could do that much. Maybe she could convince the girl to her left to switch seats come Monday. That way at the very least she wouldn’t feel awful going to class. She couldn’t drop the class now--not without a Withdraw showing up on her record. Professors weren’t too keen on adding students this late into the semester. Withdrawing, would thankfully, not hurt her graduation credit hours.

She almost wants to laugh. Just because some guy rejected her does not mean she had to drop a class. All she had to do was keep a level head about all of this. Even though asking to switch seats would be blasphemous, she still enjoyed the class. It was one of the few classes she could take each semester that were just for fun. She would not give that up just because Calum turned her down. As the last of the pages spits out from the printer, she grabs her stack. All she has to do is go over the notes. They don’t even have to stay in the room until 8. 

The stairwell is stuffy as she ascends back to the second floor. She’s always hated them in the summer, the way the air clung to the sweat and humidity of the temperatures outside. Noa wasn’t sure who designed it but it was only ever the library stairs that felt so awful in the summer and even the early fall. She can see Calum with his head in his hands from the glass walls that separate open library from the study room. For half a second, she wonders if something is wrong--like with his dog. If that were the case, he could’ve just left. 

“You alright?” she asks opening the door. 

Calum, not even hearing the door, pops his head up. His heart thunders in his chest. He was wallowing in his own misery a little too deeply. “Yeah-yeah, I’m good.”

With a nod, Noa pulls at the silk tie around her twist and stares up at the quadrants on the whiteboard. “So the best place to start studying is just as the beginning of the coursework. Lame I know. But professors usually start there for a reason.”

There goes his window. Gone all within two minutes to print notes. He nods and flips to the starting poet. “So we have Frost,” Calum starts, the blue dry erase marker semi firmly gripped between his fingers. 

“Start with basics. The year he was born, maybe what his life was like, his most famous works.” 

Calum spins his chair to face the whiteboard, attempting to recall some of the biography from memory. It’s when the lulls hit that Noa steps in. He hears the table creak but he doesn’t turn. He can almost feel her leaning into it. He can see just how the tops of her exposed thighs, not dared to be hidden by her denim shorts, would squeeze and smush against the end of the table. The weather is still warm. It’s still perfect weather for shorts and skirts. 

He turns his attention back to the task at hand though, listening to Noa speak behind him. “I’ve had this professor before. He’s a kind of lenient grader. But he wants to make sure you can back your shit up with context from the poem. You can’t say someone’s trying to talk about rainbows in their poem when they’re clearly allusions to chickens.”

Calum snorts at her point but nods. “Understood. Now this is going to sound dumb--”

Noa’s quick to cut him off. “No such thing as dumb questions.”

Calum turns, seeing her leaning on her hands on the table. One knee is resting on the chair she once sat. Her gaze is stuck on the whiteboard. For a brief second, Calum lets his gaze fall. The jade green of her top nestled against her dark skin and the way her breasts are almost threatening to spill over the flimsy material almost makes Calum forget his question. She was not wearing that before. She wore a white shirt, tied in the front. There was something green underneath it--he knows that. He clears his throat. “I assume you don’t mean illusions like magic tricks and I’m a little confused.”

Noa finally brings her gaze back down, pushing back upright realizing the position she’s in. “Allusions, they’re like indirect references. So you’re talking about a thing without actually stating what it is.” She picks up a different colored marker and writes the word down in the corner of the whiteboard not holding any information. 

Calum watches the way her undershirt rises a little as she stretches up to write but flicks his gaze to the floor. “Think he’ll ask about those on the midterm?”

“He could,” she says and then leans against the table again. Calum stands. She’s too close and he’s at a bad angle to keep his focus on the material at hand. 

Facing the spread of her notes, their laptops, and textbooks, Calum looks out over the sea without really seeing any of the details. He wants to make a move that shows he’s interested without it being too subtle or too brazen. Resting his weight onto his palms, he shakes the thought from his head. It’s probably too late now. “So, like, for example, a question could be what are allusions in whatever poem of his choice?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably ask something more like compare and contrast.” Calum nods. He definitely feels a bit better about going into this exam than he did before. But he still feels like an idiot with Noa. 

Noa turns her head just a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see the bucket hat still on his head and the way his face is almost entirely hidden. She knows though. She knows the cut of his jaw and the way his lips are a little chapped but mostly plump. As she stares at him, she does feel the urge to apologize. At least just to let him know that she didn’t mean to cross any lines and that she hopes there are no hard feelings. She can feel her heart thumping in her throat as she gently rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sorry about earlier,” she whispers. His head never raises and she drops her touch before going back to the whiteboard. “That was a poor taste joke.”

Calum’s breath hitches. It catches right on his inhale and he nearly chokes on it. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice is soft, so much so that she barely catches it before turning to grab her phone to take a picture of their notes on the board. 

“What?” She’s not believing her own ears. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought--I was sure I had crossed a line.”

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable.” His gaze is soft when it lands on her. Her brows are pulled together and he has to stop his hand from raising to smooth them over with his thumb. He feels the twitch, the pull to take her hand and he lets himself to that. Just gently brushing his fingers over her hand pressed into the table next to his. 

“But-what?” She could’ve sworn the way he diverted the topic was a sign that she was pressing her luck. 

“Really, I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.”

Noa shakes her head, the twist slipping over her shoulder a little. “I know I’m not a math major but this isn’t adding up.”

Calum really can’t tear his gaze away from her lips. They glisten a little, dark brown and a hint of pink from the saliva on her tongue as she licks them. It’s really lame, he thinks, that he’s this hesitant to make a move on her. But she hasn’t pulled away from him just yet so that must mean something. Maybe he could show her what he meant. “Is-Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Fuck. Oh fuck. Noa nods, she’s sure her eyes are blown wide. She’s not sure however that she’s breathing properly until the whisper of “Yes” falls from her lips. They inch closer together. Like stuttering traffic that stops and starts and soon there’s no more space to be hesitant. Their lips brush, slightly parted too. He can smell the chocolate she had earlier and it’s so sweet in his nose. Before the first kiss truly ends Calum reaches for her waist, turning her into him. He leans into the table, his back facing the door, and she leans into him. 

Her arms loop around his neck, nails trailing at the edge of his t-shirt and his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine when her nails scratch at his skin. Calum encases her waist with his arms, pulling her into him. Her kiss tastes like the Hershey kiss and her skin is so soft beneath his fingers. When he breathes in, his nostrils are lined with the smell of coconut. An intoxicating scent if he’s going to associate it with her at all. 

The sounds of their kisses, lips meeting and pulling apart before meeting again echo slightly around the room. She reaches up, pulling away from his lips just a little. Calum stretches out for her though, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She laughs, mostly from her chest before she gives in and recaptures his lips. 

His cologne isn’t too strong. It’s got a hint of musky to it with some more floral overtones and Noa thinks she has to figure out the exact scent because she would love to just bathe in it. She doesn’t stop her previous movements though and pulls the hat up. Calum ducks his face into her shoulder and chest. 

She didn’t expect a buzz cut but it looks good and she runs her hands over the back of his head. “Can’t kiss you if your face is buried in my shoulder.”

“But I can kiss you,” he counters, gently capturing the juncture of her neck and shoulder between his lips. The touch is so feather-light, almost as if her skin were made of glass. But it makes her hot and her heart strums steadily in her chest. It’s almost sad how the softest touch is turning her own. She’s glad for the moment Calum can’t see what effect this is having on her. It’s shameful how wet her underwear is. 

Noa lets her head go as Calum kisses across her throat too, his tongue trails after the places his lips have touched first. Her hair brushes over Calum’s fingers, as they start to travel down to her ass, cupping her over the denim shorts. They hardly do much to stop the imagination from running wild. His fingertips run across her skin, digging into the crevice between the line of her ass and the tops of her thighs. 

A moan escapes her. Noa doesn’t even feel the shame anymore. Not as her hand reaches between their bodies and trails up his chest. She cups his throat and pushes him up. His grin is lazy on his face, eyes heavy with lust. “So I see you really didn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The vibrations of his voice tickle her palm but she doesn’t drop the hold and Calum doesn’t duck away from it. Would Noa let herself go? She could attempt to bring Calum back to her dorm though she’s not sure if Brooklyn is in the room. If so, that’s definitely an awkward shuffle to text Brooklyn and then walk all the way back to her room. 

She drops her hand from his throat, before running it up under his shirt. He tenses for a moment at her touch but grins. Noa decides not to think too much about where things go and where they wind up at the moment. Instead, she kisses at his neck, running her tongue over his adam’s apple. Calum has to bite his lip just a little to keep the groan from escaping him so loudly. He knows she knows just what she’s doing as her nail scratch at his lower abdomen right along the band of his boxer briefs.

“I have another question,” Calum asks, a soft sigh escaping his lips when she kisses up to his ear. 

“Which is?”

“I can only assume we’re not studying poetry anymore. But I just want to make sure it’s okay if I study your anatomy?”

Noa snorts, her laughter shaking her shoulders as she presses her face into Calum’s chest. “I told you I wouldn’t be won over by academic pick up lines but I’ll be damned if you don’t keep trying.”

“They seemed to work,” Calum takes the sides of her face into his hands. There’s still a grin on her face when she lets him pull her upwards a little. “Is that a yes though in all seriousness?”

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, enjoying the slight roughness at the tips of his fingers as he brushes them over her cheeks. 

“How likely are we to get caught in here?”

“If we don’t make too much noise, pretty low. I mean, who else is coming to the library on Valentine’s Day?”

Calum presses her in close before pushing up with his hips and spinning them around. He clears away a spot before hoisting her to the table. “I must admit, I like the sounds of those odds.”

Calum stands between her legs. She spies a set of chains around his neck and pulls them out, gently holding the gold and silver chains in her palms. She’s not sure what they mean, the symbols on the black enamel or the gold plate but they look good hanging around his chest. “Sentimental?”

Calum runs his fingers over the strip of skin just under the edge of her green tank top and the top of her shorts. “Yeah.”

The subject is dropped rather quickly and she kisses the underside of his jaw. Her fingers find the hem of Calum’s t-shirt. He pulls the black tee up without much thought and she lets her hands wander of the expanse of his chest. She lingers at his tattoos. She doesn’t question those either. Just admires them and the way the black ink stands out on his golden skin. There’s a moment, in the back of her mind, that she’s acutely aware of how much darker she is compared to him. It's a thing she’s always been aware of for sure, it’s a general fact about herself that is generally inescapable. But she’s not sure why it matters now. 

Calum can see her mind wandering and he tips her chin. “You can always say no. It’s okay.” He doesn’t want her to feel pressured. It won’t hurt him at all if she backs out of this. He’d rather her protect herself than worry about him. 

“It’s just--a thing, a small thing. Nothing to do about this.”

“You sure?” 

Noa nods, flicking her twists over her shoulder. Calum raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question. “I’m very sure,” she says, tugging at the band of his pants. 

There’s a soft chuckle he gives and nods, satisfied with her answer. “I was going to break out another taboo pickup line.”

Noa gets a grip around his neck and brings him down. Her kiss is soft and slow before she pulls back just a little. Their lips brush as she speaks. “As much as I hate those, they are effective. So I hate that fact a little more.”

Calum dares to bring his hands down, under the shorts and underwear. What he finds makes him groan into her lips. She’s dripping onto his fingers. “Very effective,” he whispers, teasing her heat with his fingers as he collects just a little taste of her onto his fingers. She watches through slightly hooded eyes as Calum licks his fingers. “God,” he huffs. 

He goes back to get yank the shorts and panties. She pushes herself up to assist and Calum wastes no time slipping down to his knees. Noa reclines back, hands pressing down into the table and the edge of a notebook. Calum takes a generous lick from her. She’s sweet on his tongue and all he wants is to drown in the arousal she drips. 

Noa shudders at the first touch and she’s glad she’s facing the whiteboard and not the window because the look on her face, of pleasure and also desperation is a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone. Her breakup sophomore year kind of scorned her. She’s had the offers at parties or even out at bars, but never took them. Right now, the way she’s responding to Calum should be embarrassing but it’s the last thought on her mind. 

All Noa wants and can think about is how Calum’s tongue flicks against her clit, the way his lips wrap around it to give it a gentle suck before planting a kiss. “Shit,” she heaves, trying to keep from being too loud. It’s not lost on her that too much noise will get them caught. But god is her rock shaking at the feeling of Calum’s tongue working at her. It’s going to be the end of her, she thinks, staring up at the ceiling attempting to keep her breathing under control. 

Calum feels her thighs starting to shake and he throws them over his shoulder. She falls deeper into her recline. Every lewd slurp echoes. The first finger into her is all too easy to get inside and he works the second one in while teasing her clit with his tongue. It’s a moment, with a breathy instruction of “Back and up,” before he’s brushing over her g-spot. Her vision spots for a moment and she presses her lips together to swallow down her own moan. 

“Fuck,” she whines when Calum sucks at her clit. The knot in her stomach grows, she can feel the heat radiating from the top of her head to her toes. She’s going to make a mess. She can feel it bubbling in her lower stomach but she can’t find the words to warn him as she works to keep her cries in her chest. 

It’s evident though when she finds the edge and falls over it. Her legs close in around Calum’s head. He works her through the orgasm, gentle licks. Calum kisses over her inner thighs before pulling his fingers from her. She’s spent above him, panting. But she stops him-- a hand tight around his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth. 

“You wouldn’t?”

Noa says nothing before licking her own arousal from his fingers. Calum shouldn’t be so turned on by her tasting herself but he swears he could nearly come from just the way she hums around his digits. It makes him wonder for a moment what else she can do with that tongue. She grins when she releases his fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop. “I would.” 

Calum stays on his knees, watching carefully as she slips off the table and back into her underwear and shorts. She taps at the chair. “Take a seat.”

He pushes up and into the chair. “You really could’ve just left those off.”

Noa bites her lip at the thought. “Even though I’m young, I’m not dumb. I never re-upped on condoms in my backpack and unless you have some. I think you’ll be pleased with my compromise.”

Calum mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing away the key. He nearly forgot about that and that’s not a risk he wants to take either. No matter much the idea seems tempting he knows that the potential consequences are not worth it. Noa doesn’t waste any time, to tie her hair back or get Calum’s pants and underwear down either. She’s not really sure what she expected but he’s more than he lets on and her mouth drools at the thought. 

She kisses his tip, the tip leaking just a little. Calum sighs, dropping his head back on his neck. He doesn’t really want her to tease him like this. But it does feel good. How gentle she’s being. The way she’s slow to coat him with her saliva. He exhales harshly when he slips into her mouth and when she doesn’t stop but continues on Calum groans. “Fucking hell.” It’s as if she could just swallow him whole and her mouth is so warm too. 

Noa hums a little at the taste and weight of him. She looks at through her lashes and keeps her eyes nice and big, playing innocent at the way Calum huffs above her. He blinks his eyes just enough to see her batting her lashes and he’s so tempted again to pull out of her mouth and just fuck her right here. He’s sure her pussy is just as good as her mouth, if not better. Another moan is crawling up his chest and Calum inhales to keep it from falling over his lips. She pulls back from him, swirling her tongue just around the top. Her fist pumps at him. Calum knows he won’t last. His head is starting to float and he’s reaching out for anything and everything to keep ground. 

