#i took one elective journalism class and it was all over for me

[itstimeforstarwars]

My diary when I was a teenager: I am so angry and this is where I put my rage about how the world is ending and how mad I am about it and how much I hate politicians and the school board

My diary now: here is a recounting of what I did today as well as how I feel about some of the news from today, so that in twenty years when everyone is lying about how the 2020s went I have proof that I'm not insane.

[sc0tters]

Long Time Coming | Jeremy Swayman

summary: you’ve been in love with each other for years, so surely you guys have picked up on it by now

request: yes/no

warnings: mild swearing?

word count: 2.21k

authors note: this is my first time writing for any of the bruins players and I have to say that this is really one of my favourites that I have written in a while. This is the softness we all deserved before I get to something a little more fiery tomorrow for valentines day!

It was a friendship that was never meant to work. 

Jeremy was a popular hockey player and you were a journalism major who preferred spending her time in the library as opposed to the dorms. You swore that the hockey team on campus was bound to all be irritating but when you ended up in a class with Jeremy. Surprised to say that you were paired up with a hockey player for your pottery course was an understatement. 

But three weeks in to your first semester and you found your random elective quickly becoming your favorite class. The goalie made you feel alive as he brought this spark to your life. His teammates started seeing less of him at parties and they were confused until they finally met you. 

Jeremy spent weeks convincing you to finally come to his game. Of course the tale went that when you showed up it was his first shut out game of his college career. Even as the crowd chanted his name, all he wanted was to look for you. It was like clockwork when the boys saw Jeremy lock eyes with you. 

That was the first time that the boys realized Jeremy was in love. The way he spun you around, gushing about how you were his lucky charm. It was also the night that seemed to be the turning point in your relationship with Jeremy. He was no longer your classmate, he was your friend and soon to be your best friend. 

Years had gone by, Jeremy had made his way to the NHL and you had finally graduated. It was funny how you had grown attached to each other, like the moment you left college you were in Boston. Jeremy had you in the guest bedroom of his apartment which made life tougher than ever. 

It was Valentine’s Day and you ended up in his dorm after he revealed that his girlfriend was cheating on him. 

Jeremy swore you had never shown up as fast as you did there. The boy didn’t even time to fully open his door before you were in his arms  “hey Jer.” You sighed as his body clung to yours “she left me.” Jeremy sobbed as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

You rubbed his back desperate to ease his pain “you are better without her.” You mumbled kissing his shoulder as you raked your fingers through his hair “you know I’m not.” Jeremy had spoken to you of how he loved her like she was his world. 

The boy huffed into your neck “I brought everything we need tonight.” Your words made him furrow his eyebrows as he pulled away from you “for what?” Jeremy saw the plastic bag in your hand that had a mixed bunch of goods. 

You took the opportunity to walk into his room as you shut the door behind you “because we are going to eat our feelings away tonight.” You smiled pulling out two tubs of ice cream knowing that neither one of you were about to share. 

Jeremy couldn’t help but smile as he ran his fingers over his jaw “I can’t ask you to stay with me on Valentine’s Day.” He shook his head as it made your lips curl upright “then it’s a good thing that I’m insisting.” You shot back as you held the pint out in his direction. 

It was your kindness that Jeremy first fell in love with. The way you would think about giving someone the shirt off of your back if it could help them. Jeremy felt his heart grow full at the way you were always in the TD Garden with young fans helping them get his attention during warm ups and at the end of games. 

He had grown so comfortable with you and maybe that was his fault. Everyone treated you like you were his girlfriend because you were his partner. You might not have been his romantically but in life you were clearly his. 

That’s why it was so surprising to see you in your room getting ready for a date “you look nice.” Jeremy let his bag drop to the floor as he had come home from practice “thank you.” You smiled plumping your lips together as it coated your lipstick around your lips. 

The hockey player had to admit that he was confused as he leaned against the wall “do you think that he will like it?” You asked as you did a little spin letting him see your outfit in full. It was a blue dress that looked perfect on your skin as the springtime came in “you look perfect.” Jeremy nodded as he felt his chest pang “he?” The boy repeated your words as he froze. 

Watching you grab your phone from your table you rolled your eyes “remember when I told you I was going out with Taylor for lunch.” You motioned to the calendar that had the date and time that you were meant to see him “I didn’t know that Taylor was a dude!” Jeremy’s words brought a scoff to your lips as you crossed your arms. 

He was quick to mentally curse himself as he saw you furrow your eyebrows “why does the gender of my date matter to you?” You cocked your head pressing your finger against his chest “because.” It seemed that in that moment all Jeremy wanted was to tell you that he loved you yet he had all but forgotten how to talk. 

Your foot tapped against the wooden flooring as you awaited an answer “you want to give me an answer?” You watched him practically crawl back into himself as he sighed “have a nice night Jeremy.” He gasped at the feeling of your shoulder hitting his as you walked straight to the front door not giving him a chance to talk.

Jeremy was left wallowing in his emotions as he stared at the different pictures of you two that lived in his phone. The time he surprised you by making it to your graduation, the time you were there for his NHL debut. Even the picture of you two at one of his teammates weddings when Jeremy was caught staring at you. 

That was the day when his current teammates realised that Jeremy was in love with you “you will not believe it!” You groaned as you slammed the door behind you “you’re home early.” The boy mumbled going quiet as he was met with a glare.

Jeremy frowned as he watched you collapse onto the couch next to him “think he wanted to go on a date with you before me.” You complained resting your head on his shoulder “I’m sorry you had a bad date.” The hockey player was quick to wrap his arm around you.

Like always you melted into his touch “no you’re not.” You mumbled feeing him kiss your head “just like that I was right.” Jeremy could have lied but you knew him far too well for the chance to go unnoticed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh “you’re such an ass.” A giggle left your lips as Jeremy turned to look at you “sorry you let this outfit go to waste on him.” His hand ran along your cheek “you like my outfit.” You batted your eyelashes as you smiled. 

Jeremy nodded enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his thumb “like anything you wear.” He mumbled beginning to turn his head to yours. Like clockwork his eyes shut and just as yours did your phone began to ring “shoot.” You groaned seeing your mom’s contact appear on the screen. 

It hit the boy like a cold shower as he watched you get up grabbing your phone “hey mom.” You tan your fingers through your hair as you sent Jeremy a sorry look “yeah I can talk.” You nodded along walking back into your room as you began catching her up on the events of your day. 

As the evening turned into night and the hours went on, Jeremy didn’t see you again as he had gone to bed. Whilst the lights in the apartment were off both of your minds were active. Truthfully neither one of you remembered what it was like to have your minds this full. 

Jeremy stared at the pictures on his phone of you two and he couldn’t help but curse your mom for calling. Especially after you called your mom this cool woman who was your best friend, that was a far cry from what he would have described as a cock block. 

What he didn’t know was that you were pacing outside of his door. You hadn’t even noticed but halfway through your phone call with your mom you were bringing up how you wanted kiss your roommate. Because of course you had been in love with him since your college days too. Yet yours came from your time in class together. 

You had been in the lecture hall for five minutes as you set yourself up in the middle of the rows. Whilst students came flooding into the cramped room, you were too focused on your phone to notice how Jeremy walked right to you “this seat taken?” The question was innocently asked with a voice barely above a whisper that you didn’t even care to look up as you instead opted to nod. 

It gave Jeremy the chance to settle in next to you “I’m Jeremy.” Even as you two had been in classes together, he had never gotten the chance to see you, especially not like this “Y/n.” You took his hand that he held out for you to shake. 

A smile formed on his lips as he couldn’t help but study your facial features that stood before him in all their glory as you woke up late with little to no time for make up that morning “I know.” Jeremy grinned seeing your lips curve upward “you know?” Your words were playful as you didn’t believe him.

The boy laughed as he nodded “think you’re real pretty y/n.” Your name sounded like honey as it rolled off of his tongue “think that’s enough flirting from you for one day Swayman.” You tucked your hair behind your ear avoiding how wide your smile had grown as you avoided his stare when your cheeks turned red. 

The memories of that day made you smile as you never thought you would fall in love with him. But you couldn’t help but come back to your dorm to gush to your mom about how different your expectations of him were. Yet all of those thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as the boys door opened letting you be met by his chest. 

You almost fell back as Jeremy’s quick reaction time pulled you closer to him as he steadied your feet “what are you doing awake?” His voice was low as he watched you gulp “couldn’t sleep.” Your fingers ran over his bare chest as you looked up at him. 

If eyes were the key to the soul then the two of you were currently open books “you?” Your lips pursed together as the tension between you both could have been cut by a knife “couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged as he reached behind your head tucking your hair behind your ear.

Jeremy loved how you smiled up at him “what’s on your mind?” He asked noting how your eyebrow arched like something was on your mind “you.” The word came from your lips like it word vomit. 

But as his expression turned surprised it made you go quiet “me?” You nodded letting out a sigh “I try to ignore it but god I’m in love with you.” You ran your fingers through your hair as Jeremy just stared at you.

Maybe it was the shock of hearing you say that but he swore he was dreaming “and I don’t want to lose you but I can’t.” Your chest heaved “I can’t keep on going on these dates hoping it might get you to say something to me.” Tears formed in your waterline as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. 

Jeremy finally opted to put you out of your misery when he smiled “you love me?” His voice was shaky as he squeezed your hips “you’re being mean Jer.” You nodded feeling like you were on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what he would say.

A laugh left his lips “think you can answer my question f’me pretty girl?” Jeremy taunted as he smirked “I’m in love with you.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he shut the gap between you both.

The air was palpable as your heart pounded “I love you too.” Your hair wrapped around his finger as he smiled “can I kiss you?” Jeremy let his lips hover over yours “please.” You nodded letting your eyes shut when he kissed you. 

The kiss made you melt as his lips swiped across yours. Jeremy let his hands travel through your hair settling at the nape of your neck refusing to let you go. Only when you both needed air did you pull apart “wow.” Jeremy groaned running his thumb over your lower lip. 

It made you laugh “yeah.” You nodded sending him a smile “think we should do that more often.” Your words had the boy pulling you into his room “why wait?” The hockey player asked picking you up as your legs wrapped around his waist as he picked you up.

Whilst the city might have been colder as the rain came in that night with a spring storm but what nobody would know was how hot the activities were in his room. You were left twisted in his sheets as your hearts intertwined and life began to show that the only way possible for you both was together. 

[palfriendpatine66]

Deleted Scene - Criminal Minds

Ok @imjusttoofunky @wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart Instead of a snippet for the next chapter of Criminal Minds, how about a scene/some letters that have been left on the editing room floor? These 100% happened, they're just not making it into the story. [catch up on chapters 1&2 of Criminal Minds here]

* Anakin stopped by the post office just off campus, not expecting to find anything in the little box he rented but unable to tamp down the flutter of nerves in his stomach all the same. It had been over two weeks since he had set up the PO Box - he wasn’t going to just let a convicted killer know exactly where to find him, he wasn’t stupid - and mailed out his letter.

He figured it would take two days to get there, maybe three. Then maybe a couple days for it to actually get delivered within the jail, not that he knew how any of that would work. And then a couple of days to get back. That should have been about a week, he thought. But a week came and went and he’d gotten no response. Then two. Each day that passed Anakin felt just a little more on edge.

Why wouldn’t Kenobi write back? What else did he possibly have to do all day? Was Anakin supposed to just pretend he hadn’t put himself out there only to be rejected once again? This time by someone who didn’t even have any other options?

He glared at the post office key as he shoved it into the box, as though it was to blame for the continued silence.

Silence.

He was surrounded by silence everywhere he went. No one would talk to him during class. He didn't have hangouts with friends, not anymore. Really he didn't have friends any longer at all. No more dates with his beautiful angel. No written correspondence from his intriguing inmate of choice.

All he had were averted eyes when he approached. Official university letters with notices of probation. Automated messages stating the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected: please try again or hang up. An empty fucking post office box.

And his own thoughts, of course, alternating between simmering anger at everyone who had left him alone and the bitter voice that reminded him it was all his fault.

Anakin did a double take when he noticed there was a letter waiting for him. He grabbed it with shaking hands and turned it over, almost unable to believe it was real. It was marked as processed through the state penitentiary; his finger traced over the official seal.

Anakin slammed the little door closed and went straight to his favorite spot on campus - a little nook tucked behind an abstract statue on an out of the way path. No one could see him from the other side, but with his back against the cool stone the world was quiet and he had a private view of the little garden, blooming with color no matter the time of year. It reminded him of the window box planter his mother had carefully tended, attempting to infuse some color and life into their dreary, run down apartment.

It was only when settled in his spot and sheltered from the rest of the campus around him that he took a steadying breath and allowed his trembling fingers to tear open the letter.

Dear Ani, I suppose I should be flattered that you consider me an expert on the inner workings of the mind, but as you noted yourself it is only the mark of a good reporter to understand people and their motivations, what makes them “tick” if you will. These things you could learn from someone much more qualified than myself. You might look into an elective course in psychology.

I note that it isn’t my actual area of expertise in which you are interested (journalism, of course). That is an area in which I found some success, before the unfortunate events that lead to my arrest and my current address in the state penitentiary. I might add that investigation and gathering information is a skill which is highly useful in the field of journalism, should you harbor any future interest. I can’t say my name currently carries any positive weight to put in a recommendation on your behalf, but I am still knowledgeable in the field and am sure I could offer you some advice, should you wish.

I cannot recommend a stay in prison; the comforts are few and far between. I couldn’t tell you my opinions on other institutions that I have not yet experienced, such as marriage. Perhaps it is you who should tell me about that particular institution. That is one area in which it seems you may be more experienced than myself. I don’t believe holy matrimony is an experience I will find, even if I somehow make it past these walls one day. Options are limited for a man branded by society with a scarlet letter.

I am sorry to hear of your troubles in your relationships. I wonder what it is you expect to find in me, a middle aged man isolated from society for nearly half his life. I cannot say I have had the opportunity to practice my social skills while I serve out my sentence, the population here less then friendly, and before all this I was more the type to keep to myself. I wonder if you might be better served communing with individuals in your own age and circumstance. Join a book club or a student group. Learn a new skill. Maybe pick up an instrument; guitar is a good choice. That was very popular among some in my own college days, to set up and play in the quad for whoever is drawn in by your song. Make yourself approachable and they come to you.

Whatever it is that truly drew you to put pen to paper, I thank you for bringing a change of pace to my rather monotonous day. Perhaps one day you will share what it is that moved you to seek me out, among so many.

Sincerely, Obi-Wan Kenobi

*

Ani’s letter had given Obi-Wan new food for thought, for which he was thankful. There were only so many times he could participate in the same conversations, read the same books, and watch the same movies. Everything happened at the same time every day, and rarely did the people changed. It was nice to have something new to turn over in his mind as he did in the days after penning his own reply.

He couldn’t say he loved the idea of some young and impressionable person getting the wrong idea from a made for TV special with poorly done dramatic reenactments and more speculation than fact and then seeking him out in some kind of misplaced hero worship. But at the same time, how much could it really hurt to indulge someone lonely and searching for connection? He’d probably be asked to share a couple of prison “fun facts” and answer a few questions about crime scenes he’d reported on many years ago. Neither was particularly scintillating nor taxing.