He finds Noa instead, the very thing lifting his consciousness from his body. But it’s all he has to attempt to ground him. Calum lets one choked moan fall over his lips. “God,” he heaves like he’s been underwater for too long and is getting the first gulps of air again. His eyes screw up as she takes him back down and bobs her head along his length. The sounds of her slurping up her excess saliva are a little loud but he prays that they don’t echo too much before he cums. 

That’s all he wants. Just release. That bliss of orgasm. His toes are curling and he’s holding a little tighter to Noa he knows. But he can’t help it. His hips raise up from the seat, bucking into her and she has to readjust her angle to keep him down. But Calum’s so fucking close. He can feel it. His thighs are tensing and he’s nearly in tears with how badly he desires to cum. She’s toying with him, speeding up to build up that pressure--that need, but slowing down just enough to keep it far enough away. 

“Oh, please, please,” he begs. There is definitely a prickle of tears. Noa knows she’s playing with fire but she pulls back one last time, watching the way his jaw tense and he hisses, the air sucked in between his teeth. “I wasn’t-I wasn't this mean to you.”

Noa winks at him. Calum knows he’s going to have to do something to wipe that smirk off her face somehow. “Wanted to see how much you could take.” She says nothing else and finally takes him back into her mouth, hand and mouth pumping at him. He goes barreling towards his orgasm. He halfway expects her to pull away again when he finds his hips bucking again but she doesn’t. Calum holds her head tight and pours down the back of her throat. 

Noa brings him over the edge and she’s gentle, slightly suckling to get down every drop. When she finally brings her head away, she does leave a small kiss. The air is thick and Calum exhales, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. He nearly has to make sure that it’s actually his soul that comes back to him. Noa hands him a tissue and then excuses herself for just a moment to the restroom. 

When she returns, the table is clearned for the most part. Her books are neatly stacked and her laptop is sitting on top of the sleeve. The dry erase markers and erasers sit at the top of her pile too. Calum is dressed again, leaning against the table with the bucket hat back on his head. He watches her open the door with a tiny smile. The whiteboard’s been erased too. “Did you get a picture of the--” Calum nods before she finishes the full question. 

She’s not sure if she should move from the spot at the door but Calum’s gaze is intense so she waits. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it,” he grins. “How far away do you stay from here?”

“I live on campus actually. It’s like a fifteen minute walk to the other side.”

“I’m parked not too far from the English building. How about a ride and a round two?”

“For studying poetry or anatomy?” There’s no hiding her grin as she asks the question. 

Calum’s impressed at the wit. “I would say, after what I’ve seen and tasted today, I would call it poetry.”

She has to cast her gaze down. Because if not, she’s going to explode at delivery of the compliment. “Just don’t make any joke about tasting desire twice or I might nickname you Frost and I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Calum laughs and reaches out a hand. She takes it, stepping into him. She gazes up, the shadow of the bucket hat making the moment seem more private. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course you are.”

The ride over is nerve wrecking. But the gentle pressure of Calum’s hand on her thigh keeps her just enough on the string that it doesn’t matter. Brooklyn agrees to give her the room until 10. It’s a little after six currently. Plenty of time but still. It’s not fun being sexiled. Noa makes a mental note to grab a few snacks on her next grocery run as a thank you to Brooklyn. The AC blasting in Calum’s car is Noa’s saving grace. The slight chill is welcomed to the warmth still radiating from her body.

She directs him to turn right at the next intersection. “It’s pretty out here,” Calum notes. The buildings follow the same brick patterns as most other buildings on the campus. But there are some trees that stand tall and it feels a little cozy. Noa hums and she directs him down to a parking lot. It’s not that far down from her actual dorm. The walk feels longer though for Noa, feeling Calum right behind her.  Calum follows with quick glances the way her ass shakes a little with her gait. The shorts are definitely higher than they were before and he’s sure that was done purposefully. 

Noa fishes out her keys and swipes into the building before directing Calum up the flight of stairs on the side. Their shoes echo as they ascend. Her room is the first one once they step outside from the stairwell. “I apologize now if it’s a mess,” Noa says with her key in the door. She’s praying that Brooklyn’s side isn’t a disaster.

 Thankfully at the first crack, the room is cool and clean. She carries past one bed to the second pushed against the wall near the window. Calum notes the white and black comforter and the posters decorating her wall. There are string lights and after a moment they twinkle off the white plaster of the walls. 

“Putting on the full works, huh?” Calum drops his hat and bag next to her desk. They shed shoes. Her bed is raised so she pulls out a step stool. 

“Something like that.” 

Calum cups her jaw. “I’m flattered.” Their kisses are still heated but less desperate. Both of them are aware of what’s happening and what’s going to happen. Calum pulls at the knot of her white shirt and pushes it off her shoulders. Maybe it was a little insane. Maybe it was the fact that Calum was a little tired of being lonely on Valentine’s Day even though he hated the whole institution of the holiday.

Whatever it was that brought him here to peeling Noa out of her shirt and revealing her breasts to him didn’t really matter. Because he was okay with it. He cups one of her breasts, teasing the bud with his fingers and he kisses along her neck. He feels her heart races with his tongue. “Love it don’t you?” 

Noa hums, pulling around his shoulders. “Maybe.” 

He laughs into her skin. She climbs up onto the bed first and Calum sheds his shirt before climbing up behind her. On the corner of her desk near the bed, he spies the box of condoms. Multiple boxes actually. He reaches over her to one of them. He’s going to drag this out just to have her begging like she did with him. “This is quite the collection.”

Noa knows part of this is payback but she reaches up running her hands over his sides to get him to come back to her. Calum resists the temptation to look down and kiss her again. If she does all his resolve will break. He studies another box and she lifts her head from her pillow finding one of his nipples and sucking it into her mouth. Two can play this game. And Noa knows that while she’s aching for me, she might have a better chance of riding this game out than Calum. 

Calum drops his head for a moment, letting the electricity of her touch travel up his body. One hand creeps up to his crotch, putting just enough pressure onto his growing erection. He’s so fucking screwed. Noa kisses across his chest, soft ones that barely make contact with his skin. “I’m going to be giving a pop quiz about the varieties I have. So study up,” she jokes before pulling her hand away. 

His laughter is soft above her. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

“You were being stubborn and I had to try something.”

“You teased me. Don’t dish out what you can’t handle.”

“I can handle plenty,” she retorts pushing at his shoulder. 

Calum straddles her lower legs, popping the button on her shorts yet again. “Is that so?” The question is punctuated by him pulling her shorts and panties off. His fingers waste no time to part her and circle her entrance. Her back sinks into the mattress and her hips rise. Calum catches the small hard exhale of all her air leaving her lungs. 

Calum hovers over her, one arm keeping his weight steady while he teases her. His lips brush over her jaw. “What was that?” His question is answered by a moan that falls over Noa’s throat. He kisses down her throat, sucking just a hair too hard at the thin skin. It doesn’t leave a bruise but when Calum pulls way, there’s a red spot for sure on her skin. 

Noa lets herself be consumed by the way his stubble scratches over her skin. Calum kisses down the valley of her breasts. His teeth graze over her nipples. Maybe he’s better at the game than she thought he was. She liked to think she was tough, but Noa knows deep down the softest touch can turn her into putty. She doesn’t find it within herself to care when he flicks her nipple with the tip of her tongue. 

Calum drinks in every sound. She sounds so good beneath him at the mercy of his whims. Though he knows he’s going to give in soon. Soon his own tough act will dissolve and all he’s want is her to be thoroughly fucked. Calum carries down her body, kissing over her stomach before finding her heat again. All it takes is one lick, bottom to the top and Noa shakes, her thighs quiver and Calum knows he has her. 

Her hands find his neck though. She pulls him up before pushing up and Calum falls into the mattress. She works his pants down and kisses over his thighs as she goes. Her teeth are sharp when she takes a bite, nothing too hard, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Calum to know she’s serious. He’s serious too. His arm hooks around her neck once the pants are fully disrobed. “Come here,” he murmurs and she settles on his lower torso. 

Noa could lose herself in Calum’s kisses and never want to find a map out. Calum traces at her skin with the tips of his fingers as if trying to etch the roadmap of her into his memory. Noa reaches behind and strokes Calum’s length, almost too leisurely, like she knows she can just take her time with him. He lets her too. What else does he have to lose? What else does Calum have to do on such a bullshit holiday than just having some fun?

He does enjoy that this isn’t rushed. He’s also glad he’s not tipsy and neither is she. There’s something about alcohol and sex that never quite worked for Calum, though he’ll admit to some days waking with hickeys and blaming the vodka almost immediately. He likes the intimacy that they share, as crazy as it sounds. Like the way Noa looks at him after they break away from a kiss. She doesn’t look crazed or greedy, her eyes cradle him almost. She traces over his tattoos. 

The questions linger on her lips. Like what does ‘Choose Life’ really mean to Calum? Who was Mali? To whom did those initials belong too? But Noa knew those were questions she couldn’t ask. And she kind of liked the mystery of it. She liked knowing Calum but not getting the full picture. She had the frame. She has the beautiful man in front of her but she didn’t have his mind. She saw bits of it in class for sure. When he finally decided to speak. But that was a piece that would always linger behind the curtain. 

It was still a game for sure. Calum giving away what he wanted to give of himself but keeping everything else. Noa knew better than to think she could win that game. She knew better than to assume she could even be a player. It seemed cliche to think that maybe just maybe she could be the one to change that. That had to be loneliness talking though. It always crept in on days like this. At least for the moment, she was having her own fun. 

Her own fun--that’s all she needs to focus on right now. Noa reaches across Calum’s body to her desk and he uses the moment to bring the nipple and even part of her tit into his mouth, to tease her for just a moment longer. She barely keeps her grip on the box of condoms at the shiver running through her body. “Fuck,” she breathes. 

Calum hums at the praise and pinches her right nipple between his fingers. “You know,” he starts, tracing the swell of her breast with his fingers. “You do this thing when you’re thinking, where you bit the inside of your lip and you kind of zone out.”

Why is Calum so fucking observant? Why did he have to go and say that? He was really digging her grave. He might as well go and build the casket for her too. “I’m not backing out of this.”

“I was just saying,” he hums. 

“When you’re thinking you tend to play with whatever is in your hands,” Noa returns and then glances down her nipple, the way his fingers roll it and pinch. A moan builds in her chest--she can feel it. Calum immediately pulls his hand away. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

The grin that takes over his face is shy. Noa kisses his nose before tearing a condom from it’s foiled package. “How about a ride?” she grins. 

Calum has to laugh at the smirk and corny joke. But he agrees. “I hope I’m tall enough for it.”

“More than tall enough,” she laughs, rolling the condom done him. It’s the first sink, the stretch that makes Noa’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Calum finds her hips, exhaling hard too at the squeeze and warmth of her. 

“Fuck,” they both exhale. Her pace is slow to start but Calum brushes everything inside of her, even parts that she didn’t even know could be brushed. It’s a little painful but the adjustment happens and all Noa’s concerned with is watching Calum fall apart beneath her. His fingers curl into the fat and muscle of her hips and thighs. 

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo about the room and Noa releases the hiss, the only thing she can do at the feeling of Calum buried so deep inside of her. It’s true bliss when her pace picks up and Calum watches her tits bounce in time. “Fuck, just like that,” he encourages. 

It’s not easy work Noa will admit but it’s rewarding to hear how strained Calum’s voice is. How much he’s tittering closer and closer to the edge. Calum brings his fingers to her clit and her yelp, part surprise, part an exhalation of arousal, he hums. “That what you needed? Just a little attention for a greedy clit?”

Noa sighs, holding herself upon his chest. “But you like it, don’t you? You’re coming to cum for me and my greedy clit, aren’t you?”

He is. Not right now, but soon. It’s creeping up on him and god, will it be sweet. He brings her head down to kiss her, to swallow down every filthy sound she makes and save it for later in his chest. Calum plants his feet into the mattress and meets her bounces with his own thrust. “Oh, shit,” she whines, her voice straining at the added sensation. Time starts to lose its grip. They are just feeling bodies. 

It’s soon her face down into the mattress though, curling the sheets into her fist as Calum drives into her. “God, please,” she groans, feeling the twinge of her orgasm knotting at her lower stomach. 

Calum brings her up, her back into his chest with a hand tucked around her throat. It’s not tight and soon it drops to her nipples again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” she exhales. “Just you, Calum.”

His fingers dance over her sex. She clenches once, a sign of the impending orgasm that will be crashing over it. Calum kisses along her shoulders and across her back, the twists in the way don’t even matter. Not when he can feel her occasional spasms. He’s not going to last much longer. But he wants to get her there first. With a little more pressure at her clit, Noa grabs Calum's thigh. Another whine falls over her throat and she again lacks the warning. 

She cums with a heavy grunt scratching over her throat. Calum bites down onto her shoulder. His orgasm follows soon after thanks to her spasms. After they clean up, she falls into her sheets and Calum lays for just a minute. Just to catch his breath and he traces over the still red marks of his teeth. “Is it too much if I offer to buy pizza?” Noa asks, curled up into his chest. “Does seal the fate on Valentine’s Day as well when you’re single?”

Calum laughs. “It’s definitely sealed the fate on many of them for me in the past. But I should probably get home. Be an adult, even if I don’t want to be.”

Noa nods. It’s a little awkward when Calum has to crawl over her to climb down off the bed but all she does is giggle before kissing his cheek. Calum finds his shirt and she tosses him his underwear from the sheets. “I should write a personal note to Calvin Klein for that underwear. Your ass is ten out ten in those.

Calum shakes his head, his laughter loud. “And out of them?”

“Seven out of ten.”

“I should be offended.”

Noa shrugs, holding the sheets to her chest. “Alas, you don’t seem to be though.”

With the bucket hat situated back over his head, Calum shrugs. “Guess I’m not if it’s coming from you. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

She nods. “Sure.” Calum’s hand doesn’t quite reach the door before she calls out her next question. “You remember how to get out of here right?”

“Something tells me it’s like the same way I came in? But I’m not too sure.”

“Smartass,” she grumbles. 

Calum chews on his lip for a moment to hide the smile. He was worried him leaving would be awkward. But he finds himself not wanting to go really. He thinks he could split a pizza with her. What would be the worst that would happen? But he doesn’t want to push any more boundaries or piss off her roommate.“Bye, Noa.”

“Bye, Calum.”

***********

Now Noa is definitely worried after not seeing Calum on Monday that he freaked out about their hookup. She didn’t have his number and emailing him was out of the question. Emailing wasn’t the format to have the ‘what-happened-and-why-are-you-avoiding-me’ conversation. Everything seemed fine when Calum left. He even sent a thank you email when she sent him the notes she typed up from their study session. He had included the blowing a kiss emoji. That had to mean something. It had to. Even Brooklyn said it meant something. Sure Brooklyn was no expert. But who sends that kind of emoji unless they mean something behind it?

Though when Monday rolled around, Calum wasn’t to be seen. Today was Wednesday, the day of their midterm. Noa books it from her class in the science building but because of some rain, there is a mud spot and she slips. She doesn’t fall, thankfully catching herself on the edge of the brick wall but she knows the feeling of her pants splitting literally anywhere. 