And in exchange he’d get a break from the monotony. Something new to puzzle over and occupy his thoughts. There was much to think about when it came to Ani. So many possibilities. The next letter didn’t disappoint.

Obi-Wan

I feel honored that you recognize my investigatory skills. I have other skills I could impress you with as well if given the chance. I’m really good with technology. Probably in ways you couldn’t even imagine, there’s been a lot of advances since you’ve been on the inside.

I am too far into my major to take any classes in psychology. All the credits I have left are in advanced and applied maths. I don’t know if I will be able to finish my degree, I’m on academic probation. It’s so stupid, because I know more than everyone here already. I’ve had to correct the textbook that the professor wrote. Multiple times.

They don’t appreciate that, by the way. You’d think it would be something they want to know, right? But they aren’t interested in the knowledge and learning and all of that. They really just want the power and authority of their position. They like being the expert. And they really don’t like when some student can challenge that.

But they won't let me pass if I don’t attend class. The “grace period” I was extended after my mom died is up, and apparently their calendars told them it’s time to show up to class and “accept responsibilities” or “face the consequences.” They don’t really care. I could have aced all the finals on the first day. In my sleep. It’s just a waste of everybody’s time.

What do you do with all your time? You have a lot of it to fill up. I can’t imagine you get to play the guitar. How do you keep busy? Did you start a prison newspaper? I can’t imagine the guards would like that any. Do they give you problems, the guards? Do you like, have a roommate or a friend on the inside after all this time? It sucks to be alone. I hope you aren't too lonely.

Ani.

Hours later Obi-Wan was still thinking through the letter, his thoughts so distant he could almost forget where he was, feeling almost as though he was taking a leisurely stroll through the park in the hopes that a change in scenery would provide a spark of inspiration when writer’s block hit and he was pushing up against a deadline. 

He shook his head as he walked the perimeter of the yard.

Ani, Ani, Ani. A disaster waiting to happen.

Feeling isolated, alone. Desperate for connection. Eager to please, eager to learn. Very confident in his own abilities. Slighted when they weren’t recognized by others.

A prime candidate to be pulled into a cult, Obi-Wan mused. He stopped in a patch of sunlight, turning his face up to the warmth. It was only a matter of time before Ani fell under someone’s influence.

There was no knowing whose it might be. It could even be someone setting a worse example than his own.

He smirked to himself, with no one to share in the irony. Doubtful, but possible.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Steve Cousineau

* * * *

The weekend review: A tale of two speeches.

March 18, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Democrats cannot rely on Republicans to defeat themselves in 2024, but Trump and the GOP are doing their best to set their party aflame. They stand on a burning platform and are dousing the flames with gasoline. It is a bonfire of ugliness and self-immolation that further weakens the GOP each day. Their chaos doesn’t make our job any easier, but it does make their job more difficult. Remember that fact next time you worry about the passionate but principled disagreements among Democrats.

Trump gave a speech near Dayton, Ohio over the weekend that was unhinged, dangerous, threatening, vulgar, and inflammatory. Trump's speech is drawing nearly universal condemnation from major media outlets and forced his campaign to issue “clean-up” statements that attempted defend indefensible statements by denying the plain meaning of Trump's words.

I will turn to Trump's speech in a moment, but it is important to focus on the comparison to President Biden’s speech over the weekend. Biden delivered a short address at an event for the press and White House staff at the Gridiron Club in Washington, D.C. The annual event brings the press and administration officials together for a night of pointed comedy mixed with serious talk about the state of the media in America. As expected, Biden gave a speech that was funny and self-deprecating. It was well received. See Factbase, Transcript | The President Addresses a Gridiron Club Dinner in Washington - March 16, 2024.

But Biden also addressed the serious issue of the role of the press in a free society. Biden said,

Folks, every single one of us has a role to play in making sure American democracy endures. This year, you, the free press, have a bigger role than ever. Let me state the obvious. You're not the enemy of the people. You are a pillar of any free society. And I may not always agree with your coverage or admire it, but I do admire your courage. Good journalism holds a mirror up to a country for us to reflect the good, the bad, the truth about who we are. This is not hyperbole: We need you. Democracy is at risk, and the American people need to know. In fractured times, they need context and a perspective. They need substance to match the enormity of the task. As a result, the choices you make really matter. And each story you [write] makes democracy stronger. I know it's possible because I know the American story. We're a great nation. We're good people, defined by core values of honesty, decency, dignity, light over darkness, courage over fear, and truth over lies. These are also the bedrock principles of good journalism. So, tonight, I'd like to toast the free press and toast to the American people and the enduring causes of democracy and freedom.

Biden’s comments praising and honoring the press were a class act coming from a guy who has been badly mistreated by the press for the last year. But “class act” is vintage Biden.

In contrast, in Ohio, Trump predicted that there would be a “bloodbath” if he lost the 2024 election, said that immigrants “are not people [and] in some cases they are animals,” repeatedly referred to President Biden as “that son-of-a . . . .”, said he did “not give a sh*t” about Republicans who don’t support him, referred to California Governor Gavin Newsom and “New Scum,” and made a vulgar comment about Fulton County D.A. Fani Willis. Otherwise, the 90-minute speech was disjointed and incomprehensible to those not steeped in MAGA conspiracy theories. See NYTimes, Trump Says Some Migrants Are ‘Not People’ and Predicts a ‘Blood Bath’ if He Loses. (This article is accessible to all.)

A Trump campaign staff person claimed that the “bloodbath” comment was meant to convey the effect of a Biden victory on the auto industry. (See the Times article above.) While it is true that the comment took place in the context of a discussion of the auto industry, the statement about a “bloodbath” was not qualified or limited in any way. Trump said there would be a bloodbath if he lost. Period. Full stop.

It was vintage Trump—oblique statements alluding to violence shrouded in plausible deniability. But Trump's followers are not steeped in nuance or subtlety. They hear “bloodbath”, and they think “violence.” That is why major media has not bought the Trump campaign’s attempt to twist the meaning and limit the damage from Trump's call to violence.

But for all the attention that Trump's “bloodbath” comment has received, another aspect of Trump's Dayton rally was more disturbing and unsettling. Trump began the speech by playing the desecrated version of the National Anthem that he recorded with January 6 convicted felons serving prison time.

As the bastardized song begins, a recorded voice says, “Please rise for the horribly and unfairly treated January 6 hostages.” The recorded voice then refers to the January 6 defendants as “unbelievable patriots.” During Trump's speech, he effectively promised to grant the January 6 defendants pardons.

There is nothing subtle about Trump's messaging. By calling for a “bloodbath” and referring to the January 6 defendants as “patriots” who will be pardoned, Trump is creating a permission structure for another violent insurrection. That’s the real story—and one that deserves to be highlighted every day between now and November 5, 2024.

That truth will become clearer each time Trump gives another campaign speech. He can’t help himself. He telegraphs what he is thinking and plotting. We should believe him. And so should that portion of corporate America that continues to support Trump.

The good news is that insurrection is not in the best interests of the institutions that are currently propping up Trump in a perverted love-hate relationship. Markets thrive on stability, not violence and insurrection. Corporate America understands that better than anyone.

But it gets worse.

Within twenty-four hours of Trump's call for a “bloodbath,” he called for the imprisonment of former Rep. Liz Cheney and the other members of the January 6 Committee. See Newsweek, Donald Trump Wants His Top Republican Critic Jailed.

So—Trump is calling for a second insurrection and prosecution of the current and former congressional representatives on the January 6 Committee. It doesn’t get any less subtle than that. Even Trump's least intuitive followers understand what Trump is saying.

As Trump is becoming more explicit in his dictatorial aspirations, he is also deteriorating cognitively. Last week, I cited a New Yorker article by Susan Glasser entitled, I Listened to Trump’s Rambling, Unhinged, Vituperative Georgia Rally—and So Should You. The New Yorker article is behind a paywall, so you may not have been able to read it. But Ali Velshi interviewed Susan Glasser on MSNBC and covered the substance of the article—so you can listen to Glasser discuss her observations about Trump. The interview is here. See MSNBC, You need to see how much worse Trump is now: Glasser.

In short, we have an aspiring dictator in cognitive decline who is telling us what his strongman fantasies are. As Bill Clinton would have said, “That dog won’t hunt.” We should be able to leverage those weaknesses to our advantage. They are scary, yes. But a disciplined response should allow us to convert Trump's increasing mania to our benefit—in part, by convincing persuadable independents and disaffected Republicans that the unhinged candidate they see on the campaign trail is unfit to govern this great nation again.

This leaves only the strongman fantasies of Trump's followers. Their loyalty to Trump makes sense only if he is their strongman, as Professor Timothy Snyder explains on his Substack blog, Thinking About. . . . The Strongman Fantasy.

As Professor Snyder writes,

Strongman rule is a fantasy. Essential to it is the idea that a strongman will be your strongman. He won't. In a democracy, elected representatives listen to constituents. We take this for granted, and imagine that a dictator would owe us something.  But the vote you cast for him affirms your irrelevance. The whole point is that the strongman owes us nothing. We get abused and we get used to it. 

There is probably little we can do to convince Trump's most cultish followers that Trump sees their support only as transactional and expendable. But Trump will continue to repulse portions of his remaining constituency by calling immigrants “animals,” praising thugs who killed police officers on January 6, mocking the disabled, calling soldiers “losers and suckers,” and desecrating the Christian principles that serve as the faith foundation for a majority of his supporters.

As I said at the top, we can’t count on Trump to defeat himself. But we should recognize that he is a weak candidate stranded on a burning platform, and he is acting as the chief arsonist. Every new voter we register and turn out to the polls will help build an insurmountable margin as Trump's former supporters at the margins reevaluate their past support for Trump. That is the only advantage we need in a closely matched election. We can make that happen—we already are!

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[fecklessgreebobastard]

all I can recall from my first manic episode: a post therapy session catharsis

CW: brutal honesty about bipolar disorder, depression, mania and psychosis. think prozac nation.

the hardest question to answer is ‘describe your manic episodes’. it’s not that everything has faded into obscurity, i can remember the sequence of events just well enough to recount it. but it wasn’t me who noticed the abnormalities, more those around me. like all of the mania that followed. the first was my dad, he noticed that something was off, that my eyes dilated and that i talked with a sense of reassurance unknown to my personality. to me, it just felt like things slowly warped and shifted ever so slightly until fantasy was the new normal. the frame tilting over time. like a swimming pool that’s freezing when you jump in but you slowly adjust to the temperature.

the timeline changed in 2016. something that i feel like happened to the whole world and not just myself, although i’m not a reliable narrator. we collectively became more polarised. the US election. cringe compilations. rise of the alt right. an arms race of words on apps that we used to post our coffee on. pokémon go. dat boi. regardless, something definitely shifted for me, and things have never felt quite the same since. grappling with new lenses that weren’t rose coloured.

i was already on the camhs waiting list. that spring, a girl in my class who i’d known since childhood asked me ‘are you depressed?’ she had recently taken a year out because she was. i said i didn’t know. my grandpa had just died and the melancholy that had silently consumed me for years was getting harder to conceal. i came home and told my mum, my lips were still too sealed for the whole truth but it seemed to do the job at opening up.

summer 2016. fire island. it was a family trip. i would spend most nights scribbling disordered thoughts into my journal. it felt like my only friend that summer was that little black leather notebook and the late amy winehouse. i would stay up all night watching her on youtube and feeling like we had some parasocial connection. i addressed my diary to her for a while. i remember squeezing a stone to the point it drew blood in the palm of my hand most days. because nothing felt real and i needed something to feel real. to bring me back. a splash of cool water. i’d walk down beaches in the blazing american summer which should’ve made a brit like me sweat. but i did not feel the heat. completely disconnected from the outside world. all i would be thinking about was converting to judaism so my life would have some meaning. ruminating. obsessing. obsessing again and again. an erratic grasp to pull myself out the trench.

things came to a head in september. one night i completely broke down, malfunctioned to my parents about how much i had come to resent the life i lived. my dad played me lou reed’s berlin. after that night, i only left my bed to get four teeth removed, they said i was brave, something i was getting too used to. i stopped going to school. catatonic for months. the first of many. camhs weren’t much help, i told the psychiatrist that i only lived for fear of disappointing people. she looked like i had grown devil horns and left the room in terror. i think she thought i was beyond her level of expertise.

eventually i got a script of fluoxetine so i would leave my bed. i felt relieved. like it was gonna make things better. but i was so so wrong. around that time i had bought a typewriter in camden market. the writing i did in my depression was disturbing, but coherent. i remember a detailed and morbid description of everyone’s individual reactions if i died. after i took the pills, these pieces of writing would become less and less coherent. random letters smashed in. a pastiche of beat poetry with zero intention.

my band had a gig. i was playing bass. dad took a photo that made my nerdy fourteen year old self look a little like sid vicious. i think it was the dead eyes, the indignant scowl on my face. ‘one day, i’ll be up on stage on glastonbury, headlining, and they’ll all regret how they treated me’. this statement seemed so blasé in the moment i said it but i came to find out that the newfound arrogance was a red flag. i thought i was the reincarnation of ziggy stardust. someone who never even existed. bought bird skeletons off the internet. stopped sleeping.

in my mind, nothing was real. i crashed into solipsism. believing the world was nothing more than an illusion. a development from squeezing rocks. i remember seeing tears run down my dad’s face as he tried to convince me of reality. i thought that i was invincible but i didn’t know for sure and assumed the only way to prove it was to jump in front of a car or cut a body part off like van gogh. ‘something isn’t right’. and i couldn’t even tell.

one morning, my parents found me after a night of no sleep. in the kitchen at 5am. i was hunched over the stove, attempting to make a lava lamp using oil. some weird scheme i immediately needed to follow through on. they bundled me in the car and drove to camhs. i have zero recollection of what i said in the appointment but i remember the psychiatrist telling me ‘we think you have bipolar disorder, we’re going to start you on an anti psychotic’. i burst into tears, screaming that this was the most creative i had ever been and they were gonna take that away from me, unaware that i would go on to write better songs. she told me that i was not these people i idolised. i was not brain jones. i was not amy winehouse. that i could live longer than both combined if i got the right help. i kicked and screamed, yet three days later i was fainting in the shower after my first dose of aripiprazole. i had to miss the pierce the veil gig that night.

the year is 2024. i am 21 years old. i have just finished telling the bits and pieces that i can recall to my shrink. i come back to the room but i am not all there. ‘can you feel your feet? the way they’re touching the ground. are they hot or cold?’ she says. whiteboard. light switch. computer monitor. clock. and a green chair. five things i can see. the dissociation is still there but not thumping. it is no longer the pirate that controls the helm. she tells me ‘say out loud that you are safe here’. ‘i am safe here’. and today i choose to believe i am. i want to believe i am.

[robbothepeasant]

Argentina and Never Ending LIES of Privatization

Of all the things that infuriate me about Western coverage of Latin America, none are so angering than the way the West and the Neolib bootlickers across the world talk about every U.S.A backed anti-Communist, Neoliberal despot as if any of their violent, greedy, economically destabilizing "Reforms" are in any new.

Around 10:50, the Ghoul on the right asked Ramiro Tosi, Economist, ex-Argentina Undersecretary of Finance, if Milei's "Fiscal Responsibilty" (Social Mass Murder) is even possible in Argentina. As if overwhelming neoliberalism has not been the defacto economic policy since the Junta took control in 1976.

Not a single Peronista that has been able to win an election has even had the courage to undo any of the damage that the deregulatory regime of the Martinez De Hoz. A man with connections to David Rockefeller and Henry Kissenger and U.S business ties, who was given carte balance to reshape the Argentine economy after the Military took over.

The Ghoul then, corroborates Milei's schizo-speech about "The fall of the west" to "orientalism" and "Weakness" tip-toeing around his nationalist warmongering, to focus on his statements about *his kind of government being a rare species in the West and In Europe.

Psychotic lies, all of it.

Are we operating under the assumption that in a decade that has brought about monstrously unpopular rightist economic restructuring in just about every polity, from France to Brazil, that Milei is some sort of lone wolf?

Are we not seeing a Internationalized class realestate exploiters destroy the housing market of every Liberal nation on earth, while the Politicians just continuously pass legislation to make it easier for them to continue this murder? Aren't European Farmers on strike due to "economic restrucuring" that includes removal of tax credits and subsidies for agriculture, but completely keeps subsidies for Coal barons and Financial Speculators under the guise of, "incentivizing innovation"

The ease with which Liberal institutions simply shift their language into one that implies that we're all living under a Socialist Bloc, you'd think Gorbachev's reign was still just a glint in the Pizza Hut's wet dreams.

It is important to note this rant is about the coverage from Deutsche Welle, a German State News organization with that often Hosts American/ British news anchors when covering international topics. (to sucker in the yankees, and feed them their slop)

Side Track==>

I have long since stopped paying attention to American News outlets, since the veil of strategic disinformation is so transparent, media coverage is closer to dinner theatre than journalism. Anyone watching and engaging with anything that comes out of an American Journalist's mouth has to have suspended their disbelief in order to enjoy the show.

Much like how a Superman fan knows that Superman's disguise being easily seen through is something done for the audience's benefit; and thus they willing ignore it's unbelievability in order to enjoy the show, Informed News watchers willing engage with the blatant lies and doublespeak of their preferred News source in order to enjoy the slow dissent into hell that Fox and NYT narrate over. Ultimately European News agencies are no different. But their priorities are slightly different, and thus are able to things like "socialized healthcare is an undeniable good" and "Not every immigrant is a criminal rapist" without being sent before the House of UnAmerican Activities.

Side Track over==>

The "Economist" (Monetary Astrologer) ecchos the Ghoul's statement.

The ready made liar, as images of labour strikes and bread lines appear, says that there has never been economic deregulation in Argentina.

A BOLD FACE LIE, Anyone living in reality can discredit.

So often we are forced to put up with stories about right wing dictators in the Global South who are willing to give the people "Tough Love" and make "harsh decisions", as if everyone living south of the United States is a child who needs a parent to spank them.

But all of these stories are deliberately divorced from any reality or history that has actually happened in the Global South.

The Financial Astrologer, those German Ghouls propped up to sell out his people, likely for more money than the Union leadership who are so desperately trying to prevent this catastrophe, make in a years worth of Union dues, happens to have been Undersecretary of Finance (keynesian make-work for pathological exploiters) in a previous government.

Let's see what policies his party spearheaded when it was power.

What kind of blind Utopianism has he spearheaded that lead Argentina down such a decline.

The First result for his name is some kind of Think tank he directs. There doesn't appear to be a wikipedia article on him so we'll go with this as our first insight.

To save you all some scrolling all you need to know is that this man is currently the "independent Director" of Banco Macro, which is the

"the second largest domestically-owned private bank in Argentina, and the sixth-largest by deposits and lending"

Naturally is a graduate of Applied Capitalist Thought from a Prestigious University in Argentina so this man has always been a professional profiteer, but what about his tenure in government?

Surely directing a massive bank didn't interfere with his duties, carrying out the Marxist agenda of the pre-Milei Argentine government?

Westerners have created in their mind this idea of the whole of Latin America socialist dystopias that haven't learned about the greatness of the Free market.

When in reality the FIRST PLACE that those PSYCHO CHICAGO BOYS set up a government was in Latin America under the auspices of a military dictatorship funded by the United States.

None of this is new, none of this has worked, and yet the show continues. The slow dissent is lovingly guided by a friendly voice.

[harringtonlovers]

COME AND GET YOUR LOVE | STANCY

chapter 7

“ clean plates and study dates ”

ao3

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Nancy leaned back in her seat, looking down at her stomach. She pouted a bit at how bloated she looked, looking back at Jennifer Harrington, who sat across the way. Nancy's eyes wandered a bit to Steve, who sat next to her playing with his food. The girl looked back at her plate, noticing she had eaten all of the chicken and half of the sides. "This food was lovely, Mrs. Harrington."

It was a weird dinner, for sure. Nancy had scarfed all of her food down, earning a weird look from Steve as he played with his potatoes. The three remained silent, which made Nancy uneasy. She could tell there was some kind of tension between Steve and his mom, but Nancy tried her best to ease the issues. It was extremely difficult to get a read on their relationship, but she digressed.

Jennifer beamed. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it, Nancy! Also, call me Jennifer."

Nancy nodded. "Right...Jennifer."

Jennifer nodded with a smile. She went back to cutting her chicken, looking at her son. "Do you like it, Stevie?"

Steve looked up. The boy was lost in his own world, trying his best to remain composed as he continued dinner with his mom and Nancy. He looked between the two of them, a soft smile on his lips. With a nod, Steve swallowed the rest of his food. "It's delicious mom. Can't go wrong with chicken."

Jennifer winked at Steve before turning her attention back to Nancy. "So, Nancy, tell me. Are you going off to college next year?"

"That's the plan." Nancy smiled softly. "I really want to go to Emerson College, it's in Bos—"

"Boston!" Jennifer smiled. "Beautiful campus. Any idea what you want to study?"

"Journalism..." Nancy beamed.

"No way!" Jennifer exclaimed. "That sounds like a lovely career. Any particular type of media you want to pursue?"

Nancy glanced at Steve, trying to think of a way to incorporate him into the conversation. "Well, I'm very interested in investigative journalism. Ya know, all the crime and stuff going on in the world." She giggled awkwardly, pressing her lips into a tight-lipped smile. "Your son is actually in my class." Nancy grinned, looking over at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes, wanting nothing to do with the conversation. Granted, he had seen Nancy in a new light: beautiful, lighthearted, and kind. He just wanted nothing to do with this dinner. Steve wanted to hang out with his friends, instead of study afterward. But he knew he owed Nancy at least one night of tutoring. He just wished that Nancy wouldn't mention his newfound elective. "Hmm?"

"Steve's in journalism?" Jennifer asked with a smile. "He's never mentioned that before."

"You've never asked." Steve grinned.

Nancy could sense the awkwardness floating between them. It seemed as if Steve had some unspoken problems with his family, but Nancy refrained from asking. "Steve's a great writer. He's been working on some...sports stuff." Nancy nodded as she looked at him.

Steve returned the gaze, nodding. The boy flashed a soft smile as he stared into Nancy's eyes. Nancy felt her cheeks heat up, eyes glancing down at Steve's lips. They were glossed with grease from the potatoes, which caused her to stifle a laugh. "You think it's good?" Steve asked, a bit muffled from the food in his mouth.

Nancy nodded. She had read the rough draft and could see that Steve was actually trying. It made her heart warm, but she would never admit that to him. "For sure."

The two held their gazes to one another. Nancy's cheeks turned bright red, causing her light freckles to pop. Steve took notice, eyes scanning over her cheeks. He let out a soft chuckle, wanting nothing more than to sit there and count the amount of freckles on her cheeks. Nancy could say the same about the amount of moles that lined Steve's body. "Thanks, Nance."

Nancy gulped. No one had called her that nickname that wasn't extremely close to her. Robin and her family had reservations about that nickname, not Steve. Yet, she found her heart beat faster when the name slipped from his lips. "No problem." She said in a whisper.

Jennifer watched the two. A grin appeared on her lips as she noticed the way her son's eyes seemed to crease on the edges when listening to Nancy talk. He seemed interested in what she had to say, whether he disagreed or not. "So, how long have you two been together?"

In unison, Nancy and Steve snapped their head towards Jennifer. "We're not dating!"

Jennifer's hands shot up in defense, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Alright, but it just seems...very intimate between you two."

"Intimate?" Steve scoffed, leaning his elbow on the table. He glanced at Nancy before speaking. "You're insane, mom. I wouldn't touch Nancy with a ten-foot poll! I...I wouldn't look at Nancy if the world depended on it! God, I—"

"Okay!" Nancy sighed, shoving Steve to the side. The boy winced in pain, bending over and holding his side. "That's enough of you!"

Although Nancy knew that Steve was being dramatic, she found her heart aching a bit at his comments. It made sense, however, that he'd never view her in a way that was desirable or lustful. Nancy was just Nancy: bright, full of life, driven but that was all. Steve was way out of her league, anyway. That's why she always found herself attracted to Jonathan; out of reach but just a grasp away. Steve was untouchable, causing everyone to want him even more.

"Ouch!" He whimpered. Steve looked at Nancy with hurt in his eyes, feeling betrayal course through his veins. "I can't believe you've done that!"

"Oh, suck it up, buttercup!" Nancy rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Jennifer. "May I help you clean up?"

"That would be lovely!" Jennifer smiled, eyes focused on Steve. "Stevie, could you wrap the leftovers up in foil?" She stood up, grabbing her plate and Steve's. "Save some for your dad, yeah?"

"Dad's home?" Steve sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"If I'm home, your father's home. He's stuck at the office, though." Jennifer turned her back toward the kitchen before Steve could say a remark.

Nancy stood up slowly, grabbing her plate. The screeching of the chair caused her ears to ache, and a soft moan escaped her lips. "Your dad?"

Steve looked up at Nancy for a split second before staring back at his lap. "Uh, yeah. Nice guy."

Nancy stared at Steve with a look of awe. She gulped, knowing that something was off about Steve and his family. The only issue was that she didn't know how to ask him. It felt like a total invasion of his privacy, so Nancy decided to back off until he felt the need to let her know. However, she knew that he wouldn't budge unless she forced it out of him. "Help me with the dishes?"

Steve looked up, staring at his guest. Nancy's features were softer than usual, almost some sort of pitiful look in her eyes. He could tell that she knew something was off, but Steve slapped on a smile anyway. "I'd love to, Nance, but I'm forced to pack up the meals."

"Right." Nancy nodded before making her way toward the sink.

Steve eyed Nancy, fixating on the way her hips swayed as she walked to the sink. His eyes moved up and down, biting down on his lip at the sight of Nancy. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Steve tried his best to push past the weird, sexual feelings he had just experienced. But, it didn't help that Nancy looked adorable in her outfit, tied together with a bow in her hair.

Nancy walked up beside Jennifer, smiling softly at the older woman. The girl admired the way that Jennifer seemed to carry herself. She took time out of her busy schedule to cook a meal for her son and invite his friend over for dinner. It was sweet, and Nancy looked up to Jennifer in some sense. "I can do it."

Jennifer looked up, the sink water rinsing over her hands. She smiled at Nancy before turning her attention back to the dish, scrubbing against the hard surface of the plate. "No worries, Nancy. Just clean off your plate and you're all good."

Nancy nodded, waiting patiently for Jennifer to wrap things up. In the meantime, the girl pulled her sleeves up to prepare herself for the grime and dirt of dinner. As Jennifer turned the facet toward Nancy, she grabbed a nearby rag and began to dry off her dish. Nancy took the opportunity to start cleaning off her dish, feeling a bit awkward with Jennifer standing there and not saying anything.

"How'd you meet Stevie?" Jennifer asked quietly.

Nancy glanced back at Jennifer, a soft red painting across her cheeks. "Oh, uhm, well...we've always had classes together."

"I understand. But when did you first talk?"

Nancy gulped. Not that it felt like an interrogation, but she wasn't prepared to answer questions like this. It didn't help that their whole friendship was based on a lie. "Well, I had just finished a meeting with our guidance counselor, Ms. Kelley, do you know her?"

"Mhm."

Nancy felt her voice turn shaky, the anxiety from this conversation growing by the second. Her fingers clenched around the worn-out sponge in her hand, allowing suds to race down the plate. "Cool! Well, he was sitting outside for his appointment. He wondered if we were done with our meeting. And then...we just...kept talking I guess? He switched into my journalism class, too, which helped."

"Journalism is so interesting." Jennifer smiled, glancing back at her son. "He's a great kid. Stevie just can't control his mouth sometimes. The attitude is insane, but he gets it from his father. They're carbon copies."

Nancy followed Jennifer's gaze. The girl's eyes fell upon Steve. He was whistling to himself, wrapping up the leftovers in tin foil. Steve began to hum along to some random tune, causing Nancy to smile softly. Jennifer's words went through her ear and out the other, but she found herself agreeing. "Yeah, uh." Nancy paused, eyes fixed on Steve.

Nancy felt her heartache, staring at Steve. He was really great, super great. So great that it made Nancy sick. She felt a bit jealous, wanting to be as carefree as Steve was. He was likable and had passion when he chose to. All the girl wished was to have an ounce of the confidence that Steve had. She figured it could be a fair trade; some confidence tips in exchange for tutoring. But they had made their agreement, so Nancy just had to embrace it.

But something else had flipped a switch in her brain. Her eyes scanned up and down Steve, taking in the scene. Although he wasn't doing anything interesting, Nancy found Steve to be admirable. The way his hair fell into place, slightly covering his forehead but still full of volume that Nancy could never achieve. His lip was curled up, concentrated on the task at hand. Nancy's eyes scanned down to his arms, strong and flexing slightly whenever he folded over the tinfoil.

Nancy couldn't help but imagine his arms around her body, pulling her into a warm embrace. God knows she needed a hug during these times. But she specifically wanted one from Steve and only Steve.

The way the hem of his tank top stopped right above his belly button left the room to explore. Nancy felt her mouth water at the sight of the trail of hair running down his stomach, disappearing behind the waistband of his gym shorts. His legs were strong and full of force, reminding Nancy that Steve was extremely athletic and loved the game of basketball.

Nancy felt her legs clench together, thighs quaking a bit at the sight of Steve Harrington, sweaty and stressed. He was in disarray, but Nancy wanted to do something to ease him from the pain. She just couldn't shake the fact that she was sexually thinking of Steve, even if for a split second. Especially considering he had made it known that he wanted nothing to do with her in a sexual, or romantic way. "Yeah...Steve is pretty great."

Nancy snapped out of her trance, returning to her task. The girl wiped away at the plate, scrubbing until the slight stains of mashed potatoes were gone. Her mind stayed occupied until she felt a presence behind her.

Leaning against the counter, Steve crossed his arms over his chest. He watched Nancy closely, a soft grin appearing on his lips. "How's the cleaning going?"

Nancy looked up, eyes widened at the sight of Steve. His hair had dangled above his eyes a bit, causing Nancy to redden in embarrassment. "Good, all the potato is gone."