Her shirt is most definitely not long enough to cover it and she can’t be late for the exam. So she carries on, wishing she had grabbed an extra layer to help save her from the embarrassment. First Calum ghosts her and now her pants rip. Today’s really not her day. Not that she needed it to be her day, but she would’ve liked it. 

Taking a quick moment to assess the damage, Noa feels behind. The hole is mostly towards her inner thighs but it does gape a little to the back and she’s mortified that half her ass is hanging out. She hopes this is the icing on her cake. She’d really rather not have too much else to her shit cake. This was more than enough shit for any one particular day. 

Just a few minutes before class starts, she opens the door to the classroom. The professor stands at the podium, exam in hand. Her eyes scan the room briefly and there’s Calum. His head down and she’s sure that he had to have heard the door opening but he doesn’t look up. There’s nowhere else to sit either, except for her spot right next to him. And she’s not going to cause a scene on midterm day either. 

She’s careful as she sits, to avoid further splitting, and slips off her backpack. She keeps her back turned and fishes out a pen, black ink this time. Just as she faces forward, a Hershey’s kiss and peppermint are placed in front of her. Calum grins, pulling the wireless headphones from his ears. “My mum used to give me peppermints before a test. She said it was supposed to help. I don’t know the exact science.”

Maybe Calum didn’t hate her? It definitely is a shock for him to be talking so casually. She’s happy though. She’d rather not have to shun Calum. She liked his stupid ass jokes and maybe, just maybe, she was letting herself get a little too close. That was a disaster she’d deal with later though. “Were you sick on Monday or something?” Something was going around and if Calum had caught it, she did worry that she would too, 

He shakes his head. “A gig ran late Sunday. I just emailed my professors that I wouldn’t be able to come in on Monday. I realized I needed the notes from Monday but I didn’t want it to seem like I was just using you. So I’m sorry about you not hearing from me after I said I would.”

Noa reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small bag of peppermints. There was just a misunderstanding. She can handle that. “My mom used to say the same thing.” She situates the bag between them. “In case you need another one during the exam. Also, I can give you my number.”  She finds a scrap piece of paper and writes it down. Calum saves it fast and sends her a text too so she has his number. 

As the professor starts to hand out the exam, only a list of four questions of which they’ll pick two to respond too, Calum feels the slight jitters coming back. Noa notices and slides her piece of chocolate over to him. They lock gazes for a brief moment and smile, both reminded of the last time chocolate was involved. 

The questions aren’t too hard. The practice ones Noa came up with fall right in line with what she said the professor would ask. She finishes first between the two of them and leaves the bag of peppermints. Calum notices her awkward shuffle and the hole in her jeans. He can’t use his phone to tell her to wait up but he’s almost done himself. So he scribbles down the last few sentences for his question and quickly gathers his things. 

From the pocket of his backpack, he feels his phone vibrate. He hands over his exam and slips out of the front door. Noa’s not in sight so he digs out his phone, stepping out into the bright sunlight. She’s not even halfway down the path, stopped by someone else as they chat for a moment. He thinks it’s her roommate, she looks familiar and the two laugh before going their separate ways. 

“Noa,” Calum calls out to her and she turns. These stairs aren’t as steep and he’s quick to get down them. Calum reaches into his backpack, revealing a sweatshirt and hands over her bag peppermints. “You can use this until you get back to get new pants.”

“I have a meeting with my advisor and then a club meeting. I was just going to tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to our meeting.”

“No, no, keep it. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be late.”

“I won’t be able to get it back to you until Friday.”

“I could come to pick it up too before then?”

Noa knows that look, the glint in his eyes as she ties the sweatshirt around her waist. “My last class tomorrow ends at 2.”

“I’ll pick you up from class. Just text me the building. We can study. I heard it’s Valentine’s Day. 

“That’s about a week late.”

“I was always bad at math,” Calum jokes. “You think I should sign up for one next semester?” Noa laughs as she steps backward from Calum. Of course, he would make another joke. They get her every time too. “Is that a yes though?”

“That is a yes. To Thursday and to you needing a math class.”

“Ouch.” He holds a hand to his chest, faking pain.

She twirls before throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Noa.” He wipes out his phone, watching her walk down the bricked over paths. Next time you don’t have to split your pants to get my attention. 

She stops and spins around, fingers flying over the keys. I can and will take this hoodie hostage. 

“That’s my favorite hoodie,” he shouts at her. 

“Not my problem, sweetheart.”

“It absolutely is your problem.”

“My problem is that I’m going to be late.” 

___________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @glitterlukey 

[writethehousedown]

Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

[differentnutpeace]

Once On The Brink Of Eradication, Syphilis is Raging Again

In certain circles of San Francisco, a case of syphilis can be as common and casual as catching the flu, to the point where Billy Lemon can't even remember how many times he's had it.  หวย บอล เกมส์ คาสิโนออนไลน์

"Three or four? Five times in my life?" he struggles to recall. "It does not seem like a big deal."

At the time, about a decade ago, Lemon went on frequent methamphetamine binges, kicking his libido into overdrive and silencing the voice in his head that said condoms would be a wise choice at a raging sex party.

"It lowers your inhibitions, and also your decision making abilities are skewed," says Lemon.

He's sober now and runs the Castro Country Club in San Francisco, which is not a resort, but a place where gay men come to get help with addiction, especially meth. Lemon says syphilis comes with the territory.

"In the 12-step community, if meth was your thing, everybody had syphilis," he says.

In 2000, syphilis rates were so low, public health officials believed eradication was on the horizon. But the rates started creeping up in 2001, grew steadily for the next two decades, then spiked 74% since 2015. There were nearly 130,000 cases nationwide in 2019, according to data released Tuesday by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

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In California and the US, about half of syphilis cases are in men who have sex with men. More than a third of women in the western United States who have syphilis also use meth, a drug that has seen its own surge in recent years.

These are just some of the trends causing overall national cases of sexually transmitted diseases to hit an all-time high for the last six years in a row, reaching 2.5 million. And the consequences are now trickling down to babies who are contracting syphilis from their mothers: these congenital syphilis rates nearly quadrupled between 2012 and 2019.

This was all before the coronavirus pandemic took hold in the US, and with contact tracers and testing supplies diverted from STDs to COVID, the CDC is predicting 2020 numbers will be no better.

"We are quite worried about this and have seen this trend over time," says Dr. Erica Pan, California's state epidemiologist. "Unfortunately, with years of not having enough funding and infrastructure in public health, and then in this past year, of course, both at the local and state level, a lot of personnel who had been focusing on STDs and syphilis follow-up have really been redirected to the pandemic."

Billy Lemon is executive director of the Castro Country Club in San Francisco, where gay men can get help with addiction. Lemon says that when it comes to methamphetamine use in particular, syphilis often comes with the territory.

Beth LaBerge/KQED

A number of factors are fueling the syphilis surge

There are many factors that contribute to the rise of STDs, and syphilis in particular.

In the gay community in San Francisco, for example, the rise of mobile dating apps like Grindr and Tinder made finding a date "faster than getting pizza delivered to your home," says Dan Wohlfeiler, an STD prevention specialist and co-founder of Building Healthy Online Communities, which uses these apps to improve gay men's health.

When the dating apps first came on the scene around 2009, they made it harder for disease investigators to track the spread of STDs and notify people who may have been infected, because men don't always know the names of the men they hook up with.

"They sometimes only know their online handle," says Dr. Ina Park, associate professor at UCSF School of Medicine and author of the book Strange Bedfellows, about the history of STDs. "And if the sex didn't go well, then sometimes they will block the person from their app and they don't even know how to reach that person again."

Online dating began back in the late 1990s, which was around the same time effective medications to prevent the transmission of HIV became available: first, antiretrovirals that suppress the virus in those who are HIV positive, and then later, in 2012, pre-exposure prophylaxis, or PreP, which prevents new infections in people who are HIV negative, but considered at-risk for exposure to the virus.

With the risk of contracting a deadly disease falling to almost zero, condoms fell even more out of favor than they already were, says Park.

"If one man is taking PreP and the other one is virally suppressed, there's no HIV risk at all," she says. "So why use condoms if you don't mind having a touch of syphilis?"

Diagnosing syphilis is tricky

While syphilis is not benign – it can cause blindness, deafness, or brain damage – it is easy to treat. Typically, a shot of penicillin in the butt will cure it.

But diagnosing syphilis can be tricky, says Park, who treats patients with STDs at the San Francisco City Clinic. She often finds herself crouched low in the exam room, "lifting up their scrotum and lifting up their penis," craning her head to get a look from all angles.

She does these gymnastics to find rashes associated with syphilis. Some are obvious, others subtle. She says doctors in regular family medicine clinics often aren't trained on where to look, or when.

"The patient came in saying, 'I'm tired,'" Park says, referring to a common symptom of syphilis. "How many people are going to say, 'Take off your pants and lift up your scrotum, I want to look? We only do that at the STD clinic because that's what we do."

But specialized public STD clinics, like the one where Park works, have been shutting down nationwide. One reason is persistent underfunding of public health programs, a trend laid bare during the coronavirus pandemic. Another reason is the Affordable Care Act. In a strange way, the 2010 law intended to expand access to health care actually contributed to the closure of STD clinics.

"Honestly, I think everyone thought they weren't going to be necessary," said Dr. Karen Smith in 2019, when she was the director of the California Department of Public Health. She says once Obamacare was in place, the thought was that STD testing would happen in primary care clinics.

"We sort of all assumed that if you've got health insurance and you've got access to a doctor, that's all that you need," she said. "It turns out that that's not really all that you need."

People still had affairs that they didn't want to talk about with their family doctor. And some family doctors didn't want to probe into their patients' sex lives. Young people, in particular, prefer clinics geared to them, out of their parents' purview.

"That loss of anonymous care really was a problem," Smith said.

The spread of syphilis is reaching newborns, too

When Christian Faulkenberry-Miranda decided to become a pediatrician, she never thought she'd become an expert in syphilis.

In 2010, shortly after finishing her medical training and starting work at the Community Regional Medical Center in Fresno, California, she began seeing babies with a rash on their tummies that looks like a blueberry muffin. At first she thought it was a common viral infection, until these babies tested positive for syphilis.

In those early days, Dr. Faulkenberry-Miranda saw perhaps a few instances of congenital syphilis each year. Now she sees two cases every week. It's important to start the 10-day antibiotic treatment right away, to avoid complications, but she still follows her patients through their first year of life, and often through their childhood, to watch for vision and hearing problems, developmental delays, attention deficits, and learning disabilities, all of which can result from congenital syphilis infections. In 2019, 128 of these congenital syphilis cases resulted in stillbirth or neonatal death.

"The disappointing thing is that syphilis is very treatable," she says. "This is something that's completely preventable, with proper screening and treatment of these moms during pregnancy."

Congenital syphilis cases hit a troubling milestone in 2019, increasing 279% over the previous five years, and hitting a high of cases in the U.S. That is more mother-to-child transmissions of syphilis than there were at the peak of mother-to-child cases of HIV in 1991.

"How could this be happening? Testing is cheap and widely available. The same treatment we've been using since the forties still works," says Dr. Park, who has also seen an increase in congenital syphilis cases in San Francisco. "And yet we have this completely out of control epidemic among the most vulnerable babies in our society."

Many of the women who give birth to babies with syphilis have had no prenatal care. They often use drugs – mainly methamphetamine – and they are often homeless, said Dr. Karen Smith, former director of CDPH. This makes them more likely to trade sex for housing, food, or drugs, prompting Smith to call congenital syphilis a "disease of despair." Drug use, in particular, makes women less likely to recognize that they're pregnant at all, and less likely to seek health care if they do.

"They're very concerned about what's going to happen when they're found to be pregnant and using drugs," said Dr. Smith. "They're concerned that their drug use will be reported and then CPS will be involved and their children will be taken away."

Romni Neiman is a veteran contact tracer with the CDC. Before she got redirected to COVID last year, she was working on STD prevention in California, including the problem of congenital syphilis. Neiman says when she tries to reach pregnant women who may have been exposed to syphilis, it's extremely challenging.

Neiman remembers looking for one woman in the late 80s in Chicago. She used drugs, was pregnant and had been exposed to syphilis. The woman's housing was so unstable, that Neiman went to three different places before finding her. The woman had no car, so Neiman offered to drive her to the clinic to get tested. The woman had no safe place to leave her toddler, because a man in the place she was staying was abusive, so Neiman took care of the child while the woman saw the doctor.

"She was just trying to do the best that she can, and she was really afraid," Neiman remembers. "Sometimes it's really taxing and really sad. And you come home at the end of the day and you're like, 'Wow. Wow.'"

Those challenges, combined with persistent underfunding for public health, is what led to the initial spike in congenital syphilis cases in Fresno County in the 2010s, says Park. Local contact tracers couldn't keep up, and the state had to step in with reinforcements. After leveling off for a couple years, congenital syphilis rates in Fresno spiked 900% in 2018.

The state is taking new measures to address the rates, says state epidemiologist Dr. Erica Pan, like requiring women to be screened for syphilis twice during pregnancy, instead of just once. And, rather than waiting for women to come in for prenatal care, the state is doing more outreach, and screening pregnant women in the emergency room, and in prisons and jails.

Dr. Pan believes the coronavirus pandemic has created an opportunity to invest in a more nimble response to emerging and re-emerging public health issues, like syphilis and congenital syphilis.

"It's been a really long, hard year responding to this pandemic, but people have really acknowledged and realized the impact of divesting in public health infrastructure," she said. "I hope that a lot of the resources that we hope to bring to bear in the longer term after this pandemic will benefit STDs as well."

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — One: Daymare

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.7k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories? 

Part — 1 / 10

Warnings — swearing

A/N — This is going up a few hours earlier than I said previously, but I don’t care! Tuesday is the worst day of the week so I need to put out something good lol. Enjoy!

Previous — Next

"Find me... Find me... F—"

"—Oh, fuck me!"

Milo's temper tantrum draws you from your intense daydream. Jolting in your seat, breath ragged and heartbeat racing, you see your roommate throw a copy of her resume across the living room in a burst of rage.

"Fuck you," she points sharply at the paper, "fuck this, and fuck me!"

As Milo throws herself onto the couch, draping her forearm dramatically across her eyes, she heaves a heavy sigh and groans loudly.

"How are we supposed to have this much experience for an entry-level job, [Y/n]? We were lied to. I feel wronged. Can I sue?"

You shake your head, trying to push the daymare away from your mind. It's not the first time this has happened, and it certainly won't be the last, but somehow that man's face keeps coming back to you. Day and night, he's all you see when you close your eyes, almost like a memory...

You feign a smile as you reply, "Who are you gonna sue, Mi? You're the one that insisted on doing your resume yourself, after our internships."

Milo gestures extravagantly with her free hand, making shapes in the air with her fingers. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the professor who told us that we'd have enough to get a job overseas by the time we graduated? Maybe the damned school who never mentioned the fact that South Korean's are so damn particular? Maybe my mom who never forced me to continue speaking Korean or writing Hangul when I was a kid so that I had to basically re-learn every-fucking-thing?"