"Best part," Steve said.

Nancy nodded before finishing off the plate. With a sigh, she went to reach for a rag before Jennifer stopped her. "Don't worry about it, Nancy! I can dry it off. Why don't you two go study?"

Nancy looked up in surprise, the wet plate dangling in her hands. "Are...are you sure? I can totally dry it off!" Nancy laughed nervously. In code, that meant that she wanted to stay downstairs as long as possible. Because being alone with Steve ran the risk of her thoughts resurfacing.

Jennifer shook her head, snatching the plate from Nancy's hands. "I got it, sweetie. Go on, go study!" Jennifer shooed the two of them away.

Nancy stood frozen, speechless. She watched as Jennifer began to dry off the dish, a look of defeat washing over her face. She felt a tickle against her neck, followed by a whisper from Steve. "Let's go study."

Nancy spun around, eyes full of disgust. "Why the whisper?"

"Why the staring?" Steve asked, a smirk on his lips. The boy winked before strutting off toward the stairs.

Nancy stood dumbfounded. She watched as he began to walk away, her hands turning into fists to tease Nancy.

But Steve paid no mind, bringing his attention back toward Nancy. "Come on, yeah?" He nodded toward the stairs.

Nancy sighed, her eyes wandering down his body. It made her cheeks swell, a rush of crimson filling her face. With one quick move, she grabbed her backpack and bolted up the stairs. Nancy made sure to shove Steve as she brushed past him to go up their stairs.

"Come on!" Nancy cried.

Steve groaned, throwing a ball into the air as he lay on the bed. He let the ball drop to the ground as he sat up, giving Nancy a look of annoyance. "I don't care!"

Nancy sat on his bed, a textbook in her lap and a fresh scowl on her lips. She stared at him with anger in her eyes, frustrating huffs exiting her nose. "I'm gonna kill you."

Steve smirked, moving in closer to Nancy. The boy tilted his head to the side with his smirk still intact. "Try to, Wheeler. Seriously, go ahead."

Nancy narrowed her eyes at him, a giggle escaping her lips. "You're so annoying. Just give it a try, yeah?"

Nancy had to force Steve to get the tutoring session started. It took him a few minutes to whine and moan about the idea of studying. Now, instead of listening to Nancy, he was throwing a ball in the air. It was a difficult task to get Steve interested, but Nancy promised herself to do anything possible to make him cooperate.

Steve, on the other hand, just wanted to go to bed. He had just endured a painfully awkward dinner with his mom and Nancy, so he found no interest in studying. But, deep down, he knew he needed this to get into college. Anything would help, whether he liked it or not. But he had to come up with a way to spice up the studying. "I have an idea."

Nancy cocked an eyebrow. "This should be interesting."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Each time I get a question correct, you have to answer a question that I ask you."

Nancy scoffed. It was harsh and loud, causing her to look away for a moment. "A question about me? How lame is that?"

"Listen," Steve said. "If we're gonna be fake dating, I feel like I should know who I'm...dating."

Nancy's eyes found his. She gulped softly, eyes curious to know more. "I'll do it..."

Steve smiled, opening his mouth to answer.

"But!" Nancy interrupted. "Every time you get a question wrong, I get to ask you a question. Because...I feel like I should know who I'm dating."

Steve chuckled, enjoying the banter the two shared. "Okay, okay. That's fair." He ran a hand through his hair before leaning his elbow onto the bed. Steve nuzzled into the palm of his hand, eyes staring up at Nancy with delight. "Hit me with your best shot, Wheeler."

Nancy's face turned smug as she flipped through the pages. The girl looked down at the book for a moment, thinking to herself what questions to ask. Letting her fingers graze over the words, she perked up. "What are atoms made of?"

Steve scoffed, a smirk on his face. "Easy. Protons, electrons and neutrons. Next!"

Nancy's mouth dropped, speechless. "You knew that?"

"Basics of chemistry, babe," Steve smirked. "My turn to ask a question."

Nancy sighed, setting the book down for a moment. "Keep it PG, Harrington."

The boy nodded, thinking for a moment. "Favorite movie?"

Nancy cocked an eyebrow. "My favorite movie?" She paused, a soft smile on her face. "Risky Business."

It was Steve's turn for his eyebrow to raise. "Tom Cruise, eh?"

Nancy felt her cheeks heat up as she glanced at the poster of Tom Cruise hanging on her wall. Without answering the question, Steve suddenly felt intrigued to know her infatuation with Tom Cruise. But he ran a hand through his hair, unintentionally trying to style it similar to the famous actor on Nancy's wall.

All she did was nod before returning to her textbook. "Difference between an element and a compound?"

"Element...compound..." Steve pondered for a moment before it hit him. "An element is made up of the same atoms. Compounds are made up of different types of atoms."

Now she was annoyed. "Seriously, I thought I was going to trip you up with that!"

"Don't hate the player, hate the game!" Steve chuckled. "Favorite song at the moment?"

"So many media questions..." Nancy sighed, staring at the wall for a moment. "Africa by TOTO."

Steve perked up. "Africa? God, I love that song!"

Nancy tilted her head a bit in curiosity. "Really?"

Steve sat up while nodding. "Yeah. It's only the greatest song ever made. I've put it on all of my mixtapes, I can't go a day without listening to it."

Nancy felt her heart skip a beat. She found it weird that the two of them actually had something in common. "I...I have it on my most recent one, too."

Steve smiled. "Show me, Wheeler!"

"No, no! We're supposed to be studying."

"Nah." Steve snatched the book from her, throwing it off to the side. "I must hear this mixtape that you put together."

"Steve!" Nancy cried, reaching for the book before Steve blocked her. "We have to study!"

"Study break!" Steve said. "Come on, I wanna dive into the world of Nancy Wheeler's music."

Nancy couldn't contain her smile at his words. She knew Steve always knew the right thing to say, and it drove her insane how well-spoken he was. "Fine! Okay, fine!"

"Hell yeah!" Steve clapped, sitting up completely.

Nancy sighed before getting off of her bed. The crinkle of the sheets caused her to cringe as she walked over to her backpack. She pulled out her Walkman, taking the connecting earbuds with her. She turned around and showed off the device, bringing it over to the bed. "Mixtape's already in."

"Perfect!" Steve smiled. The boy squinted his eyes at the tape, trying his best to make out what the tape wrote. He just assumed it was something cheesy, but very Nancy.

Nancy plopped onto the bed again, grabbing the wire to the earbuds. She took one and placed it in her ear, staring down at the bed the whole time. However, while she was completely unaware, Steve smiled to himself as his eyes fixated on her. He admired the way her hair cascaded down her face, the way her concentrated face made him want to melt into a puddle. He looked away for a moment, confused by the sudden feeling he felt toward Nancy.

Nancy grabbed the other earbud and handed it over to Steve. The boy saw out of the corner of his eye, bringing his attention back to Nancy. "Thanks." He smiled, taking the earbud from her and shoving it into his ear.

"No earwax please." She smiled before hitting play on the Walkman.

Nancy let the mixtape play, the sounds of Your Love by The Outfield blaring in her ear. Her cheeks turned bright red, nervous for Steve to hear her mixtape. To be fair, Nancy had never shown anyone her music. It was a hard thing for her to do, just in case of judgment from others. Glancing up at Steve, she felt her body relax at his reaction.

Steve's eyes widened at the song, the grin appearing on his lips once again. "Josie's on a vacation far away! Come around and talk it over!" He began to sing, pitchy and off-key.

Nancy couldn't help but burst out into laughter. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm singing!" Steve's head began to bob up and down, jamming out to the song. He lifted his fingers against his chest, mimicking the guitar that played throughout the whole song. "I ain't got many friends left to talk to! Nowhere to run when I'm the double!"

Nancy continued to laugh, noticing he messed up the words. "Double? Those aren't the words!"

"Oh yeah? Then what are the words, genius? Sing it to me!"

Nancy shook her head. "I will not be singing."

"Sing it, Wheeler!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her off the bed along with himself and the Walkman.

Nancy gasped at the sudden movement, tripping over her feet before finding her placement. Steve began to dance a bit, awkward yet elegant at the same time. He swayed his arms around, holding his fist up to Nancy's lips as a made-up microphone. But Nancy refused, trying to stifle her laughs.

"Come on!" Steve begged.

Nancy sighed, giving in. She looked away, beginning to sway back and forth as she tried to get into the groove. "You know I'd do anything for you...stay the night but keep it undercover."

Steve nodded along, encouraging Nancy to continue. His smile only grew wider as he watched her, taking in her every move. His eyes moved down her frame, taking in every moment. He noticed the way her arms moved awkwardly, indicating that she was nervous. But he continued to nod, trying his best to keep her going.

Nancy felt her body relax as the two stood close, listening to one of her favorite songs at the moment. "I just wanna use your love tonight!" She sang, giggles sneaking in between each word.

"Whoa!" Steve sang the backing vocals, causing Nancy to snort.

"I don't wanna lose your love tonight!" Nancy continued.

The two jammed out to the music, allowing the lyric break to settle them into place. Steve moved closer to Nancy, making sure he wouldn't yank the earbud out of her ear. He glanced down at Nancy's hand, seeing the Walkman. In one swift motion, he snatched the Walkman from her hand. Nancy gasped, trying to get it back but Steve held it up to his mouth. "My microphone!"

Nancy stood back for a moment, watching Steve with a grin. She nodded to his statement, revving up to sing the next part of the song. The next thing she knew, the two of them began to belt out the lyrics to the song together as a duet. Their bodies swayed in unison, getting lost in the rhythm of the song. It was a surreal moment. So surreal, Nancy hadn't felt relaxed in so long.

"Try to stop my hands from shakin'! Cause something in my mind's not making sense!" The two smiled brightly at one another as they sang, moving closer unintentionally. "It's been a while since we were alone! I can't hide the way I'm feeling. As you're leaving, please, would you close the door?!"

As Steve sang those lyrics, he could feel his chest tightening. A weird sensation coursed through his veins, eyes locked with Nancy's. For some reason, he felt that those lyrics resonated with him. He was having a hard time determining who, though. Of course, his crush on Chrissy was an obvious answer, but staring into Nancy's baby blue eyes was telling him a different story. One that was clear and to the point.

Nancy, on the other hand, felt her heart sink into her butt. Although Steve annoyed the shit out of her, she was starting to see why people liked him so much. He had this charm to him and always knew how to be the life of the party. Steve was full of energy and never failed to make Nancy step out of her comfort zone. Steve was starting to grow on her, and she didn't know what to do with that information. It didn't help that he looked at her like she held the world, full of wonder and curiosity.

"And don't forget what I told ya! Just cause you're right, that doesn't mean I'm wrong!" Steve continued.

Nancy followed his lead. "Another shoulder to cry upon!"

"I just wanna use your love tonight!" They synced back up, the smiles returning to their faces. Nancy and Steve began to jump up and down together, Steve turning the volume up a bit. "I don't wanna use your love tonight!" The two were closer than ever, faces inches away as they belted out the song lyrics to one another.

Steve paused for a moment, taking in Nancy. The freckles across her cheeks, the light mascara she had on her eyelashes. He noticed the way her eyes crinkled as her smile grew, teeth showing and flashing. He couldn't help but glance at her nose, wanting to lay a kiss upon it without permission. But he refrained from doing so, knowing it would make things awkward between the two.

The two locked eyes, sharing an understanding. Steve could feel his heart skip a beat, never wanting to end this interaction. The song was ironic and full of grit, but he loved every moment they shared. He knew that he'd always resonate with this song with Nancy, and he was thankful for the song more than ever.

Nancy could feel her hands shaking, having nothing to grip onto. Her nerves were through the roof, wanting nothing more than to grab Steve by the hair and pull him into a kiss. The moment she thought that, she began to mentally curse herself. How could she think about Steve in that sense? The idea of kissing Steve seemed ridiculous, but it was something she wanted to do at that moment. However, she didn't know if it was the song talking or the intense eye contact they shared.

The song continued to play, slightly too loud that it seemed to fill the silence. Their breathing was shallow, eyes still locked and full of lust. Feeling Steve step closer, Nancy gulped softly. She glanced down at his lips, nervous to look back into his eyes just in case he got the cue to kiss her. Steve watched her intently, risking a peek at her soft lips. It was a risk he was willing to take, especially if it meant he got the chance to admire Nancy even more.

Without thinking, Steve brought his free hand up to Nancy's cheek. He cupped her face, running his thumb slowly against her cheek. The boy loved how soft her skin was, eyes fixated on the girl standing in front of him. Nancy felt her body twitch at the sudden contact. Her eyes found his hand, admiring the way his thumb rubbed against her cheek. She could feel his eyes burning into her soul, but Nancy felt scared. Terrified, even. Trembling at the idea of kissing Steve Harrington, and that she might actually enjoy it if she did so.

But Nancy was the first to break the contact. Her eyes met the floor, staring at his sneakers. Steve continued to watch her, wanting nothing more than to place a finger under her chin, tilt her head back up, and kiss her. But he felt the energy shift, knowing that the moment they shared had vanished. "Uh..." Nancy whispered, pulling the earbud out of her ear. "We should get back to studying."

Steve felt his heart clench, gulping hard. Nancy had flipped like a switch, completely closing off again. He now wished that they studied more just so he could hear more about her. "Yeah, yeah. We can."

Nancy nodded, taking the Walkman from Steve. She felt his hand for a moment, a series of shivers running down her spine. Glancing up at Steve, she let out a sigh and placed the Walkman on his bed. She grabbed the book, allowing herself back into bed. Steve stood still, eyes never leaving Nancy the whole time. He had a feeling that the moment they just stared had shaken up Nancy a bit.

"They're never here."

Nancy looked up from the textbook, eyebrows furrowing at Steve. "Excuse me?"

"My parents." He said. Steve sat on the edge of the bed, turning his attention to Nancy. "I could tell that you knew something was up at dinner. My parents are barely around, constantly going out of town for business. They've missed so many of my games, and never went to a playoff. My dad only cares about my grades but doesn't provide any resources. My mom just likes to act like leaving me here alone all the time is okay. And...it sucks."

Nancy's eyes softened. "I...I had no idea."

Steve nodded, lips pursed. "It's not common knowledge, I guess."

Nancy felt a soft smile form on her lips. "Thanks for telling me."

Steve grinned, trying to settle the tension in the air. "Anything for my girlfriend." He reached up and pinched her cheek slightly.

Nancy closed her eyes for a moment, the smile on her face growing wider. Once her eyes opened, Steve was already staring at her with his usual shit-eating grin. "Back to studying?"

Steve nodded, giving his undivided attention to Nancy. But he found it hard to concentrate because he saw Nancy Wheeler in a new, gleaming light and that he needed to add Your Love by The Outfield to his new mixtape.

[phantomato]

89 for the ask game, Tommy & Tom Snr

Tommy & Tom Sr., ~1k, prompt #89: Listening as they rant about something that bothered them. As always for these two, Ganymede universe.

—

Papa,

I am still Papa. I hope it never ends. 

Papa,

I arrived with no complications. The first-year sorting took nearly three-quarters of an hour this year! Slytherin gained over thirty students; the professors are calling it a “bubble year” for the number of people in this class. 

He goes on—to list the students who have siblings in his house, to remark on the lone individual who was also raised by a non-magical parent. 

We don’t use the word his world chose for us. I thought it might have been a sticking point, once, but Tommy took up the rejection with heated ferocity. He has his friends practicing: non-magical, a person without magic, but a person all the same. 

…

Carol and Druella are in a snit because she wouldn’t work with him for potions this year, and he had to find a new partner. Thor and I are still paired; we’re going for the highest marks in our third year running. 

They’ll get them, too. I know all these names: Carol and Druella, the mismatched twins, have good manners and fight like cats as their version of sibling affection. They spent a week with us during the summer, long enough for me to be thankful that I was a father of one. Not quite as long, however, as Thoros, Thor, who visited for nearly a month.

I made him learn to ride, if he was to be a guest for weeks. 

He has a good build for it, long-limbed and skinny, and my poor Tommy was displeased when I put Thor on Heather the carriage-horse straightaway. Tommy has not yet outgrown his pony, but we Riddles shoot up around fifteen or sixteen, blooming late. Their freedom to roam the grounds, once Thoros could properly trot, bought Tommy’s forgiveness.

My elective courses are going acceptably well. I dropped divination—it’s rubbish unless you’ve got innate talent, I wish I’d been told—to switch for arithmancy.

None of his subjects feel genuine to me, even after two years of buying frog guts and animate textbooks. I pack literature in his trunk at the close of each break; we practice trigonometry and calculus before holiday dinners. Tommy moans, as any child given work, but he’s the first to put pencil to paper each time. 

I am so proud of him. Magical or not, he tears through his studies. He is brilliant, and better yet, he is dedicated. With all my heart, I wish I could storm Oxford and demand they canonize him; I wish I could rattle the doors of his magic castle and tell them to pose him a real challenge. He sails past academic hurdles, and for all that friends and peers and years to mature are necessary, they’re a maddening chain on my son.

I don’t believe he shares the sentiment. I think he’s faintly embarrassed by my regard, so I wrap it up neatly, I restrain myself to reasonable levels, and I weather the tantrums of adolescence when my affection overflows its boundaries. Thirteen is a cruel age; I forgive my parents many of their failings, new ones each year, as I make mistakes of my own. 

And then we are to the meat of his correspondence—

Professor Dumbledore

We have worked on the use of titles, and I am gladdened to see he maintains one for even his most hated of instructors.

Professor Dumbledore insists on methods above reason, Papa, and I wish I could drop his course entirely. Self-study would be more than sufficient. I could take a study hall during the hour of his lectures and pass my OWL examination for transfigs next year, and my NEWT in the one following—I swear it. 

It’s the methods, and nothing else. He has no concern for correctness of result. He has no interest in alternative theories, whether they be from older or newer sources. I demonstrated the conjuration of soft objects with non-uniform densities based on the theory from the latest issue of the quarterly academic journal in the field, and he made me undo it and try again with the course method. It required two additional intermediate steps! It is provably less efficient! 

I understood half of these concepts, my world not allowing for the creation of something from nothing when one excluded testimony from holy books, but it was not the words that mattered. My son wrote this in a rush. His ‘t’s were untidy, crosses drifting low on the bellies. His script was disjointed, letters growing unconnected and nearly to the point of print on the words where he was most agitated: methods, correctness, provably. I grieved for him even as I knew he was an instructor’s nightmare.

He kept on with his complaints, a list of recriminations attributed to the worst of a teacher’s possible vices: complacency in instruction. I met Albus Dumbledore only once—in the spring after my son turned eleven, as our introduction to Hogwarts and the magical world, a contradiction of bright whimsy and towering intellectualism meant to frighten unsuspecting non-magical parents into unquestioning acceptance. The good professor had not expected to find a boy-wizard in control of his magic and a father training him in it.

My pride, my joy. Tommy is thirteen, pimply and irritable and more important to me than anything in life. I break my heart twice a year when I send him off to his school and his world, where I cannot follow, where I cannot begin to belong. He will make his home there someday, or struggle to maintain a liminal state between the magic and the mundane, and I will be too selfish to release him fully. But for all of this, it never hurts me to write to him in encouragement, to push for his patience with magical studies and entreat him to have grace for his professors and his friends. 

He is a better version of myself.

Not because he has magic—it’s nothing, in the realm of character, even as it’s everything in the realm of identity—but because I am raising him to avoid my mistakes. He will be more intelligent, more well-spoken, have more friends and be a kinder soul than I ever was.

As I write my response, I wish I could send him more than one letter. I wish he were still small enough to hold on my lap, I wish he were still young enough to not grumble at my embrace. I wish he were here, at home with me, radiant and babbling about his latest fixation. I will be his rapt audience for anything. 

I love him. I miss him. I tell him that in plain words; I hope they mean a fraction as much to him as they do to me. 

[what-the-fic]

September - 1960 - NYU

A/N: I don't love TWs - but would add them if anyone reading decided they would be necessary. It is a sequel so you know grief is to be expected. The themes here are heavy, but I write Todd's emotions from a place of personal experience. (Actually, I write all of Todd from personal experience, because now I'm just stalling and adding words to the author's notes because I am kind of terrified to hit 'post' as this is actually worse than public speaking. That being said, I dedicate every single word of this story and the chapters to follow to sweet Caroline (bah, bah, bah).

"Excuse me! Pardon me! Excuse - MOVE!" Cecily tore through the crowd gathered by the fountain on her way to class, wondering what she might say to the next long-haired slob playing an out-of-tune guitar for spare change in the park. She wasn't in a hurry because she was excited to get to this particular class. The truth was that she'd been so unenthusiastic about this specific lesson that she had loitered in the diner complaining about it to her roommate over blueberry muffins all morning. Unfortunately, all the complaining in the world couldn't change her luck, and the precocious journalism student was running late.

It was a first for her. She had always taken her classes seriously. She took journalism seriously. Cecily took life seriously. The requirement for all journalism majors to take a poetry class in order to obtain an English degree was something she refused to take seriously. There was nothing poetic about journalism. Nothing romantic about the war that raged in Vietnam. Nothing could be called dreamy about the looming high-stakes election. Although, if pressed, she could readily admit Senator Kennedy was handsome. Not that it was vital for him to be. Overall, she found nothing sentimental about the news, just as there was absolutely nothing idealistic about Cecily Thomas.

If she believed in fate, and she didn't, she may have attributed it to the reason for her tardiness. By her count, the class had been underway for half an hour. Still cursing and shoving her way down the hall, she pondered excuses for her absence. As she burst through the door of one of NYU's smallest lecture halls, she was surprised to find the room was nearly empty. Not too surprised - it was a poetry class, after all. She expected the people who didn't want to take it would have the fortitude not to show and that the students who would purposely take the class were asleep during the noon timeslot. Her breath caught up to her and elicited a gasp, startling the only two others in the room out of a long embrace. She bolted back out of the door and wondered if she had missed the lecture altogether.

Before she could remove her bag from her shoulder to check her neatly written schedule for the explanation of the empty lecture hall, the older of the two men greeted her in the open doorway. "Come, now. You're early but welcome. There's no room for shyness in my classroom," he invited in a gentle singsong voice. His warm tone made her wonder how she would manage to stay awake while he droned on about stanzas, iambs, and verse. The younger man nodded and awkwardly shoved his hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket as though he'd learned the professor's lesson the hard way.

"You've taken the class before?" She raised an eyebrow and addressed the young man as she took in every detail from his brand new loafers to his unwashed hair. She hadn't made an official judgment on what his unique personal aesthetic was trying to convey. She was too instantly intrigued by him to give another thought to her scheduling blunders.

With another nod, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "One like it. A lifetime ago," he said without a trace of irony.

"Don't let Mr. Anderson fool you with his humility. He's among the finest students I've had the privilege to teach," the professor spoke again, this time bursting with pride in his star pupil.

"Among…" the student repeated with a raspy whisper. He looked as though he might implode; like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, and he was likely to cry on the spot. It was a look Cecily knew too well. She immediately looked at her books for fear that looking into his eyes for too long might remind her of her sister's eyes and leave her looking as miserable as her classmate. So Cecily did as she always had and saved the memory of her sister for another time. Or never, if she had things her way.

The two men embraced once again. "I'm so happy you're here, Todd," the professor's voice was softer than it had been when he welcomed Cecily into the room. She instinctively stepped back to give them space. She shuddered at the memory of everyone, people she didn't even know or like, trying to hug her at the funeral. The memory would have taken her breath away on any other day. Cecily wondered if she was healing or mastering the art of suppressing her anguish.

Pulling away from the professor, the boy she now knew as Todd turned to her with a newly composed expression. "You're going to have a great time in this class. It changed my life for the better, for the extraordinary. Do you have a favorite poet?" His teal eyes sparkled with anticipation of meeting another poetry major.

Scrunching her forehead in thought, she smiled for the first time that day. "Anderson?" she grimaced. "Well, according to him, you have talent, and he is the expert. That and - you are the only one I've ever met. So, I suppose you win by default," she shrugged and glanced at the door as the students filed into their seats for the one o'clock class time. Not noon, as she had believed when she stormed in on Professor Keating's office hours in error.

"It seems your newest fan is going to require a lot of help in my class. Why don't you show her to your seat before we get started?" Though slightly insulting as he knew she would struggle, the professor's words brought a nervous smile to Cecily's face.

When Todd smiled back, she realized her expression was no longer forced. She followed him to his seat in the front row and took the chair to his right. With that, the new study partners started the class and the friendship bound to make her life extraordinary.

[a-cupof-jo]

Set Up My Heart Pt. 7

PT. 6 – PT. 7 – PT. 8

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing

~~

Your breath caught as you pounded up the steps. The door slammed as you raced into the building and down the hall to your Chemistry lecture. You were very late. Maybe the professor won’t notice. With nearly 200 students crammed into a classroom, it’s a big class. You had stayed up late the night before cramming for a Finance exam you had later today. That means that you slept through your alarm and it wasn’t until Des was leaving for her class that you woke up.

You glanced around the classroom when your eyes settled on a recently familiar seat. Shimmying down the aisle you stepped up to a seat with a backpack sitting in it. The owner of the backpack looked up, “Hey, I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” Taeil tucked his backpack under his seat.

“Slept through my alarm,” you grumbled as you pulled your notes and a pen out.

 Taeil gave a sympathetic head shake but turned back to the professor. You had been surprised when you found out that Taeil was taking this class. The senior had told you the previous week that it was because he had pushed it off until his final year. He claimed he was fighting the system that told him that a science class was required for his music degree. ‘I get it’s a bachelor’s of science, but how is Chemistry going to make me a better musician?’

You couldn’t give him an answer, but then again you are a history major. How does it tie into yours? You glanced beside Taeil looking for Jungwoo’s unmistakable blonde hair. “It’s Wednesday,” Taeil muttered.

You lean back in your chair. That’s right mister mechanical engineering wasn’t actually a student in this class he only came in on Tuesdays and Fridays to make notes for students he tutors.

Taeil tapped your desk making you sit forward and stop pouting. “Focus so you know what you need to go over with Jungwoo tonight."

You pick up your pen and attempt to follow along with the professor. She was going too fast and instead of understanding what she was saying you sat there just trying to write down the calorimetry problems.

When the class ended you threw down your pen. Taeil reached over to pat your hand. "Rough morning?”

“Understatement of the century,” you shove your pen in your pencil case. “Woke up too late and I have no idea what’s going on in class. Plus I have a finance exam later today that I’m still not entirely ready for.”

“Well would coffee or lunch make you feel better, I have two hours before my next class. Or we could go to the library or a study lounge and we could try to get you feeling more confident?” Taeil waited for you to stand up from your seat. He watched as the next class started to trickle in.

You step out of the aisle and up to the classroom door, “What about both, we can grab something from the union and study there?”

Taeil grins, “That sounds great. You’re paying though.” You give a light shove as you both race out of the building. For a moment, you felt yourself relaxed as you chased Taeil through the quad.

“Watch where you’re going,” you heard a voice yell out panic laced through it. You glanced back at the voice coming from behind you before slamming into something hard. You felt your elbow catch as you tumbled to the ground.

You heard another voice grumble, “Dammit, how hard is it to pay attention to where you’re going. I have an expensive camera- of course.” An unmistakable voice scoffed, “Are you trying to cause problems, Y/n?” Johnny glowered as you turned to glare back. You hadn’t seen him in almost a week. You couldn’t say he was looking great. His eyes had bags and his hair was slightly greasy.

“Are you guys okay,” a taller male with pink hair skidded to a stop in front of you two.

Johnny brushed off his jeans, “No thanks to her.” He jerked his head toward you.

“Look here mister, I don’t know why you feel like you have to-” you were cut off as Taeil rushed into your eyesight.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry I didn’t realize that I had left you behind,” he grabbed your hands and pulled you up. You brushed off your shoulders as Taeil fretted over your state, “What happened? You were beside me just a minute ago?"

You nod to the two standing behind him, "I accidentally ran into Johnny."

Taeil glanced behind him and smiled when he caught eyes with the second man, "Hey, Taeyong, how’s it going?” You watched as the two exchanged pleasantries. Johnny shifted looking back down at his camera pushing several buttons before sighing. “We were just about to grab lunch at the union. You should come with us!” You watched as Johnny’s shoulders bunched up tight.

“Sure! Johnny and I were just finishing up here, so we could definitely join you,” Taeyong grabbed a bag that sat on a nearby bench. “Come on, Johnny!"

Johnny looked like he was going to protest. Taeyong grabbed the camera from Johnny’s neck and put it in the bag. Johnny sighed obviously not able to get out of this.

Taeyong grabbed a hold of Taeil’s arm before dragging him towards the union, "So you know I was thinking,” you heard Taeyong start talking about a piece of music with Taeil.

Johnny stepped up next to you, “Look,” he ran a hand through his hair, his face pinched. “I just wanted to say.”

“I’m not happy about this either so why don’t we just get this over with so we both can be on our merry way,” you snapped.

Johnny’s face morphed his eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, “Glad we’re on the same page.” He turned away from you and you finished your journey in silence.

~~

“We’re really happy with the track you made for us,” Taeyong smiled at Taeil from across the table. “Seriously I could never thank you enough."

Taeil waved him off, "I’m using it for my composition class. I’m just glad you guys are able to use it."

You turned to the book you had laid out on the table in from of you. The notebook sitting on top of it showing recent notes you had taken. You clicked your pen as you attempted to solve a math equation. The paper crinkled as you scribbled across it.

"You have to make sure you add in the overhead cost,” your head snapped up to Johnny who had sat across from you. “Then you can take it from annual costs. You’ve got the rest of it right."

You frowned at him before writing down what he said, "It’s correct.” You stared at him wide eyed.

“Woah, Johnny knows finance,” Taeil and Taeyong turned from their conversation to you two. “I didn’t think you were in Finance though?” Taeyong eyebrows pinched together.

Johnny shook his head, his dark hair flying in all different directions, “I was. I took a couple of business classes before switching to journalism. Finance just happened to be one.” Johnny turned back to you slightly, “Just thought I’d try to be some help. You seemed like you were struggling with that problem."