The highs and lows of her complaints cause a laugh to slip out as you turn your attention back to your own resume, a digital copy ready for edits on your laptop. "You're gonna sue your Mrs. Choi? Doesn't sound like a great idea. Besides, I like her too much. Her kimchi is to die for. And if you had already known Korean and Hangul, we may have never met!"

Your best friend nods once, accepting this fact as true. "Probably not. That semester in a foreign language really did solidify our nerdiness about South Korea." She jabs a finger in your direction. "But I have a one-up on you 'cause my grandparents were first-gen immigrants from Seoul. So ha!"

Raising your hands in mock defeat, you retort, "You win that one. I'm just an American."

"So sad." The brunette sits up with an excited expression, eyes wide as she crawls over to you on your side of the sofa. "How about my academic advisor, if you can even call the woman an advisor for rehashing my own questions back at me? She convinced me that I could get a job anywhere, with any degree. So what did I go with? Interior design! I can't find a single freakin' job in Seoul for that! Not that doesn't require, like, three years experience, a particular certification that I conveniently did not get, and a signed contract with the Evil Underlord Satan."

"I really don't think that's gonna work, but hey go ahead and try!"

Milo shoves your shoulder playfully, turning to the television to change it to the New Year's Rockin' Eve show that you'd been waiting to start. "You're the one that took ethics classes! I thought you'd be able to tell me if I had a case."

You scoff, "I took business ethics, not legal ethics! But I can agree with you partly. That woman was of no help. At all. Glad I wasn't stuck with her as an advisor since I was in the communications program."

"Yeah, I like to compare her to our house: a conventional ranch with no personality."

You burst into laughter, and Milo hops up from the sofa, an amused expression on her face. She tosses the remote in your direction. "Get the channel right. I can't find it. I wanna watch the ABC exclusive. Pretty sure we get that through YouTube TV."

You catch the remote with ease and turn to the menu. "You think I know how this thing works? I only use Netflix and Crunchy Roll."

"Just shut up and search, will ya?"

You roll your eyes and do as your roommate asks. "Why ABC? Isn't it easier to just stream it online?"

"Becauuuse BTS! They're gonna be performing in, like, ten minutes!"

"What's that again?" you tease.

"Okay, I am not dealing with you right now. Don't make me come over there and hit you with the champagne bottle."

The last two words catch your attention. You turn around, rest your arms on the back of the sofa, and give your best friend the biggest puppy-dog eyes you can manage. "Pour me a glass, Jagiya?"

Milo smirks at the Korean pet name and grabs the golden bottle from the refrigerator. "Get your ass over here so we can pop it and move on. I ain't waiting for midnight. We got shit to do before then, and I can't work on this job-seeking stuff for another damn second without some alcohol in me."

You squeal a tiny, "Yay!" before leaping over the back of the sofa and joining your roommate in the kitchen.

After the champagne is popped and poured, both of you return to your places on the sofa. You take a sip from your glass as Milo calls your favorite local pizza place to place an order.

"Pickup in fifteen, which is perfect! I don't wanna miss BTS," she giggles, pushing her champagne away. "No drinking and driving. I can wait until I get back."

"You're giving up champagne for this band?" you tut, swirling your glass to show off the drink. "You must really love these boys."

Milo narrows her dark eyes at you and tosses her hair over her shoulder. "You'll see."

Another sip and you turn back to your laptop, the noise of the New Year's Rockin' Eve in the background. "Mhm, sure."

You continue to work in relative quiet for the next five minutes until Milo breaks the peace with an elated screech, a sound that is more similar to that of an animal than a twenty-something woman.

"They're on!" She grabs your arm and shakes it vigorously. "Look at them!"

You stop your edits to your portfolio and turn to the television with a sigh. The crowd has started to go mad over the seven men currently trotting up the stairs and on to the stage. The singing has already begun, and you have to admit that their voices harmonized spectacularly together.

But there's one voice, in particular, that is so familiar to you. Despite being mixed in with the group, the lowest register has your eyes leaving your laptop screen and shifting to the television. You can't put your finger on it, but there's something so soft, so real, so warm about it.

The camera zeroes in on the seven men. All are dressed to the nines and look like they're having a blast while performing. So not only can they sing and dance—and, for some, rap—they're all stupid good looking, each in their own unique way.

As the first song comes to a close, and Milo sings the last verse at the top of her lungs, the camera pans to the man in the center. He delivers some of the last lines in a voice as soft and warm as the one you'd heard amongst the mass. Except, this time, he stands out.

But you recognize more than his voice; his appearance is familiar, too. Despite remaining in the background for most of the first song's performance, there's something about the man with the wavy black hair and similarly colored trench coat that calls to you. On an ordinary day, on any other day, you would wave it off as a simple attraction.

But this—this is different. You can't put your finger on how or why, but you know that you've met this person before.

Lightning strikes. You know where you've seen this face before. He's been in your dreams and nightmares, your daymares and daytime imagination. He's been all over your mind, consuming it for the past few months. You've always had this dream, ever since you were a child, but lately, those nightmares have been getting more frequent. This man might be a slightly younger version than the one that plagues your dreams, but it's the same person. You're sure of it. Every time you close your eyes, his face is the one you see.

Right before you both die.

The next song begins, and the dark-haired stranger is back at the front. For the remainder of their eight-minute time slot, your eyes are glued to the screen, unable to comprehend where this person came from. You have distinct memories of your mother consoling a three-year-old you after having these same night terrors. Surely, you could not have seen this person back then. It's unlikely you saw him at all, and certainly not as he is at the turn of the decade.

"Who's that?"

Milo follows your gesture, seeing the raven-haired man taking center stage once again. "That's Kim Taehyung! Pretty, isn't he?" She chuckles at your expression. "You have a bias already, damn that's impressive. I mean, I'm more of a Hoseok girl myself but..."

Your roommate's chatter fades away as your attention is once again drawn to the screen. The performance ends, and the show shifts to a different artist, all part of the New Year's Rockin' Eve circus.

"Welp, that was worth the wait, but  I'm gonna go pick up that pizza," Milo cheers, hopping to her feet. "Don't drink all the champagne before I get back!" 

You shake your head and wave to the brunette as she slips out the door. Turning back to your laptop, you open a new search bar and put in two words: Kim Taehyung.

Millions of results pop up, everything from Wikipedia articles to Koreaboo gossip posts and everything in between. The entire time Milo is gone, you spend online researching BTS' V. By the end of the half-hour, you've learned quite a bit about him—taking particular note that his birthday is just a few days after yours—and have stalked his social media.

A little farther down on the results, you see an ad for Big Hit Entertainment. The ad says that the company is looking for bi-lingual speakers, preferably English and Korean, to hire as a production assistant. Out of curiosity, you click on the link and are taken to Big Hit's site.

Milo returns with fanfare, holding the pizza in front of her like Simba the lion. "It's the cirrrcle of life!" she sings. "They were definitely talking about pizza when they wrote that line."

As she plops the box onto the kitchen counter, you make a sound of vague agreement. Milo asks you how many pieces you want, but you hardly hear her, eyes skimming the job posting over and over.

Is this a possibility? Is this something you're actually considering? Besides the fact that you just saw the add a few minutes ago, your reasons for applying are vague at best. Are you weighing the real options, or are you leaning into this particular job because it might lead you to answers? Or maybe give you an opportunity to meet this Kim Taehyung, maybe even ask him questions?

"Hello? Earth to [Y/n]!" Milo reaches over the back of the sofa to wave a hand in front of your face. Snapping you out of your stupor, your best friend laughs. "Damn, what are you reading? You're really out—wait...is that Big Hit? You found a job posting? What!"

Milo grabs your laptop and pulls it from your grasp. "Mi—"

She brings it over the back of the couch, placing it on the counter beside the pizza. Her brown eyes are wide and curious as she scrolls through the information. "Production assistant for Big Hit, in Seoul, for a bi-lingual speaker with no prior experience? Dude. This is the perfect job! Like, seriously, where did you find this?"

"On Google," you sigh, knowing that you're not going to get the laptop back until Milo relinquishes her control. You settle in on the stool beside her. "I was looking...for postings while you were gone. I stumbled across it."

Milo cocks an eyebrow and shows you your search history, terms which mostly consist of "BTS," "BTS V," and "Kim Taehyung."

"Mhm, suuure, we'll go with job postings."

You take the device from her with a playful scowl. "My point remains. This is exactly what I've been looking for. It says here that the job would be a lot of translation work, both in person and on documents. I'd also assist in the studio while recording or producing. And various other tasks, but I think it'd put my communications major to good use. It's a step in the right direction."

"You sure you just don't wanna see Taehyung-ssi?" she giggles.

A rising feeling of defensiveness comes over you as you close your laptop, moving to the sofa to retrieve your glass of champagne. "I just heard BTS for the first time tonight, Milo. I'm not about to pick my first post-college job and move half-way around the world for a boy I don't even know, let alone a K-pop boy."

"A cute K-pop boy, though." 

You return to her side, raising both eyebrows in an expression that says, "Really?"

Milo shrugs, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll let it go. Just an odd choice for you."

"Well, it's like we were saying earlier." You grab a piece of pizza from the box and shove the end into your mouth. "What'd we got t'lose?"

Milo makes a "close your mouth" gesture with her hand, grimacing at the sight. "Points were made. Fine, but maybe sleep on it? And this is me telling you to not be impulsive," she laughs towards the end. "But what the hell. If you go for it, I might have to find a job in Seoul sooner than I thought."

"I'm sure there are thousands of applicants," you grimace, the reality of the situation settling in. 

Milo grabs a slice for herself and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "And you're worth each and every one of 'em." After pressing a loud kiss to your temple, she slips from the bench and plops back down on the sofa. "C'mon! We got some balls to drop and resumes to edit."

Later that evening, or earlier the next morning, you're left cleaning up as Milo reclines on the sofa in a tipsy slumber. After the New Year rolls in, along with a brand new decade, you're left alone with your thoughts. 

Thoughts and several disposable dishes.

As you tidy up, you contemplate the options in front of you. Sure, you'd sent out several resumes to plenty of companies already. Some of which you'd heard absolutely nothing from, while others have let you know they'll get back to you about a possible interview. So far, nothing has been terribly promising.

So what' the harm in applying for the Big Hit job in Seoul?

The other half of your motivation slips into your sleepy mind. The person you've seen since childhood, could he really be Taehyung? Could you finally be so close to the answers? Why only one dream? Why him? Why so much blood and death?

Does he dream of you, too?

The laptop remains on the kitchen counter, and your fingers itch to open it up and send off your completed resume. This could lead to more than just a new job and a fresh start; this could lead to the answers you've been seeking ever since you were three years old.

A tiny voice inside you says, "Do it."

And, against your better judgment, you listen. 

[questionthebox]

A few years ago. I met this middle aged woman on tumblr. Her name is Jen. And she asked me out of the blue, during our talks, if we could be together. If we could be together digitally. Something I agreed too. Something she agreed too.

This was a woman living in Arizona, who eventually moved to Vermont.

A woman who’s husband recently passed away.

I was a boy, in his mid 20’s living in Southern California, attending college, bored, and stuck in a dysfunctional family, and a dysfunctional emotional environment that verged many times on violence.

1. Once in the span of our relationship I had a complete emotional breakdown. And ran away from home, that day I checked myself into Saint Francis. What happened was, my dad allowed people to come live with us, and there was no space to sleep, so tension had been building for some time. And it boiled over between my little sister Vanessa and I, arguing over who could sleep in a bed. We ended up arguing, then getting into a physical confrontation, where I ended up choking her and her punching me in the face and head, I stormed out of the house. And spent the next hours, manic, homeless, and on edge, and while I was out there on the streets. Jen kept calling me, she spoke to me, trying to help me, as I was crying like a little boy, as I was rambling, she even called my dad and left a voicemail on his phone. She was there for me, even though she wasn’t there.

2. Our relationship has been extremely satisfying in that with this Woman, we have helped each other heal and grow simply from giving each other a space to be understood. This woman is a pediatrician but now she’s in my opinion one of the best Avant Garde Artists I’ve ever seen and knew, our conversations are so enlightening, in that more than my college friends and even my art professors, this woman and I always discuss art, but we discuss it as two artists, which is a difference, we always discuss things in a personal tangible way. All those artworks on my Instagram over the past few years have been in part inspired by all the conversations I have had with this Woman.

3. We were both “love hungry” something we admitted to last week, she was love hungry because her beautiful husband had passed away and she was dealing with understanding how deprived of things she had been in their marriage and in her life starting from her girlhood on, I was love hungry, because I was searching for something greater than myself. We talked honestly about people online “presenting love” presenting love to us, to others, the irony we did that to each other to only be lucky to have met a real true friend,

4. It’s very disingenuous and hurtful for people to present love to others online, it’s extremely emotionally manipulative, and as Jen noted these people always have their agendas, it’s not conducive to anything, to throw that on to someone, for those who do that, you have to deal with your own lacking of substance in your life, and for those victims, you cannot find anything “grand” so far away from reality, life is not a fairy tale. I let real relationships with people fall to the wayside because I was chasing the unimaginable with a certain person or persons. I let Julia Chelsea and others go away, because I was fixated on someone, recently I have been in contact with a young woman who’s my male mentors sister. We are the same age, and she lives here in Lynwood too, she’s also Puerto Rican and I like her a lot, pursuing something actually genuine with her, is what’s important.

5. I appreciate Jen, though, more than anyone, she actually loves me, she understands me, she has tolerated me. And she’s kinda like my best friend. She is my best friend, and I want her to meet a man who will see this in her, and will help her continue her journey in life as an artist, I want the absolute best for her, and her two daughters, peace above all. I am lucky to have found her,

6. Our need to be found, is what drives these things, our need to be understood, our need to be vulnerable for once, to have someone see us without Judgement or an agenda, and if that comes out of those relationships that’s a good thing, but one cannot stay there. One truly cannot stay anywhere. One must always be in perpetual motion, growing. Growing alongside life but inside life.

[qualityshoellamabat]

In this Pandemic, all of us was suffering when it comes to education. We are experiencing struggles about learning and how do we passed our grades when it is online.

We don't know what will happen to our grades for the following days. We must not make fun to the pandemic we experience in these days.

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I woke up an hour late Wednesday morning, and by the time I had thrown on a sweatshirt, prepared my glass of Emergen-C, and logged onto Zoom, my class had been going on for 15 minutes. The night before I had taken cough syrup for my seasonal cold, and this was the first day my school switched to virtual instruction. Over the course of the three-hour workshop, I noticed my puffy eyes on the panel of faces and became self-conscious. I turned off my video. I became distracted with the noise of sirens outside and muted my speaker, only to then realize: by the time you’re done muting-and-unmuting, the right moment to join the conversation has already passed. I found myself texting on my computer, stepping away to make coffee, running to the bathroom, writing a couple e-mails, and staring at my classmate’s dog in one of the video panels. I don’t think my experience is unique; I imagined similar situations playing out in virtual offices and classrooms across the world.

In the aftermath of the World Health Organization’s designation of the novel coronavirus as a pandemic on March 11, universities across America are shutting down in an attempt to slow its spread. On March 6, the University of Washington took the lead, canceling all in-person classes, with a wave of universities across the country following suit: University of California, Berkeley, U.C., San Diego, Stanford, Rice, Harvard, Columbia, Barnard, N.Y.U, Princeton and Duke, among many others.