You wanted to glare at him. To tell him that you don’t need any help, especially not his. Who was he to decide that you needed help. Even if he did get you to the right answer he didn’t need to step in. He never had before. You gave him a tense smile, "Thank you, I have an exam today that I’m cramming for."

Johnny smiled back. His less tense and closer to genuine, "No problem, let me know if I can try to help you with something else."

You gave him a slight nod as you went back to your work. "So is that why you transferred here? I didn’t think NCU’s journalism program was that good. Actually, isn’t SMU’s the top program in the region.” Taeyong dipped a french fry in ketchup.

Johnny shrugged as he played with the food still on his plate, “I had no choice, well that’s not completely true, but on a sports team when a player gets injured they become a money hole. It was either stay at SMU and be off the volleyball team or go through PT, transfer, and maybe have a chance of playing again. NCU was just one of the universities that was willing to put me on the roster."

You kept your head ducked as you listened to their conversation. Taeyong had leaned forward, his head now sitting on the table, "So, why NCU? I mean you said this was just one of the options.”

Johnny nodded, “Yeah, it was between here, UofE, and RCU. A guy I knew at SMU said he had a friend that goes here and got me hooked up with him. Just so happens that guy,Jaehyun, was looking for another roommate. Plus, NCU doesn’t have an awful journalism program so I ended up here. To be honest, I like it here much more than SMU."

Taeil nudged your elbow catching your attention. You hummed as you resumed your studying, "You doing okay there?” He peered over you shoulder attempting to read your handwriting.

“Yeah, I think that I should do fine,” you grinned lightly. “I think I was more stressed out about it than I should have been."

He nodded at you before turning back to Johnny, “So you’re here. Now how do you know Taeyong?”

“We met in a photography class! I need it for my electives and Johnny’s specialization is photojournalism,” Taeyong perked up. “We sat by each other Johnny’s first day.” That intrigued you. A memory of Johnny standing in front of you camera flashing and pencil scratching danced around your head.

Johnny hummed as he pushed buttons on his camera, “We have an assignment for still life photography and I asked Tae if he could be my model.”

“You liked photography in High School also,” you hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but you had watched as Johnny lit up with talking about his class. The stares that the table gave you told you that you shouldn’t have said that. “Although, your skills as a journalist were shit.” You pulled your backpack from under the table. The book you had open slid closed and into the waiting bag as you panicked. You shouldn’t have said anything.

Johnny fixed you with a look that begged for understanding, “You know that we had a lot of restrictions on what we could write and publish. It all went through the teacher and principals.”

“That didn’t stop you from publishing that article about me now did it,” you hissed. The chair scraped the ground as you stood up. “I bet you loved getting to destroy my name. ‘Volleyball Prodigy Turns Out to be a Fraud’. First article on the sports page.”

Johnny stood up across from you, “Y/n I did not have any-”

“You were the one that interviewed me and used that in the article. Were you not?” You held up a hand to stop him from coming around the table. Johnny opened his mouth to speak, “I don’t want to hear it. You used my pain for your own personal gain. You don’t get to say anything.” You glance up at the ceiling urging the stinging in your eyes to go away. “Taeil, Taeyong thank you for lunch. We’ll have to do this again.” You turned and fled from the table. You had to stop letting him get to you.

Johnny sat heavily on his chair. He ran his hands down his face as he tried to compose yourself. Taeil and Taeyong glared at him from their seats. “I guess I should explain to you how Y/n and I know each other.” Taeil raised an eyebrow at him, “It started in Y/n and my sophomore year of high school.”

~~

tag list: @beyond-gethsemane , @lanadreamie @michplusb @jaxminskale @qianinterprises @stayctday @nanascupid @sadgirlroo

~~

*Reposted from previous blog*

[fiveisnumber1]

Timeless - Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 3828

Warnings: None

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

_________________________

Pt 11 - Lost In The Past

You didn't know how long it had been since you started crying but there came a point where you could cry no more. The tears no longer fell and your screams were nothing more than gasps of air. You felt empty like every last bit of emotion inside you was just released into the hollow house. Wiping the tears from your eyes you felt a gentle hand stroke your hair.

"There there, why don't we go get you some food to eat? You must be hungry after all that crying." Grace says

You turn your head to look at her and give her a small nod. Grace extends her hand to help you stand from the floor and when you stand she wraps an arm around you, guiding you to the kitchen. Sitting you down at the kitchen table, Grace starts to cook while you try to come to terms with your new reality. You had so many questions and yet you weren't sure if you had the words to vocalize them.

"Grace?" You call

"Hm?" She replies

"What happened since I've been gone?" You question softly

"Well George W. Bush served as president until 2008 when Barack Obama was elected to the presidency. The company Apple invented the iPhone in 2007 which revolutionized technology by giving phones touch screens. Youtube, Facebook, and other social media platforms grew to international success during the time you were gone. The-" Grace replies but you cut her off

"No, I mean...what happened here?" You say

Grace stops cooking for a second and turns to you.

"Oh. Well, you and Five went missing on the same day eleven years ago and things were never quite the same. Your disappearances took a toll on both your family and ours. I remember that about three years after you left, your parents packed up and moved to wherever they went. They were so distraught and I don't blame them it's very difficult to lose a child. I recall that back then Diego really tried his best to track them down in case you ever came back."

"What happened to Diego? And the others?"

"Diego left the house right when he turned eighteen, and Vanya, Klaus, and Allison left shortly thereafter which happened about six or so years ago. Luther stayed but now he's up on the moon doing some important research for Mr. Hargreeves!"

"You forgot about Ben." You state

"Oh right...Ben. Ben died on a mission in 2006. I don't know if you saw in the courtyard but there's a memorial statue for him there."

"He died?" You reply shocked

Grace nods.

"Yes and that was the straw that broke the camel's back, after you and Five went missing, and Ben's death, the rest of the children had no desire to stay in the house. It's difficult having to lose all your children one by one..." Grace states before putting on a chipper voice "Anyway here's a grilled cheese sandwich!"

"Oh." You say surprised at her quick shift of emotion "Uh, thank you."

"No problem (Y/N). Feel free to walk around the house and if you need anything else just ask! I'll be in the laundry room." Grace says before leaving

As she exits the kitchen and heads upstairs to the laundry room, you stare at the grilled cheese before pushing the plate away and putting your face in your hands. Everything felt like it was moving at a million miles per hour and you couldn't make it stop. You needed to get your mind off of things. Lifting you head out of your hands you stand up and grab your sandwich off the plate and walk towards a calendar on the kitchen wall. It read November 22nd, 2013. You shook your head and decided to leave the room. Strolling out of the kitchen and around the Umbrella Academy, you look at paintings of the former academy members. With each painting, the number of kids grew less and less as if time was making them disappear. You continue to walk around as you eat your sandwich taking in the empty sights. Passing different rooms, memories replayed in your mind so strongly that it was like you were right there in them again. You could practically see and hear the Hargreeves kids running down the halls and fighting with each other in those dumb uniforms they used to wear but you knew those experiences were just in your mind. This building had become a haunted house filled with the ghosts of past memories that would never come back. Looking outside at the snowy scene you decide to brave the elements and head out to the courtyard.  This time instead of frantically looking for signs of life you take in the sight of death. You make your way over to the statue of what looks to be an older version of Ben. The statue has a solemn look on its face as it looks down on you.

"I guess you're the only one left here." You comment to the statue

You got no response. You didn't expect one but it was worth a shot. You looked down at the pedestal the statue was on and read the epitaph.

May the darkness within you find peace in the light

You wrote that to him in the journal you gave him for all of your 13th birthdays. Things really had changed while you were gone. With the cold starting to set in, you head back inside and go stand in the parlor next to the fireplace. Looking up at the painting of Five once more, a mix of emotions started churning inside you. Anger, grief, confusion, hurt. All of them overwhelmed you.

"You know this is all your fault Five." You start to rant to the painting "If you hadn't gotten mad about whatever it was you were mad about neither of us would be in this situation."

You pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, your feelings of hurt and anger growing stronger like the flames before you. You continue to yell louder at the painting in front of you,

"Oh leave me alone (Y/N) you wouldn't get it. Bullshit! Do you see what you've done? Look at me! I have no family, no home, no friends, nothing because of you and your stupid superiority complex! All of it is gone! Do you hear me?"

By this point, you were actively staring down the painting, pointing and screaming at it,

"I HAVE NOTHING! NOTHING BECAUSE OF YOU! I LOST EVERYTHING AND THAT INCLUDES MY BEST FRIEND! HOW DARE YOU FIVE! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Child, yelling at the painting is not going to console your grief." You hear a voice say from behind you

Turning around you find Mr. Hargreeves to be standing there.

"Why do you keep the painting up then?" You retort crossing your arms

"I keep it up to remember the boy." he answers, "I told him not to mess with time travel but he refused to listen."

"He thought he was better than everyone." You comment

"He thought he was better than most people, not all, but most." Reginald replies "Now if you're going to be staying here there are going to be rules that you need to follow."

"Who said I was staying here?" You remark

"You have other accommodations?" He questions

You let out a huff.

"No." you reply annoyed

It was true, you had nowhere else to go and this was probably your only chance of having a home of sorts. You heard the stories of what it was like to live with Reginald and although you didn't want to, you knew that you had no other choice.

"Very well. I will have Pogo inform you of the daily schedule of eating, training, and studying."

"Slow your roll old man, training?" you question raising an eyebrow

"Of course. To develop your powers." He responds blankly

"Listen, if I'm going to live here and have to deal with your rules then I have some conditions. First, I will train my powers and let you research them but do NOT expect me to put on a little uniform and become the only member of the second class of the Umbrella Academy. That's not happening. Second, if you want me to learn something it will wait until the weekend because during the week I want to go to school. Third, I have autonomy of where I go both inside and outside this house. I am not going to live my life solely in one bedroom. Do I make myself clear?" You demand

"I see time hasn't dulled that sharp tongue and insolent attitude of yours." Reginald remarks

"Well what eleven years is to you has been like two hours to me." you retort

"Fine. I agree with your conditions and the schedule will be adjusted accordingly but you MUST stick to it and the house rules or I will not tolerate your requests further." Reginald replies

"Deal." You state curtly

"I'll have Grace deal with your living accommodations. Now keep quiet."

"One more thing. You got his eyes wrong, they're a brighter blue." You say gesturing to the painting of Five

Reginald turns to walk away and you flop down on the couch. This is not what you expected when you woke up that morning...eleven years ago. All of it was still so surreal and you didn't know what to do. So you did nothing, you just laid on the couch staring at the ceiling silently and let the world pass by as it had done already. You didn't notice how much time had gone by until you heard Grace call out,

"(Y/N)!"

"I'm here." You reply sitting up from the couch

"Mr. Hargreeves told me that you're going to be staying with us. I'm so happy to hear that! Now I have the pleasure of being able to take care of you too!" She says happily "Let's get you situated!"

Grace and you walk upstairs and into the hall that housed the former rooms of the children.

"You can pick whichever room you want!" Grace explains "Allison's room is all set up in terms of having girlier items, and Vanya's room is smaller but it's barren so you can decorate it however you want! Luther and Ben's rooms are super organized! We can always redo Klaus or Diego's rooms and there's always Fi-"

"I'll take a look at the rooms and let you know." You quickly shoot out

Grace gives you a slightly shocked look before smiling and saying,

"Oh alright, I'm going to make dinner then. Just let me know before bedtime so I can get some clean sheets for you."

You didn't mean to cut off Grace but Five's room was the only room you didn't check earlier. Going in there wasn't something you were prepared to do right now and it definitely wasn't the one you were going to stay in. It would hurt too much, not only because of all the memories made in there but because it looked right across at your old room which was now frozen in time. Passing the closed door of Five's room you walk down the hall and carefully examine all the other options. You saw that Allison and Luther had two of the largest rooms, and you were surprised you couldn't find a hole cut in their shared wall to secretly enter each others. Nevertheless, Luther had only left recently so you didn't want his room and Allison's room had too much of her stuff in it and you knew even with rearranging you couldn't make it feel like your own. Making your way down the hall you saw Vanya's barren room but decided against it because it was too small. Klaus' room was too messy even though he hadn't been there for years and you felt weird about staying in Ben's room since it was still his when he passed away. All that was left was Diego's room. It wasn't as large as Luther or Allison's but it wasn't as small as Vanya's. You still felt a little awkward about taking it but out of all the options it was the best choice. Hearing a bell ring you went down to the dining room for dinner. Mr. Hargreeves was already there standing behind his seat at the head of the table. You stood behind the seat at the opposite head.

"Sit." He commanded

You sat down and Grace dished out food for both you and Mr. Hargreeves. The dinner was silent, the only sounds were that of the silverware clanking against your plates. When finished you excused yourself from the table. As you were walking away Grace asked,

"Did you pick a room?"

"Ah yes, I'll be staying in Diego's room." You answer

"Well it's not Diego's room anymore silly, it's yours! I'll go get some fresh sheets for the bed."

As you head to Diego's room you quickly get an idea to try and make the room more of your own. Transporting yourself to your old room you grab three items before transporting yourself back to the academy. As you approach Diego's room with the items in your arms you see that Grace had finished making the bed. Entering, you place the items on the desk. The diary replica that your parents gave you, the music box, and the teddy bear that Five gave you. It wasn't much but the items comforted you. Putting on a pair of pajamas you got ready for bed. As you pulled the bedsheets down Grace appeared behind you in the doorway and said,

"Goodnight (Y/N), sleep well."

She started to walk away when you called out,

"Grace?"

"Yes (Y/N)?" she replies

"Do you- do you think you could tuck me in?"

You saw as her expression was both happy and sad in a way. Like there was a piece missing that you somehow filled with that question.

"Of course," She replied a smile coming on to her face

You got into the bed and Grace happily tucked you in. Pulling the covers a top of she couldn't help but feel a sense of completeness that she lost years ago. The house had been so empty since all the kids left, but now she had someone to take care of and although the circumstances were less than great for you she wanted to make sure that she could give you the best. Quietly, she turned the light off and closed the door so you could fall asleep.

After that day the Hargreeves house had become your home. Over the next month, you moved most of your stuff from your old room to your new one. Having your stuff helped to make the transition easier although it also made you miss your past. To pass the time, you religiously wrote in the replica diary about each day but instead of writing dear diary for each entry, you wrote Dear Five. You hoped that if he came back one day you could give him the diary to read about what you were up to so it was like he was always there with you. With some help, you got enrolled in school but wouldn't start until after winter break. Even as you settled into the routine of training and living, you still felt all the emotions that you had that first day. You knew you wouldn't get over them immediately but you wished you had a better outlet. Going to Grace one day you asked her,

"Grace, do you have any ideas on how to get these negative feelings out in a healthy way? I know they won't go away but I'm hoping I can make them less strong."

"Hmm. Well if you put the energy that you spend on those feelings into different activities it might help. You could play the piano again or you can take up a physical sport. I heard boxing is really good for taking negative energy out." Grace responds "Actually I think there is a boxing club in the area. How about you check it out tomorrow?"

"Alright, I can try that. Do you think they're open though, it is Christmas Eve." You reply

"If my knowledge is correct, this one is open 365 days a year." Grace replies

You nodded and once you had figured out where it was you put on exercise clothes. Grace bundled you up in a warm jacket and with that, you walked your way over to the boxing club. Entering you approached a desk where an old man sat.

"Hi, I'd like to learn to box." You say

"You're a little small to learn, don't you think?" He replies

"I have a hundred dollars that say I'm not too small." You state holding up the bill

"Can't argue with that." The old man says taking the cash

He escorts you over to a punching bag.

"Wait here, I'll get you someone to teach you." He says before turning his attention "Hey Kraken, get your ass over here. I need you to teach this kid."

Slowly a man steps out of the boxing ring where he was practicing and walks over to where you and the old man are. The old man walks away as the younger man takes off his gear.  He says,

"Hey, I'm-"

But he stops abruptly. The man just stares at you blankly.

"Are you okay?" You ask

"Sorry, you look like someone I used to know." He says

Something about this man felt familiar but you couldn't place it. The man sticks out his hand to shake yours. You go to shake it but when you look down at his wrist he has an all too familiar marking there, a tattoo of an umbrella in a circle. You look at the tattoo before looking up again at the man and start to recognize the features of the boy you used to know, now all grown up.

"Diego?" you question softly

"H-h-how did you know my name?" He stutters

"I knew it because you do know me. It's me, (Y/N)," you reply softly

You can see the confusion on his face turn into a softer expression. Although it might not have been evident to his other siblings, Diego was a deeply emotional person and you saw that exact look you were seeing in his eyes many times before when you two were younger.

"No. It can't be. You look exactly the same, you should be my age" He questions, the emotion on his face becoming more evident

"Accidentally traveling through time will do that to you. Please you have to believe me Eggo." You begged

He was having doubts that it was truly you but that all went away when you called him that name. It was a dumb nickname you gave him when one time Luther refused to let go of him. You kept exclaiming "let go my eggo" as you tried to use your powers to get Luther off. No one else but you ever knew of that. Tears formed in Diego's eyes but quickly after he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up.

"Hey everyone! My sister is back! We thought she went missing but she's back!" Diego exclaims to the people in the boxing club

There are some cheers and congratulations shouted from across the gym as Diego puts you back down. For so long he hoped that you would come back and now here you were like a Christmas miracle. You were more like a sibling to him in the short amount of time he knew you than his own siblings were. Instead of learning to box the two of you talked. You explained everything that you had gone through and your current living situation. He didn't like that you were living in that house with his father but he knew that he didn't have the means to house you nor properly take care of you. One thing he did know is that he was going to make sure that after all this misery you could have a better life. Even though time had gone on and he was older now you were still like a sister to him but now you were his little sister and he was determined to protect you from any harm the world might throw your way. He was going to be the best older brother he could be to you and make sure that you would not have to face the life he did.

And so for the next five years, Diego was there for every important moment in your life, always trying to support you and make it better. He dropped you off on your first day of school when spring semester rolled around and every first day after. He went to every piano recital you had and sat front row. When there was a father-daughter dance fundraiser he went to make sure you weren't alone. He trained you and coached you in boxing and was there for every single match. He planned a huge sweet 16 birthday party using what money he had. He was the one who took you on your first college visits when you were 17. He took time out of his days to practice working on your powers. For everything, he was there and on top of that, he regularly took you out of the house to spend time with you. You were his little sister, his true sister and he wanted you to know it.

Along with everything Diego did for you, you were grateful for some of the things you had gotten in the Hargreeves house. After about a year or so you stopped calling Grace by her name and started to call her mom. If androids could cry tears of joy Grace would have the first time that word left your mouth. Pogo had convinced Reginald to get you a piano play and in an odd act of kindness, he did. Along with that, your powers developed greatly under the supervision of Reginald and Pogo. You were able to do more in terms of manipulating the molecules in the world around you and were able to start seeing disturbances in them as well. Life wasn't perfect but through the years it got easier. But although you were growing up and trying to move on with your life, even after all those years Five never left your mind for a second. You missed him greatly and hated that the last words the two of you shared were ones of anger. You wondered if he was still mad at you. Each moment of every day Five still consumed your mind and you hoped that wherever he was, in another time and place, that he was doing okay and that one day he would come back to you.

Check out the side story here: 

The Missing Five Years - “Lost In The Past” Side story

Taglist: @xplrreylo @joebob15274 @insatiable-ivy @fruitsaladtree @angelpeachamber @academy-umbrella @lizziel1410 @ir3neeee @faith-quake @aliens-with-colas @eddiomyspaghettio @lady-celeste25 @im-dead-and-hurting @nerdypinupcrystal @cherry-ki-d @anapocalypseinmymind @vicassa @2cuteforyourlies @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @shadowycreationcupcake @macaroni-mads @metor-showers1994 @fivehargreevesforthewin @rinko-san @supernovavision @cicilisthebest @flickbix @hi-v-juice @magykal-777 @zosiaduda

[thedailycourtney]

On My Mind: 1

I don’t think I’m going to give any more money to politicians. 

This year, and this last election specifically, made me question the purpose. The amount of money spent on elections, especially at a state or federal level, is grotesque. Honestly, does it even matter? With gerrymandering and voter suppression and humongous super pacs, and the number of lies/innuendo/misleading statements political advertisements legally contain, I can’t see that it does. Would my recurring $12 donation to Elizabeth Warren as penance for going to Taco Bell (rumor has it the CEO of Yum! Brands is a big Trump supporter) be better utilized in my own community? Absolutely, yes. The fuck am I doing giving to ActBlue Beto, or Amy, or Jaime, knowing, deep down, that it’s about as practical as sewing dollar bills into an airplane and trying to fly it to the White House. 

(I feel kind of weird talking about this? I have a very modest donation budget, which admittedly mostly goes towards local animal rescue organizations annually, but I like to keep a discretionary portion for unplannable gofundmes, etc.)

(Side note: sometimes I just want a cheap, consistent, convenient Taco Bell specific bean burrito? Does EVERYTHING have to be such a big fucking deal? Sometimes a bean burrito is just ... a bean burrito. No more, no less. Not everything is a moral dilemma. Not everything is a thinkpiece.)

2020, in particular, was disgusting. Even from a cushy, privileged view, the obscene amount of spending, on ad space, on security, on transportation, on any number of other things, while so many people in our country were struggling, was just... gross. I’m done participating in that particular game. I hate politics in general, but I especially hate politics as it relates to government. As a very wise person (ICE-T) once said, “don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I really, really hate the game.

I wish money didn’t exist. I hate what it does to people, I hate how it changes people. I really hate that we need it to survive in this world, and I hate that it’s the forefront of almost everything here, in the U.S.

I’m obviously still going to vote, in every election, especially local elections, and I’m obviously still going to put up yard signs and shit, but I’m over all of it - an easy thing to say when you’re a middle aged, middle class white woman who will probably be just fine regardless. I recognize that, and I’m trying to reconcile how gross that makes me feel vs. the amount of detachment I need for my own self preservation. That sounds dramatic, but I do not have the fortitude to be outraged every day. I can’t sustain it. I don’t want to sustain it. I hate that everything has to be us vs them, zero gray areas, you’re posting constantly on social media, or you’re SILENT, you’re either toppling statues or you’re the oppressor, you’re calling out strangers on Twitter, or you’re complacent - and that’s just our side! You’re this, or you’re that. No room for nuance, no room for growth, no room for productive conversations. Definitely no room for redemption. If you think that makes me weak, I’m OK with it. 

I used to think the word “content” meant you’d given up on being HAPPY! and just decided to settle into this boring, even-keeled existence. Maybe it does a little? I thought being content was the worst thing in the world - not EXUBERANCE! not FEELING EVERYTHING!! until I realized how happy being content every day makes me. LOL the irony. I worked hard for content! I aim for it! I revel in it! When I find myself getting off course, I do the little things to get me back - the journal, the woods walks, limiting social media, taking a booze hiatus.

I question people who are constantly STRIVING! DO MORE! BE BETTER! DON’T YOU DAAAARE EAT THAT BAGUETTE CRUMB, YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER - AT LEAST NOT UNTIL YOU HAVE EARNED THAT CARB! CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN!!!! “Better” isn’t a six week program, or a life coach yelling at you, or a linear, quantifiable Instagram live. At some point, you run out of mountains to climb, so you climb the same one, over and over and over some more. You’re a hamster, with a wheel. Sit still with yourself. That’s the hard part.

Whew, this got long, and really took a turn there at the end. I took an extended break from sharing anything with real substance here - I’m way too sensitive for the internet - but I think I may be ready to now? Probably. Maybe. 

But I’ll still never again turn on anon messaging. 

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Along For The Ride: How it Started

Word Count: 2.4k

October 12th, 2016

"Carse?"

Although Carson was aware someone was talking to her, she didn't respond since she was a little distracted by the direct message she had just received on Instagram.

She was in her seat on the VIA Rail train she and her friend Stephanie were taking from Toronto to Ottawa. It was the first Maple Leafs game of the season, so they were making the commute to watch since it also happened to be Mitchell Marner's, Carson's cousin and Steph's boyfriend's very first NHL game ever.

"Carson?"

"Yeah?" She asked, jumping slightly as she was suddenly brought back to reality.

"I was asking how your class was this morning," Steph chuckled while shaking her head.

"Oh, uh, it was fine," Carson tried to play off her distracted state. "Lexie and I did our law presentation. I think it went alright."

"Law? Aren't you in journalism?"

"Yeah, we took intro law as an elective," she explained before looking down at her phone screen again and biting down on her bottom lip.

Steph observed as she did this and knew well enough that Carson would not mention whatever was happening on her phone unless it was brought up. "What's got you so flustered?"

"Nothing!" Carson insisted but only received a pointed glance in return from the girl sitting across from her. Thanks to Steph's relationship with Mitch and just how close Carson was with her cousin, the two girls formed a great friendship which led to them being able to read each other like books. It tended to be a blessing and a curse. "Ok fine, maybe not nothing."

"Explain, please."

Carson sighed.

"Well, you know Auston, right? Like, Matthews?"

"I've heard of him," Steph teased, knowing that Auston started following Carson on Instagram entirely out of the blue a little over a month prior. "Kidding. Yes, of course, I do. He and Mitch have gotten pretty close since he moved to Toronto."

"Right, 'cause he's not from here, is he?" Carson asked, genuinely curious.

"No, Scottsdale, I think. Why?"

"Uh, no reason," she replied. "It's not that important, I guess. He just messaged me on Instagram, though."

"Did he!? Let me see," Steph gasped before snatching the phone right out of her friend's hand.

Carson watched as Steph effortlessly typed in the passcode and opened Instagram. She was still kind of surprised that she'd gotten a message from Auston at all, but it did make sense.

When the two girls first got on the train, Carson took a selfie of her and Steph in their Maple Leafs gear with a Go Leafs Go hashtag. They were sporting matching Marner jerseys and had received a few compliments from other fans getting on the same train.

The brunette thought nothing of the post she made, so when she received a DM from Auston replying to her story and saying "wish us luck," she was very caught off guard.

"Well, are you going to reply?" Steph asked while handing the phone back.

"I guess," Carson told her and looked back to the screen. "It's just a little weird that he messaged me, don't you think?"

"Not really. People message people on Instagram all the time."

"Yeah, but like, he's this huge hockey prospect, is he not? So why message me, of all people? Let alone follow me in the first place..."

"Ok, I will admit that Mitch and I have hyped you up a bit," Steph said while sinking back into her seat.

"Why?"

"He's new to the city," she explained with a shrug. "When he first got here, he didn't really know anyone other than the guys on the team and some of their girlfriends. So we were telling him about people he'd probably meet eventually, and you were one of them."

"I see," Carson responded and looked back down at the cellphone screen. She typed back a quick response to Auston's message saying "good luck" before tucking the device back into her bag and glancing up at her friend again. "I guess it's not that weird; I have made friends with a few of the guys on the team."

"Yeah, I know. Mitch told me how you ran into Willy and Kappy a couple of weeks ago while you were out."

"Mhmm, what started as a date night with myself ended up being a night of hanging out with those two... Oh, shit, we're like 20 minutes away from the station. Any word from the fam in Ottawa yet?"

"Your aunt texted me saying that she, Paul and Chris were almost there. Is anyone else coming?"

"No, just me," she said. "Dad and Nate are watching from home, but they'll be at the game in Toronto on Saturday. Mya said she'd watch the game as soon as she was done class too. She wasn't sure what channel the game would be on in Vancouver."

"Is it not the same there as it would be here?"

"That's what I said!"

"Fair," Steph replied with a smile. "Anyways, guess we better make sure we have all our things. It's going to be a long night."

And it was a long night... but it was also insanely fun.

The two girls were picked up by Carson's aunt Bonnie, uncle Paul and cousin Chris at the VIA station in Ottawa before going with them to grab something to eat and eventually making way to the Canadian Tire Centre to watch the game against the Senators. They definitely weren't the only Leafs fans in the building, but the Ottawa fans kind of outnumbered them. However, that didn't dampen their mood, and they were more than ready for the game to start.

It was the most surreal feeling for Carson to not only witness her cousin and lifelong best friend skate out onto the ice wearing the jersey of their home team but also just to see that he was finally living out his dream. She couldn't have been more proud and was convinced that she and Steph alone were two of the loudest cheerers in the entire arena as they began yelling along with the crowd.

Not only did she think it was cool seeing Mitch out there, but she also loved seeing all the other players that she'd gotten to know over the past couple of months. Carson quickly spotted Willy and Marty. She then chuckled when Steph sent a zoomed-in Snapchat video of number 17 skating around to his girlfriend, Sydney. However, it didn't take long for Carson's gaze to fall on number 34.

Leading up to the beginning of the season, all Carson heard about how good this Auston Matthews guy was; she would've been lying if she said she wasn't a little excited to see him in action. And boy did he put on a show.

With less than 12 minutes left of the first period, Auston scored the first goal of the game and the first goal of his NHL career. The Leafs fans went wild, as did Carson and her family while they watched the other guys skate up to congratulate their teammate. That was pretty cool to see, but Carson was not prepared for what the rest of the game held.

The Senators pulled ahead by scoring two goals, but that didn't last too long because Auston scored another goal before the period was even over.

"Oh my god," Carson said aloud as everyone went nuts again. "He's really good."

"I know," Steph replied, looking just as shocked as Carson felt. "I mean, Mitch said he was good but... wow."

A couple of minutes into the second period, he scored again, and Carson was speechless. It took her a second to register that this kid had just gotten a hat-trick in his first NHL game, but she was quickly brought back to reality when a ton of ballcaps started flying past her as they were thrown onto the ice. She looked down at where Mitch was on the bench and smiled as she observed him cheering along with his teammates about what had just happened. The energy in the arena was just insane.

After watching her cousin for a few seconds, Carson moved her gaze to the people in her section and saw a couple cheering so loudly a few rows behind them. The woman then started crying and was pulled into the embrace of the man next to her.

"That's Auston's parents," Steph explained, and Carson could basically feel herself melt after witnessing the genuine reaction of two very proud parents, sending Auston's mom a soft smile when they briefly made eye contact before looking back to the ice.