This shift into virtual classrooms is the culmination of the past weeks’ efforts to prevent COVID-19 from entering university populations and spreading to local communities: cancellation of university-funded international travel for conferences, blanket bans on any international travel for spring break, canceling study-abroad programs, creating registration systems for any domestic travel.

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Columbia University, which I now attend virtually, moved all classes online starting on March 11. The following morning, president Bollinger declared that classes would be held virtually for the remainder of the school year, and suspended all university-related travel; both international and domestic. The pandemic has affected over 114 countries, killing over 4,000 and shows no sign of abating, leading to chaos in university administration and among students. I find myself obsessing over my family in Japan, especially my mother, whose lung cancer puts her at particular risk. Cancellations are affecting future students as well—admitted students’ events, open houses, and campus tours are all being canceled to minimize contagion.

The quick turn to platforms like Zoom is disrupting curricula, particularly for professors less equipped to navigate the internet and the particularities of managing a classroom mediated by a screen and microphone. I had professors cancel class because they had technical difficulties, trouble with WiFi, or were simply panicked over the prospect of teaching the full class over the new platform. With university IT services focusing efforts on providing professors with how-to webinars on using online platforms, individual student needs for these same services have been placed on hold.

While the initial shift online has created a flurry of chaos, there are benefits to a virtual classroom. Especially in a place like New York, students can continue participating in discussion sections and lectures without riding the subway for an hour, avoiding the anxiety of using public transit or being in other incubators like classrooms, public bathrooms and cafeterias. Students can “sit in” on a class while nursing a common cold or allergies that come with the season, but which can make students a target of serious threats or violence—particularly racialized harassment for Asians. I have found immense relief in not having to pay for Lyfts to campus, avoiding side-eyes for my runny nose or using the little remaining hand sanitizer I have left after holding subway poles. In some situations, online teaching may not even affect student behavior or learning. Studies have shown that medical students learn and perform equally in live versus recorded lectures, and these results are reassuring at a time like the COVID-19 outbreak.

However, the reality is that some subjects are much harder to transfer online. A biochemistry or introductory economics lecture is easier to teach virtually than a music or dance class. The creation of a film or theatrical production requires physical bodies in close proximity. Even in my creative writing workshop, responding to a colleagues’ memoir about her mother’s death is hard to do without looking her in the eye. The screen creates an emotional remove that makes it difficult to have back-and-forth dialogue between multiple people, and it’s almost impossible to provide thoughtful feedback without feeling like you’re speaking into a void.

Over the last few decades, online learning in higher education has been studied extensively. Online MBA programs are on the rise, perhaps unsurprising for a field that often requires virtual conferencing and remote collaboration. Universities now offer online master’s programs to accommodate full-time work and long commutes, or to circumvent the financial barriers of moving to a new location with family. Online bachelor’s degrees are offered by a growing number of schools: Ohio State, University of Illinois Chicago, University of Florida, Arizona State, Penn State and many more. The benefits are the same: classes can be taken anywhere, lack of commute offers more time for studying or external commitments, and the structure is more welcoming to students with physical disability or illness. And yet, online learning hasn’t threatened the traditional model of in-person learning.

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A large part of this can be attributed to accountability. Online classes require significantly more motivation and attention. I found it difficult to focus on a pixelated video screen when I could browse the internet on my computer, text on my phone, watch TV in the background, have one hand in the pantry, or just lay comfortably in my bed. The problem, too, is that webinar technology doesn’t quite live up to the hype. Noise and feedback—rustling papers, ambulances, kettles, wind—make it impossible to hear people talk, and so everyone is asked to mute their microphones.

But muting your audio means you can’t jump into a conversation quickly. The “raise hand” function often goes unnoticed by teachers and the chat box is distracting. Sometimes the gallery view just doesn’t work, so you’re stuck staring at your own face or just two of your eighteen classmates. It also means another hurdle for those who hesitate to speak up, even in the best of circumstances. It means you’re just one click away from turning off your camera and being totally off the hook. In an online class over the summer, I once watched a woman—who forgot her camera was still on, though she was muted—vacuum her entire kitchen and living room during a seminar.

In a recent New York Times article, columnist Kevin Roose wrote about his experience working from home while quarantined after COVID-19 exposure. Roose, once a remote worker, cites studies that suggest remote employees are more productive, taking shorter breaks and fewer sick days. But he also writes extensively about the isolation and lack of productivity he feels: “I’ve realized that I can’t be my best, most human self in sweatpants, pretending to pay attention on video conferences between trips to the fridge.” He notes that Steve Jobs, who was a firm believer in in-person collaboration and opposed remote work, once said, “Creativity comes from spontaneous meetings, from random discussions. You run into someone, you ask what they’re doing, you say ‘Wow,’ and soon you’re cooking up all sorts of ideas.”



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In educational settings, creativity is arguably one of the most important things at stake. The surprises and unexpected interactions fuel creativity—often a result of sitting in a room brushing shoulders with a classmate, running into professors in a bathroom line, or landing on ideas and insights that arise out of discomfort in the room. This unpredictability is often lost online.

In the essay “Sim Life,” from her book, Make It Scream, Make it Burn, Leslie Jamison writes about the shortcomings of virtual life: “So much of lived experience is composed of what lies beyond our agency and prediction, beyond our grasp, in missteps and unforeseen obstacles and the textures of imperfection: the grit and grain of a sidewalk with its cigarette butts and faint summer stench of garbage and taxi exhaust, the possibility of a rat scuttling from a pile of trash bags, the lilt and laughter of nearby strangers’ voices.”

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Classrooms offer these opportunities for riffs and surprise, and a large part of being a student is learning to deliver critique through uncomfortable eye contact, or negotiating a room full of voices and opinions that create friction with your own. When I Zoomed into class from my apartment, I missed being interrupted by classmates who complicated my ideas about a poem or short story. I missed being in workshop and bouncing ideas off of each other to find the best structure for a piece. I missed handwritten critiques, and felt limited in Word: no check pluses, no smiley faces, “Wow” feels flat when it’s not handwritten in the margins, and "Great" feels sarcastic in 10-point Calibri. I was frustrated that I could sleep in because online class meant I could wake up five minutes before class and pretend like I’d been ready all morning.

The COVID-19 pandemic will likely continue presenting challenges beyond those that come up in the course of routine virtual education. Even if this viral spread subsides, or a vaccination becomes readily available, the shift from online classes back to in-person learning may create disruptions of its own—adjusting back to higher standards of accountability, weaning off of phone-checking habits, and transferring comments back to hard copies instead of digital notes. Hopefully, these phases of trouble shooting can provide universities, professors and students the opportunity to practice adaptability, patience and resilience. And hopefully, these experiences will serve as preparation for future challenges that come with the next epidemic, pandemic and other disaster.

For now, I am trying to not look at myself in the gallery of faces, stop being distracted by my expressions, resisting the impulses to check my phone or e-mail, or at least recognize these urges when they arise.

[ficswithrimi]

Golden (Final Chapter Pt. 1)

First Chapter: Chapter 1

Last Chapter: Chapter 13

Next Chapter: Final Chapter Pt. 2

Wanna talk to Golden and get to know him or expose him? Then follow @goldenrecs!

A/N: WE’VE FINALLY ARRIVED TO THE FINAL CHAPTER OF GOLDEN! Unfortunately, it was getting waaay too long so I have to split it in two parts. I’ll give my sap, emotional author’s note on the second part. Speaking off, the second part should be up within a week or two! Please enjoy the first part of the last chapter of Golden! Please tell me your thoughts! It makes me happy~ OH! And for the almost last time, please listen to this~ 

                                                             ~!~

Jungkook’s POV

“Good morning! This is Wendy reporting outside of the Language Hall’s auditorium where just an hour from now, the creative writing final exam will start! It is expected that our school’s biggest mystery, Golden, will reveal himself to the world or, er, his classmates,” the reporter giggled nervously at her slipup. Shaking her head, she directed the cameraman to pan the camera to the crowd of students awaiting outside of the auditorium doors. No one could tell who was actually in the class and who was just there to see Golden. There were signs with various names of who they assumed was Golden, girls and guys dressed up as if Golden was going to propose to them after their reveal, and just curious passersby.

           “Yes, it is 7am and in half an hour, the doors to the auditorium will open to allow those taking the final in,” Wendy grinned in the camera as it panned back to her. Shifting her eyes to a random student waiting in the massive line, she motioned the cameraman to follow her. “Ah yes, here we have a fan of Golden waiting anxiously to see his-“

           “I’m here for my final.” The female student cut the young reporter off. Wendy’s eyes widened briefly before letting out a forced chuckle.

           “Of course, you are! But Golden will be revealing himself in your final today! Aren’t you excited-“

           “I just want a decent grade.” The girl said in a matter-of-fact tone.

           The fake smile on Wendy’s face fell as she glared slightly at the woman. The cameraman cleared his throat to try to get the reporter to return to acting professional. However, the woman didn’t seem to understand the gesture. “So, why are you here so early then, huh?”

           The student dramatically looked behind her at the crowd of students and even faculty that was still growing before exasperatedly swinging her arms open. “I dunno, maybe because I’d like to be able to actually get inside? Listen, I think you all are crazy bitc-“

Wendy immediately whipped around to face the camera to cut off the woman’s words, her hair smacking the student behind her in the process. “Okay! We will cut to the weather forecast for the week and come back here later!”

           Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair as he clicked off his phone. This was going to be a long day – he already expected it. Not only would he have to sit through 200 students presenting their blog to the class and the professor, but he would have to deal with the campus afterwards obsessing over him. Namjoon told him that maybe it would blow over when everyone came back in the new year after the holiday break, however, Jungkook had an unsettling feeling it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure, maybe it’d die down a little, but he was a big deal. People outside of the university knew about him and his blog.

           He had all of this to worry about and his nerves. Jungkook was nothing like Golden in the outside world. He was a shy guy who tried to avoid human contact with others as much as possible. That’s why he strolled around campus with his AirPods stuffed in his ears. Just thinking about over half of the university knowing him gave him slight anxiety. However, what worried him the most was Y/N. Today – in like an hour or whenever he got up to present – she would know that the guy she crushed on was him. She’d know that he was the one who casually flirted with her online and secretly dedicated songs to her. She’d know how Golden has been by her side this entire semester – right under her nose. But, along with knowing who he was, she’d know he was the reason why she received so much hate on her blog that she deleted. The reason why her and her best friend got into a fight. Why she was confused about Taehyung. That he -Golden - was the reason for all her stress this semester.

           Would the 19-year-old hate him? Jungkook worried about this the most. He really liked Y/N. And he hoped that the same feelings she developed for Golden could be passed onto him. They were technically the same person, right? Would Y/N also see it that way? Shaking his head, Jungkook glanced at the time on his watch. 7:07am. Letting out a sigh, he stood up from the table in the school’s dining hall. He guess he’d better start making his way towards class.

~!~

Chloe’s POV

           “The fuck…?” Chloe frowned as she looked in front of her at the long line of people coming from the Language Hall building where her creating writing class was. She knew the class held about 200 students and those who’ve skipped almost the entirety of the semester – such as herself – would appear today, but Chloe knew all these people weren’t in her class. Especially since the university’s news team was reporting and casually walking up to certain students in line to, what she assumed, interview them.

           Just the sight of the reporters and the people made the woman want to turn on her heel and head straight back to her dorm to sleep. However, she knew she had to be here to support her best friend and whatever she was going to present to the class for her blog. That and Chloe kind of needed to pass the class. Also, she was curious as to how Jungkook would reveal himself to the world or whatever. So, she couldn’t leave.

           Y/N didn’t return from the dance studio last night, so she was expecting whatever the sophomore was planning for her blog to be epic. She didn’t have any doubts. Y/N was a phenomenal dancer and if she was incorporating that into her blog, then Chloe knew she would pass. She hoped. She prayed.

           “Wow,” Chloe jumped slightly as a deep voice let out a low whistle from beside her. Her eyes almost jumped out of their sockets at the sight of Namjoon standing beside her casually, hands stuffed in his pockets, and looking at the crowd.

           “W-what are you doing here?” Chloe felt her face heating up from him standing beside her. She hasn’t talked to him since she admitted to him about her blog and how he told her he wasn’t mad about it. “Oh, are you looking for Y/N? I don’t think she’s here yet.”

           “Actually,” Namjoon turned and looked down at the shorter girl with a small smile plastered on his lips. If Chloe was blushing before, she was definitely blushing now. “I was looking for you.”

           “F-funny. Usually it’s me who’s looking for you,” she nervously chuckled as she try to look anywhere but him.

           “Yeah,” he also let out a chuckle that Chloe swear made her heart beat a bit faster. “Just wanted to wish you good luck on your presentation.”

           “Eh,” Chloe shrugged. “It’s not really my presentation I’m worried about but thanks.”

“So, uh, I should probably start heading to my exam now,” Namjoon said as he glanced back towards the crowd. “They really… got the news team out here…”

“Golden’s finally going to end. I bet he’s happy…”

Namjoon chuckled again at this. “More like nervous… but… he has nothing to worry about, right?”

Chloe looked up at Namjoon’s questioning arched brow at her. She already knew what he meant by that. She grinned at the senior. “Nothing at all! Well, I should probably get in line for my class. Wow… I really have to wait in a line for my final.”

“Hm, okay. See you around!” Namjoon nodded at her as the girl gave him one last grin before turning around to walk away. However, before she could get too far, she felt a hand grab hers and pull her back slightly.

           “What is it?” She arched a brow at him as Namjoon removed his other hand from his pocket. Flipping Chloe’s hand around, he placed a flash drive into her palm and wrapped her fingers around it.

           “You should make an edit to your last blog post,” Namjoon simply said before letting go of the girl’s hand and turned to walk away. Chloe stood there confused as she looked at the black flash drive in her hand. What did he just give her? Did he really give her a flash drive as a good luck gift for her final? And what did he mean by her last blog post? Suddenly remembering what her post was about, her eyes widened as she looked back up at his retreating figure. Smiling softly, she carefully shoved it into her pocket and whipped out her phone as she began walking towards the line of students.

           Bitchhhhhhh, guess what just happened! Also, wtf r u? There’s a line outside of CW.

~!~

Your POV

           “One and two and three and four and one and done!” Hoseok shouted over the music as your chest heaved heavily as you held your ending pose. The senior immediately started clapping excitedly as a wide grinned brightened his face. Meanwhile, you fell to the ground trying to catch your breath. You had been up all night choreographing a dance to present for your blog. Then, you had to make sure it was almost perfect as if you hadn’t just thought about it a couple of hours ago. After leaving your dorm last night, you had texted both Jimin and Hoseok to ask them with the recording and to give out any pointers. Jimin couldn’t come because of two finals he had later in the day, but Hoseok, who was finished with his finals for the week, arrived at the studio around 4:30am. By then, you had made up a dance and he helped you with some parts but mostly said how it was a beautiful dance and different from your usual style. You knew it had to of have been decent since Hoseok was the school’s dance team captain and has won dance competitions throughout his life. Getting his approval meant a lot.

           “I could feel the emotion through each move! Everyone’s going to love it, Y/N!” Hoseok walked over to you and handed you a bottle of water. Sitting up and grabbing the water, you chugged it down before standing up.

           “Thanks! Now I just have to do some slight edits and upload to my blog!” You smiled at the man. However, he didn’t return your smile and, instead, glanced at the clock on the wall.

           “Uh… doesn’t your final start at 8?”

           “Yeah, why?” You asked as you followed his gaze to the clock. Immediately your eyes widened. 7:52. Panicking, you ran over to your phone that Hoseok had used to record your dance. You forgot you had turned on do not disturb so you wouldn’t be interrupted in the studio. Looking at your notifications, you saw you had several missed calls and messages from Chloe, Jimin, and even a message from Taehyung. Grabbing your bag, you dashed out of the studio door, only managing to give Hoseok a quick wave in the process.

           “Good luck!” Hoseok called out.

           You frantically tried to balance your bag on your shoulder and trim your dance video as you ran past the information desk. There was no way you were going to make it to the final on time. First off, you were sweaty and gross from dancing throughout the night. You had to go back to your dorm and shower first. Sitting in a three-hour final covered in sweat and surrounded by the stench of your B.O. just didn’t sound pleasant to you.

           “Y/N!” You stopped briefly as Hannah, the receptionist and your friend, called out to you.

           “Can’t talk! Gonna be late for my final!” You waved to her as you continued to head towards the door.

           “I know! Good luck with Golden! I’m sure he’ll like you no matter what!” She shouted. Your heart pounded at the thought of Golden – Jungkook. Today was it. Not only was he going to reveal himself to the school, but you were going to reveal your feelings for him in front of the school. Now, there was a strong possibility that Jungkook didn’t return your feelings and you’d be embarrassed for the rest of your college career. However, you held out hope that maybe – just maybe – the freshman held similar feelings. He blushed around you a lot and was quiet, but you always assumed that was because he was just shy. Chloe did hint several times that he may have feelings for you, but it was Chloe you were talking about. At the beginning of the semester, she thought every guy she landed her eyes on in CW was Golden.

           Speaking of being shy, how was he going to reveal himself? Online, Jungkook had this outgoing, sassy personality. Offline, however, he kept to himself when not around his close friends with his AirPods stuffed in his ears. You were kind of expecting for the 18-year-old to get on the stage, do a slight wave to the class, and casually be all, “Hi, my name is Jungkook and I’m Golden. The end.” Would people believe such a laidback, unoriginal reveal? You had no clue, but you were sure once they saw his blog, they probably would. Or maybe he’d go all out. He’ll start dancing to one of the songs he covered on his blog. Maybe he’d dance to his recent cover of Paper Hearts? You kind of hoped he wouldn’t. Whatever it was, you just knew you’d have to hurry and get changed and run to class. It was bad enough you were going to be late as is.

           As you jogged down the sidewalk towards your dorm, you felt your phone buzz in your hand. It was probably Chloe again asking where you were. Apparently, there was a line just to get in your final. Not giving it a second thought, you lifted your phone up to glance at it only to temporarily halt in your tracks as it wasn’t a text from Chloe, but an anonymous message sent to your blog. That was weird. Your blog was made mere hours ago. Who could’ve found you already? Beginning to walk again, you opened the message.

           Anon: new blog or not, when Golden reveals himself today, it’ll be ME he’ll dedicate songs to and not you. C u l8r “dancercookies”

           Your heart sunk a bit at the message. One thing you thought you escaped when you deleted your old blog was the anon hate you got just by simply knowing Jungkook. How did this person find you? You were pretty sure Jungkook didn’t know of your new blog. He, just like everyone else besides Chloe and Jimin, were unaware of your resurrected blog. And on top of that, it was one of the Golden fans who saw him as an idol or something and wanted to confess their love for him after the reveal. Shaking the thoughts from your head, your eyes glanced towards the time on your phone. 7:58. Panic setting in again, you shoved your phone inside your pocket and jogged towards your dorm again. There was no way you were going to be on time. It just wasn’t a way around it.

~!~

           Chloe’s POV

           Chloe tapped her foot impatiently as she kept looking behind her to see if she could spot her short best friend anywhere in the line of people. However, all she saw were tired, excited, and annoyed students that seemed to stretch on for miles. Okay, miles was a little exaggerating, but the line was long. The doors to the auditorium would be opening at any minute and Chloe just knew she’d have to jab and elbow her way through the rush of students. Walking in an orderly fashion seemed to be the last thing on everyone’s minds. Besides the MIA Y/N, Golden himself was nowhere to be spotted amongst the crowd. Jungkook was kind of tall but so were a lot of the other guys who stood in the line. Frowning, Chloe let out a huff while crossing her arms and turning back to face the person in front of her. Trying to get an estimate of how many people she’d have to fight through, the blonde girl’s eyes landed on Wendy, the school’s main news reporter, and her camera guy behind her. The junior seemed to be interviewing another student. Poking her head farther out from behind the person in front of her, she tried to get a better view of the interviewee. Instantly, her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the woman before a small fire sparked in them. It was no one other than Seulgi. Seulgi… the woman who has been harassing Y/N since Golden started noticing her on his blog. The woman who told Namjoon about her blog. How she even knew about Chloe’s blog surprised her but all of that didn’t matter.

           Chloe stepped away from the line and started her way towards the three people. Originally, Chloe had hoped karma would come along and take care of Seulgi, but the opportunity to set her straight was knocking at her door. And who would Chloe be not to answer it? Just as she was in hearing distance of them, she felt someone wrap their hand around her wrist as they pulled her back towards the line.

           “What the hell – oh – oh! It’s you!” Chloe’s eyes widened at the man who had now let go of her wrist. “I don’t have time to talk to you, Taehyung, I have business to take care of-“

           “Where’s Y/N?” Taehyung asked the blonde woman, ignoring her rambling about putting Seulgi or whoever in her place. At hearing the woman’s name, however, Chloe stopped talking and arched a brow.

           “You’re still caught up on her? Listen, Tae, can I call you Tae-“

           “No-“

           “Y/N doesn’t have feelings for you. I thought that’s what ya’ll talked about yesterday?”

           “Chloe, listen-“

           “Also, you being Vmusic95? I knew it. You never gave me a Golden vibe-“

           “Y/N needs to be here on time!” Taehyung suddenly shouted, causing a few students to stop chattering and turn their attention to the two. Even Wendy had stopped conducting her interview with Seulgi to turn and look. Seulgi leaned forward to also see what the commotion was. Her mistake. Chloe’s eyes immediately locked onto the brown-haired woman and Seulgi swore she was snarling a bit at her. Turning away from Seulgi, Chloe looked back towards Taehyung.

           “Duh, it’s our final but why exactly do you care after she dumped you?”

           Taehyung smacked his face at Chloe’s blunt question. The woman really didn’t have a filter. “It’s for Jung-“

           “Ah, Taehyung! Or Vmusic95, am I correct?” Wendy suddenly popped over to the pair. The cameraman shoved his camera into Chloe’s face much to the girl’s annoyance. She eyed the man up and down before pushing the camera away from her with her hand, earning a “hey” from the man in the process.

           “Uh… yeah…” Taehyung said nervously as Wendy grinned in his face.

           “How does it feel being the inferior blog to Golden!? Even to the point that the Cinderella of this fiasco, Y/N, chose Golden over you?”

           “Uh…” Taehyung’s face turned red as he looked away from the peering camera. His eyes contacted the surrounding students around him who were awaiting his answer before looking towards the ground. Chloe arched a brow at the man’s sudden behavior. She’d only known Taehyung a couple of months and only hung out a couple of times, but she knew he was rarely shy. He was always babbling about something and had this goofy box-like grin plastered on his face. Y/N… must’ve really broken his heart and yet, here he was, trying to see that Y/N and Jungkook were happy. He even exposed himself yesterday so, what Chloe assumed, Y/N could have final confirmation that he wasn’t Golden, and it was Jungkook – the man Y/N liked. Anyone with eyes could tell the girl had feelings for the 18-year-old. Anyone could tell Jungkook had feelings for her. Except, well, maybe Y/N.

           Taehyung was obviously still hurting, and Wendy and her team weren’t making it any better. Sucking her teeth, Chloe stood in front of Taehyung, trying her best to cover him from the camera. She didn’t care for Taehyung that much still, but she wasn’t going to let this reporter make him feel worse than he already did.

           “His blog wasn’t inferior, Wendy. It was nearly as popular as Golden’s. Just because he didn’t entertain anons like Golden did all the time didn’t make his blog any less. I was a fan of his blog and at least he had the balls to reveal himself and not lead people on until the last minute-“

           “Uh…” Chloe’s ears perked up at the sound of Jungkook’s voice behind her. Everyone turned their attention to the freshman who had suddenly appeared, bookbag hanging off one shoulder and orange juice bottle occupying his left hand. The girl cleared her throat from getting caught about talking about Jungkook and turned her attention back to Wendy.

           “So… leave him alone… why don’t you uh… interview Jungkook, here?” Chloe laughed nervously only to earn a look from both Jungkook and Taehyung.  “He’s a freshman and-“

           Wendy put her hand up to Chloe’s mouth to stop her from talking as she eyed Jungkook up and down before rolling her eyes. “Cute but he doesn’t seem interesting enough to interview. C’mon Taeyong, let’s go see who else we can find. Thanks for your time, Taehyung… Chloe.”

           Chloe threw a glare at Wendy as she scampered off before turning her attention back to Jungkook who was now standing with her and Taehyung. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I mean, I did but-“

           “Just try not to say anything else regarding that before the final, please,” Jungkook let out a heavy sigh at how Chloe almost exposed him for the nth time.

           “Thanks… for what you said, Chloe…” Taehyung smiled sadly at the woman. She just shrugged before slapping him unexpectedly on his back. “We’re gonna be family one day so I gotta lookout for you, ya know?”

           “Family?” Taehyung and Jungkook asked simultaneously. Chloe just waved it off.

           “So, Y/N’s not with you?” Chloe asked Jungkook as she tried looking past him.

           “No... she’s not here already?” His eyes widened. Taehyung shook his head at Jungkook.

           “Don’t worry, she’ll be here before they let-“

           “Attention students of Creative Writing only!” A voice said over the building’s intercom. The once noisy line immediately hushed to listen to the announcement. “The doors will be opening now to begin the Creative Writing final. You will be asked to provide your full name to ensure you are a student of this class. Thank you and we hope you do well!”

           Just as the announcement ended, the line began to disperse as hordes of people began to make their way forward towards the door. Meanwhile, Jungkook, Chloe, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in fear as only one thought came to their heads.

           Y/N was gonna miss the final.

~!~

Your POV

           “You know, you may not have as great of a RA when I leave next year.”

           “Yeah, can you-“

           “Like you could get someone who drags you outta your room to make sure you go to the floor meetings.”

           “Jackson-“

           “What if they make you call them RA whatever-their-name-will-be? Or no communicating with the other floors? You just don’t know how lucky you’ve had it with me, Y/N. What RA will be as sexy and cool as me? Who will help you with your friendship problems-“

           “Jackson! Can you just open the damn door?!” You shouted at the senior who was rambling on as he fiddled with the lock on your door. After noticing the time at the studio, you had rushed out of the studio while forgetting your room key. You had texted Hoseok in hopes he’d bring you the key, but you knew he wouldn’t reach your dorm in time. You had to still get ready and upload the video to your blog. Time didn’t permit you to be any later than you already were. So – to your annoyance – that led you to turning to Jackson to unlock your door for you. It took him a while to find the master key and to “pass time,” as he said, he began talking about how he’s graduating next semester and how he’d be the greatest RA you’d have in college. This, of course, made you roll your eyes hard.

           Just as you had said that, the lock clicked open and Jackson pushed open the door. Turning to you, he gave you his infamous puppy dog eyes. “You don’t have to be so mean…”

           Ignoring his look, you rushed past him, said a quick thanks, and slammed your door. There were so many things you had to do that you didn’t even know where to start. Should you upload the video first? Or shower? Maybe find something to wear first? Your eyes scanned your shared room as if they would land on something that would give you an answer. However, it didn’t give you an answer and caused your stomach to twist into tight knots as you saw the time on the digital clock beside Chloe’s bed. 8:13.

           “Fuck…” You cursed under your breath. Inhaling deeply to clear your mind somewhat, you decided to upload your video to your blog and while it was uploading, you’d shower quickly. The final was going to take a while, you told yourself. There were 200 students in the class. It’d be a three-hour final – tops. You didn’t want to miss Chloe’s presentation, however. Or Jungkook’s. Hell, you definitely didn’t want to miss yours. You came too far to settle for a failing grade now. Ruffling your hair out of frustration, you logged into your blog and began to upload your dance. Tossing your phone on your bed, you ran to the bathroom to get ready.

 ~!~

Jungkook’s POV

           Where was she? She wasn’t going to skip out on the final, right? She wouldn’t. Chloe had told him and Taehyung that she had come up with an idea for her blog late last night. Was she still doing whatever it was she had decided? She did know what time it was, didn’t she? What if she was sleeping somewhere and didn’t hear her phone’s alarm or something? All these thoughts crossed Jungkook’s mind as more and more students got up to present their blogs and time moved on. It would be easy for the dancer to miss her presentation as, since there were so many students who had to present, the professor only allowed for a 2-4-minute timeframe. No one could go over. She made sure of that as she kept a stopwatch in her hand. One guy had gone about two seconds over and she immediately interrupted him.

           Missing her own presentation wasn’t the only thing Jungkook was thinking about. He worried about her missing his own presentation. The presentation that had students on the edge of their seats which each name the professor called to the front. Wendy and several other reporters who weren’t outside previously were in the usually spacious – now cramped – auditorium. Jungkook wasn’t even sure some of them belonged to the school’s news team which made the 18-year-old more nervous than what he already was. Whenever the presenter began to speak, he could hear the reporters whispering things like, “get your camera ready,” or “this is the one, I can feel it.” Of course, they were wrong.

           Y/N had to make it on time for his presentation. He worked so hard for this day. The times he almost got outed by her best friend – Jungkook eyed Chloe who had her bag in an empty chair between them, reserved for Y/N – to having to deal with the obsessed anons. Most importantly, however, with his reveal, Y/N would know not only who he was but also his feelings for her. Jungkook liked Y/N and he didn’t want to risk missing his chance again like he almost did before. The man glanced over at Taehyung who was listening intently to the current presenter. Jungkook didn’t know what happened when he and Y/N met up the other night. All he knew was that Taehyung was not his usual cheery self afterwards and he even revealed his music blog. He wouldn’t tell Jungkook why but he kind of guessed his reason behind doing so.

           “Uh, thanks Jaebum for your presentation on different breeds of small dogs…” The professor said. Marking something down for what was assumed to be Jaebum, she moved her pencil down her list of students. Jungkook could audibly hear everyone hitch their breaths as they had no idea as to who she would call next. To make the presentations more spontaneous – her exact words – she was calling everyone in a randomized order. “Hm… Choi Chloe?”

           “Fuck,” Jungkook heard the blonde woman grumble under her breath as she stood up and shoved her phone her back pocket. As she squeezed past Jungkook, she looked down at him and winked, which made him nervous. What was she about to do? He knew about her Namjoon blog after the senior had told him and the other guys. Specifically, he asked how he responded to her weird, indirect confession. Yoongi had given Namjoon an idea. Jungkook wondered if the man went through with it or not. Jimin had told him he could do better than Chloe jokingly. Namjoon didn’t think it was funny.

           Jungkook sat up in his chair as Chloe strutted towards the stage, stopping briefly at the professor’s desk to identify herself as present. She walked over to the cord that was connected to the large screen in the auditorium to connect her phone. Those who wanted everyone to see their blog connected their phones to the screen while others verbally explained their blog while having the professor look at it from her phone. Before Chloe turned on her phone to show her blog to the class – and the entire school thanks to the reporters – she took a deep breath and turned around on her heel. She gave a nervous smile and brushed her hair that hung in her face away from her eyes.

           “Hello… I’m Chloe… and,” She inhaled and let out a shaky breath. Jungkook was confused as to why she was nervous to present. She was so nonchalant about it before. According to Y/N, she barely even came to the class. Everyone else began to chatter amongst themselves in confusion as she took the time to calm her nerves.

           “I’m Golden.”

           Jungkook’s mouth fell open – assumingly with the rest of the auditorium – at Chloe’s words. Someone yelled out a prolonged “what” while the rest of the room began to chatter excitedly. The reporters turned to their cameras and started reports on how, “with an unexpected twist, Golden turns out to be student Chloe Choi.”

           “What’s she doing?” Taehyung tapped Jungkook’s arm as he continued to stare at the woman in shock. His mind was blank. What was she doing? As he continued to stare at the girl and the professor tried to get everyone to settle down, Chloe let out a loud laugh while holding her stomach.

           “God, you guys act like a celebrity just walked in or something,” She laughed as she tried to regain her breath. After regaining her composure, she turned on her phone to reveal her real blog titled “Falling in Love with a Senior That Will Be Graduating Next Year: The Sad Story of Chloe M.”

           “Ahem,” Chloe cleared her throat to regain everyone’s – now irritated – attention. The news reporters were desperately trying to retract their previous report. “My blog actually was about my feelings for someone who means a lot to me. This blog was presented in a humorous manner, but everything said within it was true. As you can see, I joke around a lot, which annoys a lot of people.”

           “No shit,” someone yelled out which caused a couple of laughs from the audience. Chloe smirked to hide her smile.

           “Anyways, I stupidly wrote about my feelings about this guy for the world to see and eventually he saw it himself. I thought I ruined everything between us because he’s really this chill kind of guy and,” Chloe blushed as she thought of, who Jungkook was assuming, Namjoon. “I really like him… and so… yeah… I dedicated this blog to him and that was my blog for the semester.”

           Jungkook looked around as no one seemed to applaud the woman for her presentation. Taehyung clapped silently but not loud enough to reach the front of the stage. Noticing no one applauded her, Chloe sucked her teeth in response. “Whatever. I hope what ya’ll are waiting for won’t be a disappointment.”

           Jungkook frowned at her words as he watched her gather her phone and get off the stage. This was the second time today she’s indirectly insulted him.

           “Uh, thanks… Chloe… let’s see…”

           Chloe smirked at Jungkook as she returned to her seat. Jungkook just rolled his eyes at her as he turned his attention back to the professor. His mind drifted back to Y/N, however, as he checked the time on his phone. 8:57. Was she really not coming? The more time went on and people presented, the more nervous Jungkook felt. At any moment he could be call.

           “Who’s next…?”

           It would break his heart for her to miss his reveal. She’d end up like the other students on campus who didn’t take creative writing – finding out he was Golden on the news broadcast. Probably on a rerun, too, since they were recording live.

           “Jeon Jungkook?”

           Jungkook didn’t even notice how the auditorium quieted down again as the professor said the next name to present. He snapped out of his thoughts, however, when both Taehyung and Chloe nudged him. He stared doe-eyed at the stage as he heard Taehyung whisper out that he was next. He couldn’t be, right? Maybe they misheard. He couldn’t present yet. He wasn’t ready. Y/N wasn’t here yet.

           “Is Jeon Jungkook present? Going once…”

           “Go, bro,” Chloe slapped his arm. “She’ll be here in time!”

           “Yeah, Kookie. Maybe it’s like one of those romance movies where she suddenly busts through the doors just as you… present,” Taehyung chose his words carefully as other students seemed to identify Jungkook’s name to his face and turned to arch brows and confused faces at him.

           “Going twice…”

           “Ugh, if the freshman isn’t gonna go, I will,” the voice of Seulgi could be heard from the back of the auditorium.

           “Can you just go so you can finally shut that bit-“

           “Chloe,” Taehyung frowned at her. She just shrugged and sat back in her seat.

           “Okay then, let’s-“

           “Here” Jungkook immediately stood up from his seat, causing the professor and everyone else to look over at him. “I’m… here…”

           “Well, c’mon! We are on a strict schedule!” The professor motioned him over to the stage. Jungkook gulped before turning his head to glance at the closed auditorium doors. He only hoped Taehyung was right and Y/N would walk through those doors at any given moment. Sighing, he began to make his way towards the stage.

 ~!~

Your POV      

           Where r u?! He’s presenting! – Chloe

           “Fuck!” You shouted as you dashed out of your dorm room, slamming the door shut behind you.

           “Language!” Jackson called from somewhere down the hall. Ignoring him, you decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. You dashed down the stairs, avoiding the few stragglers who were going in the opposite direction. Was the professor not calling names by alphabetical order? Or maybe she was going backwards on the rollcall? Whatever she was doing, Jungkook was presenting now – ready to reveal to the world who he was – and you weren’t there. You weren’t there to give him the support the shy man probably needed. Nor were you there to cheer him on from the sea of students – to tell him he’s got this. All while pretending to not know who he really was.

           Rushing out of your dorm, you ran frantically towards the language hall. It wasn’t too far away but it was far enough. Luckily, the usually busy sidewalks were practically empty do to everyone either in their finals, studying, or sleeping. That, or maybe they were all waiting outside the building for Jungkook to emerge as Golden. As the building came into sight, you gasped at all the people outside gathered around it. Some you were even positive weren’t students at your school. Clutching onto your bag, you began to push your way through the crowd.

           “Excuse me. Sorry,” You said as you made your way through the crowd. As you reached the front of the door, you were surprised to see two security guards standing in front of them. Clearing your throat, you smiled nervously at them. “Uh… hi… may I go in?”

           “Creative Writing students are only permitted past this point,” the one on the left said.

           “I am a student! I-I mean, I am in this class! I have to take my final!”

           “Miss, the final began a little over an hour ago. You’re just now coming?” The other officer said as she arched a brow at you.

           “Please! I can’t fail this class! I’m an honor student. I worked so hard and-“ You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, not only were you going to miss Jungkook’s reveal, but you were going to fail your class.

           “H-hey, don’t cry! What’s your name?” The woman asked as she pulled out a clipboard with a list of names.

           You sniffed your tears back as you managed to stutter out your name. “Y/L/N Y/N…”

           The woman searched for a bit while the other officer peered over her shoulder to see if he could spot your name as well. “Ah!” the male officer said as he pointer at something on the board.

           The woman looked up at you and smiled. “Your name is on the roll. However, I can’t let you in during a presentation. After this student is finished, we can let you in.”

           “B-but I need to be in there right now!” You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were going to miss his presentation after all.

           “Sorry, professor’s orders or it’ll be an automatic fail…” The male officer gave you a sad smile. A tear managed to escape your left eye as you stared in bewilderment at them. This was it. There was nothing else you could do… but wait.

~!~

Jungkook’s POV

                       Jungkook nervously stared out at the crowd of students before him. He gulped as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Suddenly, he wished he had styled his hair up instead of his usual down style. Were the stage lights extra bright today or something? He felt like the light and heat radiating from them were trying to bake him. The sound of the professor clearing her throat, signaling him to start, caused his eyes to shift to her. He gave her a nervous smile before shifting his eyes to the entrance of the auditorium. Jungkook thought he could dash out of the room right then and there and announce he was Golden later in the day or so. Or maybe, he’d never reveal Golden and just abandon the blog. People would eventually forget about him, right? He was just a fad, after all. Right? At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

           Jungkook looked to the back of the auditorium where the news reporters stood, all waiting for his presentation just like the rest of the class. He could tell the professor he didn’t have a blog, and this was his first time coming to the class. However, he knew she wouldn’t believe him as he sat near the front of the class for the entirety of the semester and he’d lock eyes with the professor on multiple occasions. She knew who he was. Finally, Jungkook looked to the empty seat that was reserved for Y/N. Where was she? Was she okay? Why wasn’t she coming? Jungkook had to admit, maybe he was stalling because he hoped Taehyung would be right and she’d enter the room at any moment. However, he knew he couldn’t wait for her forever. He couldn’t keep the everyone waiting as they began to snicker and talk amongst themselves at his nervousness. He had to let them know now. He had to put an end to Golden once and for all.

           “Look, if you need-“

           “Remember… the way you made me feel…” Jungkook began to sing quietly. “… Such young love but…”

           The once rowdy auditorium began to quiet down as Jungkook’s angelic-like voice began to travel to the ears of the students. Jungkook stopped briefly as he studied the students within the first row of seats. Some of their mouths were ajar with widened eyes. Others, however, seemed skeptical. He couldn’t blame them. Chloe did get everyone’s hopes up with her fake reveal. Inhaling and deciding to continue, he closed his eyes and started singing again.

           “Something in me knew that it was real… frozen in my head…”

           As Jungkook quietly sung the next part, reporters hesitantly turned to the cameras to report who they almost thought could be Golden while the cameramen zoomed in on Jungkook. Whispers could be heard amongst the students as they began to question those beside them if this shy kid was really the school’s beloved Golden. He couldn’t be, right? They mean, he sounded like Golden’s singing voice but Golden wasn’t shy. The real Golden would’ve gotten on stage, smirk at everyone, say something cocky, then reveal his identity. He wouldn’t be this 18-year-old shifting nervously on stage with his mint green feather cardigan, denim jeans held up with black suspenders, white t-shirt, and black combat boots. He looked too soft to be Golden. And Jungkook knew they wouldn’t believe it was him. That’s why he came prepared.

           Suddenly, he stopped singing and pulled out his phone and went to connect it to the screen. Everyone arched their brows at the brown-haired boy as he quietly tapped away on his phone, screen hidden from them to see. After a few seconds, pings and vibrations could be heard throughout the room. Even the professor looked confused as her own phone buzzed. Was it an emergency alert or something? Jungkook briefly looked up from his phone to see everyone checking their notification before he turned on the screen to project his blog to the room. Gasps were heard throughout the room as students looked up from their phones to the screen on the stage:

           Golden: My name is Jeon Jungkook… (posted 5 seconds ago)

             The camera operators of the news teams in the back all immediately focused their cameras onto Jungkook on the stage as reporters began to report of the sudden post made by Golden and the screen that Jungkook had displayed. Jungkook gulped nervously as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, “I’m… the best at almost everything. I dance, sing, draw, and write…”

           Jungkook felt his confidence starting to rise within him as students began to stand up from their seats – eyes filled with realization and shock. Letting out a chuckle at the sight, Jungkook continued, “Ha… even my music taste is amazing… right? I’m just…Golden.”

           Instantly, after revealing himself to the starstruck crowd, Jungkook hit the ‘play’ button for his cover of Paper Hearts. As Golden’s – Jungkook’s ­– recorded voice rang from the speakers, Jungkook harmonized with the recording. His voice was an exact match to the recording. He did it. He revealed himself as Golden.

           “Golden has revealed himself!”

           “Golden turns out to be Jeon Jungkook!”

           “Jeon Jungkook reveals himself as the infamous mystery music blogger, Golden!”

           Reporters were desperately reporting the new information to be one of the first to leak the information. Some students were recording from their phones – probably going live on Instagram or other social media sites. Chloe smiled softly to herself as Jungkook sung the song emotionally on the stage. She knew Y/N was supposed to be here. This wasn’t just his reveal as Golden but his confession of his feelings to her as well. Even Taehyung couldn’t help but smile at his younger friend’s bravery.    

           As Jungkook sung the song that held meaning to him, he closed his eyes as he reminisced on his semester. From starting his blog and getting his first follower then hundreds then thousands to receiving anonymous hate and love confessions. He remembered how many people told him his recommendations made their weeks better or how some even recommended songs to him. Keeping Golden’s identity from the entire school was a challenge and though some found out along the way, Jungkook was grateful they were friends of his and not strangers. When Jungkook started college, he didn’t know he’d make such a huge impression on his school within his very first semester. But here he was, hearing the voices of students in the auditorium singing along with him, clapping, and some even sobbing. He could only imagine how others outside were reacting to the news.

           As the song began to end, one final thought came to Jungkook. Y/N. She was supposed to be here to see his reveal. She was supposed to be in the seat beside Chloe and staring at him with, hopefully, amazement in her eyes. But, would she? Golden gave her such a hard time during the semester. Would she hate Jungkook for keeping it a secret from her? However, Jungkook didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to remember the time he first saw her in that sandwich café and how shy – and cute - she was as she sat across from him and Namjoon. Or, when he saw her dance for the first time and how she lost herself in what she loved doing the most. Also, the time she stress-baked at Namjoon and Jin’s dorm and he, Jimin, and Taehyung helped her. That was also the first time Jungkook decided to toy with her, which was successful, as he remembered the girl became a blushing mess at Golden’s acknowledgement of her. He remembered how stressed she was about mid-terms and they studied in the library together. How at Suho’s party, she grabbed his hand so they wouldn’t get separated from one another in the crowd of people they were in. His favorite memory of Y/N, however, was over fall break and they got to know each other more. How she felt comfortable enough around him to tell him about her life up to now and vice versa. As Jungkook remembered this, the song came to an end and the loud cheers and applause of his classmates, professor, and news reporters brought him back to reality. Jungkook snapped his eyes open and just as he did, the doors to the auditorium burst open, revealing Y/N, her eyes searching frantically around the room before landing on him on the stage. He locked eyes with her, and she gave him a small smile. And it was with that smile, Jungkook thought maybe – just maybe – she saw his reveal and confession after all.

[stephen-narain]

The Work of Art in the Age of Virtual Reproduction

By Stephen Narain

This essay received the 2014 Alice Yard Prize for Art Writing.

We were kids without fathers, so we found our fathers on wax and on the streets and in history, and in a way, that was a gift.  We got to pick and choose the ancestors who would inspire the world we were going to make for ourselves.

—Jay-Z, Decoded

I, therefore, invite you to consider, as a suggestive analogy, the action which takes place when a bit of finely filiated platinum is introduced into a chamber containing oxygen and sulphur dioxide.

—T.S. Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent”

“Cut” by Kara Walker (1998)

1. The Disintegrating Sugar Sphinx

This essay is about not seeing the physical exhibit of Kara Walker’s “A Subtlety.”  This essay is about seeing hundreds of its virtual reproductions online.

I first encountered Walker’s work in 2007 at Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum.  At the time, I was an undergraduate preparing to tell my parents—Guyanese immigrants to the United States—that, no, I would not be applying to law school.  I wanted to become a writer.  Still, my family’s pragmatism shaped the vision of the writer I wished to become.  Socially conscious.  Committed to a community’s particular experiences.  Unafraid of upsetting that community’s standards if necessary.  I had big ideas about the novel and about what the novel could do.  Yet, I was also aware that the bridge between aesthetics and politics was a difficult one to build.  Add to this the sophomore’s struggle with interpretation.  A discerning professor during a course on the American counterculture of the 1960s encouraged me to constantly examine the assumptions guiding my claims about the political uses of art.  Such proclamations might best be made after a more nuanced study, she suggested more than once in red ink on my C- papers.  My response in the months to follow was to run in the opposite direction of grandeur: to read so minutely that I could never be charged of falling prey to the affective fallacy.  The ideal criticism, W.K. Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley wrote in 1949, “will not talk of tears, prickles, or other physiological symptoms, of feeling angry, joyful, hot, cold, or intense, or of vaguer states of emotional disturbance, but of shades of distinction and relation between objects and emotion.”  I might as well have tattooed that quotation on my arm.  I don’t think I laughed or cried my entire senior year.

Viewing Walker’s exhibit, which included silhouettes of slaves superimposed on lithographic renderings of Civil War battle scenes, I tried to remain as “objective” as possible.  But a slave’s decapitated head was floating in a cloudy sky.  Blobs that could either be blood or feces were nestled in a valley.  Entire appendages were flung into the lithograph’s white borders, beyond the image entirely.  I tried to be subtle when what I felt was disgust.  What was the nature of this disgust?, I wondered.  And how do I ensure my response to it became neither parade nor parody?  How do I neither scream the near-platitudes of Amiri Baraka nor dwell in the ignorance of those people privileged enough to proclaim “art for art’s sake?”

Writing on her visceral response to E.M. Forster’s A Room With A View, Zadie Smith suggests: “We are aware that there is an emotive response for which the novel explicitly applies that is not properly requested by an atom or a rock formation or a chemical compound.  Sensing the anomalous nature of this emotive quality within the university, we have resolved not to speak of it much.”  My gut emotive response upon seeing Walker’s modified lithographs was a sense that they were gesturing toward the stories that remained hidden within my family, within my country, within the region I choose to call home.  Walker’s pieces were the most brilliant evocations of historical revisionism I had ever encountered.  The vital differences between American and Caribbean slavery aside, I wondered how my particular experiences as a West Indian person related to those “objective” criticisms I was tasked to make in the classroom.  Was I supposed to suppress these experiences?  Channel them in some measured, productive—and ultimately palatable—way?  What, in the name of “nuance,” might I elide?  And those basic facts of biography—a Bahamian childhood, a father who grew up on a Corentyne farm, Indian ancestors who crossed the kala pani many generations ago—what became of them?

Seven years later, I still have not answered these questions.  (I might spend a lifetime as a writer trying to do so.)  I follow Walker chiefly because her work encourages me to not only examine my assumptions about the political uses of art as Sullivan instructed—but to constantly examine the professor’s assumptions as well.  I was sad when I arrived in New York a week too late to see Walker’s thirty-five-foot-tall sugar sphinx, but I was grateful that I could experience her work the way most young people living in the world experience things these days.  I scrolled through hundreds of photographs posted on the Instagram and Twitter and Facebook pages of people I did not know.  Things got complicated, however, whenever I clicked the hashtag #karawalkerdomino.  Disturbing images loaded on my screen—the skinny boy sitting next to me at the coffeehouse might have assumed I was interested in some strange pornography.  “Sowapowa” angles her camera to make it look as if she were squeezing the sphinx’s impressive areolas.  “Bulzeye”—in an unfortunate accident of nomenclature—inserts his tongue into the sphinx’s vagina.  “Nealmaffei” smirks beneath the sphinx’s derrière. 

The virtual fourth wall demolished, I wonder how Wimsatt and Beardsley might react to the Brechtian theater that art-viewing has become on social media.  I wonder what they might make of the constant bombardment of images we encounter where individuals have inserted themselves into the text.  I wonder what they might make of Kara Walker.

This essay poses—and refuses to answer—questions about the nature, production, and consumption of art in this current age of virtual reproduction.  It is written by a Guyanese-Bahamian-American person three days after he faced the Domino Sugar Factory for the first time, holding a fancy camera his great-grandfather could never afford, preoccupied not by the onus of history, but by all the aggressive facial hair to be found in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  A photograph is stored in his imagination.  In it, a forty-year-old hipster with a handlebar moustache stands in front of an artisanal cheese shop.  A young orthodox Jew—hat black, locks brushing against his ears—holds his son’s hand. 

They are all waiting for the light to turn green.

2. Good Selfies/Bad Selfies

“The photograph,” Roland Barthes writes in Camera Lucida, “represents that very subtle moment when, to tell the truth, I am neither subject nor object but a subject who feels he is becoming an object: I then experience a micro-version of death (of parenthesis): I am truly becoming a specter.”  With each social media post, we experience the ghosts of our previous selves.  For a Caribbean community that has had its identity reduced for centuries, this layering of character can provide a powerful tool for cultural change.  Frequently, the region’s social evolution has been framed in postcolonial language, and I wonder if changes in media consumption might serve as a viable alternative—or complement—to these critical constructions. 

In his 1956 novel The Lonely Londoners, Samuel Selvon paints a portrait of a balkanized metropolis.  “It have people living in London,” Selvon writes in the inimitable voice of Moses Aloetta, “who don’t know what happening in the room next to them, far more the street, or how other people living.  London is a place like that.  It divide up in little worlds, and you stay in the world you belong to and you don’t know anything about what happening to the other ones except what you read in the papers.”  Newspapers, in the past quarter century, however, have radically evolved in their platform: when was the last time you sat down with a hardcopy of The New York Times or the Trinidad Guardian or the Stabroek News?  Moses’ nostalgia in Londoners is fed by his physical distance from Port of Spain—but in a visual sense, his nostalgia is fed by his distance from real images of the city.  If nostalgia is built from a triangular interaction between memory, desire, and sensation, the Internet has radically transformed how we remember, want, and feel.

The post-independence generation of artists emerging from the Caribbean and its diaspora are hyperaware in narrative effect—if not in poetic intent—of this cultural tide change.  Christian Campbell, in his poem “Lightskinned Id,” takes a joy in the simultaneity of his skin’s multiple shades—and in what effect such a coexistence might have on the evolution of his perceptions.  In “Disappearing Houses,” a collaborative project published in the Summer 2013 issue of Wasafiri, Andre Bagoo and Vahni Capildeo employ photometric techniques to disrupt our often vision of Trinidad’s economic progress.  They create otherworldly images of working-class detritus in tension with the vision of glass and steel development promoted by tourist boards and self-fulfilling prophecies.  The works of Shivanee Ramlochan, a journalist, poet, and editor, and Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné, a painter and poet, are preoccupied with the spiritual shape-shifting we might trace back to Hindu mythology.

Boodoo-Fortuné, influenced by Frida Kahlo, works in watercolor and ink.  Her exhibit “Criatura”—Spanish for “creature”—ran last summer at the Art Society of Trinidad and Tobago.  The forty-four pieces, the artist writes, were intended to “prompt reflections on the alchemy that governs a mixing of selves, straddling life and death, their natures fed by forces of both fruition and decay.”  The title piece portrays a woman, part human, part tree.  Wildflowers grow from her hair.  Her elongated neck is composed of skin and bark.  Her eyes are exaggerated like an anime temptress, yet sadness resides behind seduction.  This balance of boldness and vulnerability marks Boodoo-Fortuné’s representations of the feminine spirit.  Each of the painting’s women can be interpreted as conversing with one another.  But this observer wonders if the piece “Separate and Same” provides a key to understanding the exhibit as a whole.  Might all the women in Boodoo-Fortuné’s collection reside in a single body, the way Parvati and Durga and Kali belong to one entity?  Is Boodoo-Fortuné’s collection a yoga of sorts?  And if so, is a walk through the gallery akin to clicking through a friend’s Facebook album—that peculiarly twenty-first-century mythopoesis—titled “2013 was a great year!”?  Image one: a kiss on a mountaintop.  Followed by a stare behind a glass of Cabernet.  Wisps of hear behind a commencement cap.  A contemplative look into nowhere.  Then a click.  A true nowhere.  A white space.  Until we choose to close the page, to log off, and to get on with our ordinary lives.

3. A Brief Note on Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr Page

The title of Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr page, “Wings & Fire,” further signals the artist’s fascination with flight and destruction, with hubris and humility, with Icarus and Daedalus.  My interpretation of Boodoo-Fortuné’s work fundamentally changes because I follow her on Tumblr.  Below one of “Criatura’s” paintings, “Mother of the Hummingbirds,” is a quote by Sandra Cisneros: “I am obsessed with becoming a woman comfortable in her skin (via radicalheart82), 16,625 notes.”  On June 20, Boodoo-Fortuné posted an animation of a turtle with a Band-Aid on its shell.  The caption: “Don’t knock my shell.  It hurts a lot.”  Two weeks prior, Boodoo-Fortuné posts a picture of puppy prints in her studio floor.  A week before, a statue of a lady grasping wilted flowers.  The same day: what looks like mortar and pestle and ferns on a woodblock.  That same day again: a GIF of a woman like a 1960s Elizabeth Taylor with a halo over her crown, an image of the sun eclipsing the moon, and moving constellations, dippers—big and small—Orion, Hercules, all these stars I cannot name.

4. Anatomizing Self Construction

If Boodoo-Fortuné’s gallery exhibition represents an endpoint—and epiphany—her Tumblr page provides a glimpse into the rough work behind the artist’s elegant proofs.  This is a very modernist sensibility, something I can only now articulate in this manner, in this moment because of the discerning professor allergic to bullshit.  A scholar of T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and James Joyce, the professor helped me realize that the works—The Waste Land, The Cantos, Ulysses—I romanticized as spontaneous acts of genius experienced passionate revisions by their respective their editors.  These works were not created in isolation.  They were the product of many hands. 

“What happens when a new work of art is created,” Eliot writes in his essay “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” “is something that happens simultaneously to all the works of art which preceded it.  The existing monuments form an ideal order among themselves, which is modified by the introduction of the new (the really new) work of art among them.”  In our current age of virtual reproduction, Caribbean artists frequently—and subconsciously—shuffle inherited sequences.  The texture of old ideals is constantly impacted by the Caribbean artist’s engagement with, or negation of, those ideals and by her reifications of historically marginalized forms, be they of griot storytelling traditions or of the aesthetics of creolization or of the Walcottian mythology-mixing created within the region’s social web.

Through Tumblr’s interface—consisting of patterned visual displays, a dated archive, and a dynamic social network—we can glimpse, in unprecedented ways, the versions of the Caribbean artist’s self she wishes to represent to the world.  Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr page reveals a deep interest in gender roles, in spirituality, in the factors that facilitate—and hinder—empathy with fellow human beings and with nature.  We see the influences she wishes us to see.  Insodoing, we also see the content of each influence differently.  We see Cisneros in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Hummingbirds.”  We see bruised turtles in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Hummingbirds.”  We see the stars in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Humingbirds.”  And somewhere along the way, our perceptions are altered, our foci shift.  The life of a hummingbird’s mother becomes foregrounded in our minds.  What might that life entail?  And I think back to Walker’s Civil War lithographs.  I think of Toni Morrison’s Sethe. 

“Every negro walk in a circle,” Marlon James writes in The Book of Night Women.  “Take that and make of it what you will.”   

5. Bridging the Uncanny Valley

Right eyebrow arched against social media, Smith writes in her essay “Generation Why?”: “When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced.  Everything shrinks.  Individual character.  Friendships.  Language.  Sensibility.  In a way, it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears.”  Yet, the impulse to acquire multivalent information is precisely what drives many Caribbean users to social media in the first place.  It’s difficult to deny that Facebook inspires narcissism (it’s called “Facebook”) or Instagram, idiocy (young man licking the vulva of a sugar sphinx).  But this generation’s online capacity to curate their visual representation—individuals actively insert themselves into dominant images, if they wish—facilitates a freedom denied to many individuals in the colonized Caribbean.

I won’t risk grandeur by arguing that Facebook feeds political independence, but I wonder how the Arab Spring might have turned out if millions of people took Smith’s skeptical route.  She is correct on this point, however: the Internet user loses himself in the social network’s vast garden of forking paths.  The pornography addict, the terrorist recruiter, the pro-democracy activist: all of them transcend their physical selves online, becoming the “set of data” points they wish to project to the world.

Two of the most promising voices in Bahamian culture—the novelist A.L. Major and the academic Angelique Nixon—both engage with the ways in which the expectations of the tourism industry have impacted, for good and for ill, the prism through which Bahamian people view their history and themselves.  “When colonialists discovered the islands,” Major writes in a Michigan Quarterly Review blog post “Going to Watch Junkanoo,” “they found a way to instantly categorize those areas, a way to describe and recognize the islands easily.  Tropical birds, exotic fruits become the recognizable features of a tropical landscape, and not, for example, poorly maintained roads or overburdened garbage collection sites.  It’s this brochure self-knowledge, an ability to see the world as tourists might, that stifles creativity.”

Uncovering the garbage, for Major and for other post-independence Caribbean thinkers becomes a call to action, even as—for the sake of propriety and tourism advertisements—many Bahamian citizens might want to keep these images concealed.  Yet one can’t help but feel that figures such as Major and Nixon take an end-justifies-the-means approach to criticism: in their ethical cost/benefit analysis, their people’s self-understanding far outweighs a Norwegian tourist’s ability to enjoy her suntan.

If Major uses a literary magazine’s blog to interrogate the images coming in and out of the region, the Barbadian photographer Risée Chaderton uses a TED talk to interrogate how such images, in real ways, impact the Caribbean body politic.  In “Shaping Who We Are,” Chaderton discusses the rise of eating disorders amongst Caribbean men and women.  She studies the “uncanny valley”—a perceptual space where non-human images appear to be human.  Near the cusp of this valley might be robots or Disney characters—as well as many of the models on the covers of style magazines that make their way into Caribbean dental offices and public libraries and teenage bedrooms.  Chaderton’s photographs, committed to celebrating healthy Caribbean body images, necessarily oppose the images that fall within the uncanny valley, just as Major’s blog opens a space for Bahamians—and non-Bahamians—to interrogate the assumptions guiding the country’s history-writing. 

What artists like Chaderton—and Walker and Boodoo-Fortuné—encourage is a radical reconception of the Caribbean female body, a site that has been abused, distorted, and commodified for much of the region’s history.  Understandably, these artists’ work is in constant battle with the sheer force of incoming images from international media.  However, the intimacy of these artists’ visions allows us to anatomize self-construction—physically and spiritually—in the tradition of Janine Antoni, Paule Marshall, and Jamaica Kincaid, three of the most innovative Caribbean artists of the twentieth century.  As Walker’s giant sugar sphinx appears lower and lower on the public’s collective Instagram feed, I wonder how these artists’ work will evolve in the years to come.  I wonder what their art (and their tweets) might teach us about who they are individually becoming—and about what the Caribbean, as both a region and a sensibility, seeks to represent down all its plural avenues.