Then, just before the second period ended, he scored a fourth goal, and none of it seemed real anymore.

The Leafs ended up losing 5-4 in overtime, but that still didn't prevent a buzz in the crowd after everything that happened in that game. Once everyone began clearing out of the area, Carson and her family made their way down to the wings, so they could congratulate Mitchell on his first game as a Maple Leaf before eventually having to head back to Toronto.

The five of them knew they'd have to wait for a little bit, seeing as Mitch would have to change out of his equipment and possibly do a post-game interview. Still, soon enough, the NHLer made his way to his family and Carson couldn't help but laugh when she heard her cousin approaching before actually seeing him.

She stood to the side as she let her aunt, uncle and cousin greet their superstar, but as soon as Mitch was done talking with them briefly, he looked in Carson's direction, shaking his head before taking a few short strides and engulfing her in a hug.

"Congratulations! You killed it out there."

"Thanks, Carse," Mitch replied before moving away. "It would've been nice to score a goal, but it still feels amazing regardless. Thanks for being here."

"You know I wouldn't miss it," she told him with a smile. "And it looks like you'll just have to score in Toronto on Saturday to redeem yourself."

"I'll try," he told her with a pointed gaze before moving on to Steph and pulling her into a tight hug next.

Carson watched with a grin as the two lovebirds interacted for a second before going to step away and stand with her family. However, when she went to step back, she came in contact with what felt like a brick wall and completely lost her balance.

"Oh, shit," she muttered as she blindly reached out to grab onto something so she could steady herself, all while bracing herself for impact. However, the impact never came. Instead, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and was able to prevent her from falling on her ass. With a sigh of relief and embarrassment, she straightened herself out and stood back up straight before finally turning around to look up at the person she had just collided with. "I'm so sorry..."

Before she could say anything else, Carson felt her breath hitch as she realized she was face to face with none other than Auston Matthews.

"It's alright," he told her with a slight smile, giving a look as if to say that he definitely recognized her. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

"I-." Before she could say anything else, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and Mitch's voice sounded from beside her.

"Auston, I see you've officially met my baby cousin Carson."

"Baby?" Carson scoffed and looked up at her cousin with a mortified expression. "Mitch, you're literally 12 days older than I am."

"Older and wiser."

"I don't think so," she told him before elbowing him in the gut so that he'd take his arm off her.

He groaned and hunched over in pain, making sure to send her a death glare as he tried to recollect himself.

"Uh oh, the twins are at it again," a voice spoke as someone else approached from down the hallway, and Carson looked up to see William Nylander approaching.

"Twins?" Auston asked and looked between Mitch and Carson with an amused expression.

"The more you see them together, the more you'll see how true that statement is," Steph said as she wedged herself between the two cousins to keep them from annoying each other any further. She then looked at Carson and nodded. "We have to get back to the station real soon if we want to catch our train back to Toronto."

"Right," Carson responded. "I'm good to go whenever you are."

"Ok, cool, let's just say our goodbyes, and then we can split on a cab there? Deal?"

"Deal."

The small group that had formed dispersed as new conversations formed, and Steph started saying bye to everyone seeing as Mitch was driving back to Toronto with some teammates, he was going to visit with his family. They were in no hurry to leave. 

Unfortunately, though, Carson had class at noon the next day, and Steph had to return to London for her classes as well, so they really did need to get going.

Before moving to say goodbye to Mitch and the rest of her family, Carson looked back to Auston once more to see him still smiling at her.

"You played a really great game tonight," she complimented and smiled back. "Congrats."

"Thanks," he chuckled. "It's all pretty crazy to let sink in. I definitely think your good luck message helped, though."

"Oh, I'm sure it did."

The two laughed before becoming quiet again. Unsure of what else to say, Carson, glanced at her family and figured she should start making her escape. She looked back to Auston, and surprisingly enough, he was the first to speak up again.

"I, uh, I guess I won't keep you from catching your train back to Toronto," he started and looked away slightly. "It was nice... officially meeting you, Carson."

"Yeah, I should probably get going before Steph comes back over here and starts dragging me out," she replied, causing him to laugh. "It was nice meeting you too, Auston. Congrats again, maybe I'll see you around."

"I'd like that. Get home safe."

"You too, well, to wherever you're going," she mumbled and sent him one last smile before walking away, trying to keep a straight face at the look Steph was giving her as she approached everyone else and said her goodbyes.

What she didn't notice, though, was how Auston watched her for a second as she walked away, intrigued by the entire interaction he just had with her and couldn't help smiling to himself as he shook his head and went his own way.

[aal-archaeology]

Summary of my first term of my Ph.D. at Stanford during a global pandemic and an extremely controversial election year (Anthropology, yr. 1, she/they, 25y/o) with some toggl data analysis

Well this year was a doozy if I don’t say so myself. But we survived it, and its okay if that’s all you were able to do this year because that’s enough.  As an offical 18th grader, I feel like I can speak pretty well to the toxicity of the academic environment. There is always a pressure to be working all of the time, people compete with each other with how few hours of sleep they got, every conversation with fellow students is just listing off all of the different assignemnts you have to do by the end of the week. On top of all of this, this is 2020. So, I decided that this year I’m going to give myself some mental slack. 

I decided that this is the year that I’m not going to try to impress anyone. I’m just going to survive and do what I have to do to move onto the next term. I think I did a pretty good job at that for the first term, so I’ll share a bit about what I observed in myself and those in my cohort. Coming into term one having to choose classes, many of my peers were packing their schedules full of 5 Unit seminars. For those who don’t know, theoretically, a 5 Unit course is supposed to take about 5-6 hours of work outside of class hours. For Stanford Anthropology, most PhD students take as close as they can to 18 credits, and anything over that you have to pay extra for the courses. Taking more courses doesn’t really put you any further ahead in terms of completing your degree, and you’re expected to complete about 45 Units each year for the first two years of the program. 

I decided to take 2 seminars (typical), a language course, and a couple filler credits that we are given the option to use if we need 1-3 units to hit 18 total. I,  fortunately, tracked every hour spent outside of the classroom working on each course using toggl (i highly reccomend): 

In a typical week, I spent about 5-6 hours/week outside of class on my Anthro seminars, and about 6-7 hours on Japanese. Japanese was a “for-fun” class so I would usually study more of that when I didn’t feel like reading dense archaeological theory. 

Toggl was a really cool way to see where I was spending too much, or not enough, time on my classwork. If it was taking me more than 1.5 hours to get through a single article, I knew I was probably spending too much time on it and should move on to the next thing. My goal for the term was to stay true to the 5 Unit idea of 5-6 hours, and not over-work myself. 

Toggl was also useful in tracking my mental health throughout the term, as it is very obvious to see when I just was not physically capable of ingesting 400 pages of reading. For example, election week:

Election week was really hard for me, and everyone else in the world honestly. I had various family things I was dealing with, typical existential dread, plus it was week 8-ish of the term when everything was already on fire in terms of workload. For one of my seminars (purple), we had to read a book for the following week which I was able to do the sundar after election day. However, for the days leading up to and surrounding the 4th, the only thing I could mentally handle was mindless Japanese vocab studying. One of my seminars really sufferend this week, and I straight up just didnt show up to the smaller Anth 310G class because I had only read the title of the pdf. Fortunately, I emailed my professor of my Theory class and was like “yo dude I cannot” and he replied that he understood and wouldnt call on me during that day of class. 

I didn’t do a whole lot of journalling at all this term, but for this week I just wrote “pain” on most days and then YAY BIDEN at the end of it. 

Weekly Schedule

Above is what a typical week looked like, some were a lot lot lot more dense, others not so much, but this was pretty average. Not all things on the calendar are work related, some are extra lectures from visiting professors that sounded interesting, or “Free Boba & Snacks Pick Up” put on by my residence. Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday were my big work days last term, where I didn’t have a whole lot of classes so I would do most of my reading then. On Tues and Thurs I had one 3-hour seminar, and M-F I had a 50 min Japanese class. 

I woke up every day around 7am-ish, made a green tea, and sat at the computer to work, filter through emails, etc. On particularily open days I would go grocery shopping, go for bike rides/walks around campus, go buy food/boba. 

On class-heavy days, I wouldn’t leave my computer for 8-12 hours, which is extremely ridiculous but that’s the new norm in school in 2020. This kind of stunk because all of the socializing was also on the computer, so even if I wasn’t working I was doing screen related things. 

EVERY day I stopped working at 6pm. Rarely did I do readings past 6pm unless I was really slacking somewhere. From 6pm onwards I would do things like play Among Us or League of Legends with my discord friends, eat, watch movies with my partner, etc. And then most nights I would try to be in bed by 12am at the latest. 

Social Life

Despite the online nature of things this term, I was suprisingly able to meet a lot of great people on campus. We were all being tested at least once a week, which made in person gatherings with 1-4 people a little less scary, especially when half of the people lived together in one household. 

In the first week of school, some of the grad programs put on a “speed friending” zoom event, where I was able to connect with two people really well. We ended up doing a “slow-friending” zoom event afterwards and then created a FB group chat and added all of the people we had met into it. The group ended up being about 15 people, and we would message the group for park hangouts, going to get food, or going on walks on campus. We also had a huge get together in a park for Mid-Autumn Festival, where we sat in a socially distanced circle, chatted, and ate mooncakes. 

Most of my socializing came from my online friends, and amongus was a huge savior to my mental health this term wher emy group would play literally every night. I also made a really good friend off of Bumble BFF this term, who I’ve hung out with a good amount for plant shopping and board games. 

I’m very fortunate to be in a situation where I can get tested for COVID on a days notice, and very grateful that I could use that to stay a little sane.  My Biggest Accomplishment this term, was not school related. but instead I hit my 365 DAY STREAK on duolingo. This was celebrated with cake. This streak has lived through literal hell and for that I am very proud. 

Overall reflection:

This term was super rough, there were a lot of days where I just napped through it and a lot of days where I couldn’t bring myself to do any work. However, I think the courseload that I took was very manageable and I’m going to continue to go light on myself in that regard. 

I really liked the boundaries that I set for myself this term, not working after 6pm and making time to do some fun things in the midst of chaos. I never felt like I was too far behind on work, or that I wasn’t doing enough, because I had a literal reminder in front of me that I had already put x amount of hours into something with toggl. 

Sometimes in class I would feel like I didn’t know how to productively contribute to conversation, but I think thats a skill that will get better over time and not being so great at it should especially be expected in the first term of a program.

Socially I met a lot of wonderful people who also made me feel more comfortable will myself. I started using She/They pronouns which feel really comforting to me. I made a lot of little origami cranes every time I was feeling sad. I drank a lot of boba. Watched a lot of She Ra. Played a lot of games. It all ended up being okay despite the weight of everything around me. 

I’m proud of all of you for making it through this year, I know it was really difficult for a lot of people in more ways than it was for me, but we’re still here! Sometimes all you can do it make it to the next day and thats such a big accomplishment on its own.  Please feel free to reach out with any questions about time-management, toggl, phd stuff in general, archaeology, etc! Always happy to help out. :’) Thanks for reading! Lyss

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested. 

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no? 

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.) 

           You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

           And then the Battle of New York had happened.

           You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

           But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

           After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.  

           You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

           And now you were about to walk into his class.

           Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

           Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

           You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

           “Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

           You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

           “U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

           Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

           He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s-            “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

           The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

           “Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

           His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

           “You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

           The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

           “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

           Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

           “Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

           “Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

           “Any questions?”

           There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

           “Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

           Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

           “That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

           Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

           He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

           A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

           As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

           A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

           But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

           The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

           Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.            

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink.            “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé  about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

           Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

           This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

           After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

           “This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

           Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

           “(Y/N), is that you?”

           …Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

           Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

           “Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

           “Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

           You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

           “Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

           “Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

           “The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

           “Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

           “Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

           Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

           “It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

           You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

           “Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

           “Thanks, doll.”

           You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

           “N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

           “I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

           Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

           “Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

           “Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

           He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

           “No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

           Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

           You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

           “Steve?”

           He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

           “Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

           “It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

           “Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

           You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

           “I’m just joking,” you assured him.

           “Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

           You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

           Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

           “You ok over there, doll?”

           “Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

           “Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

           “Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

           You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

           For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

           “Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

           You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

           “Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

           You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

           “No problem, hon.”

           You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

           How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

           Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

           Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

           But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

           You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

           He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

           He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

           You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

           His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

           With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

           He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

           His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

           But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

           All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

           He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

           You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

           Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

           When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

           As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

           “Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

           “Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

           You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

           “Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

           When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

           “Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

           After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

           The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

           Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

           When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

           “Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

           “So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

           “For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

           You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

           “If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

           A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

           “…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

           When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

           Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

           “Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

           “Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

           You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

           “Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

           “A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

           “Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

           “Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

           You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

           “It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

           “It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”  

           Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

           “Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

           As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

           “Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

           “Why not?”

           “Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

           You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

           “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

           “No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

           Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

           “Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

           “…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

           “Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

           “What is it?” you asked.

           “Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

           Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

           You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

           “I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

           For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

­­­­______

           You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

           Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.        

           When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

           “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

           “I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

           Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

           Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

           You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

           Dear (Y/N),

           Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

           Sincerely,

                       Steve Rogers

           You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

           You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

           After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

           When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

           “Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

           “…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

           He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

           “I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

           “How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

           Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

           “Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

           You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

           “I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

           Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

           You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

           “U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

           “It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

           “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

           Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

           Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

           “It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

           The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

           “So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

           He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

           “That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

           You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

           “Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

           “Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

           “Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

           “Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

           You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

           “A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

           “That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

           Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

           But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

           “I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

           Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

           “Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

           “Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

           “No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

           Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

           “Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

           “Whatya say?”

           You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

           “I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

           “It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

           You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

           Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

           “I’ll do it.”

_______

           Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

           He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

           Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

           He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

           You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

[hearthandhomemagick]

Cottage Witch Journal Entry - Post Yule & Christmas

Okay, so far this forum of mine has discussed some very off the wall topics that invade my head throughout the day. Some very self destructive thoughts, and some self awareness thoughts. Thoughts on religion, video games, spirituality. Hell, I may even choose to discuss sexual exploration in the future. Who knows? All I know is that after looking back at some of my posts, I’m starting to realize how chaotic one individuals thoughts can be. How genuinely complex a humans life and mind can truly be. 

Think about it, if you’ve read my posts in the past, regarding witchcraft, self care, self love, eating awareness, hyperawareness, overthinking, and so on and so forth, then you would think you’d be able to point me out in a crowd. 

The truth is, you wouldn’t. A great deal of my writing is simply the regurgitation of my persistent, sometimes unrelenting, thoughts. I’m noticing the complexities of humanity, and it’s beautiful and tragic all at once.

Last time we spoke, I discussed in a mini post that Judy Alvarez was mine for the taking a staple of independence and power to me and that getting my power back was of high priority to me. It’s been a few days, but this still remains a significant thought in my head. I find myself becoming more and more enthralled by her character and persona, drawn into why I relate to her as much as I do. Then, I noticed the underwater life she loves so much, and am reminded of the blue jellyfish behind my left ear. I see her whale tattoo and think of the same one I have under my left boob. I think of how I wanted to shave the right side of my head similar to Judy’s hair back in High School and my mom telling me it wouldn’t look good. And finally, I think of her selflessness, and her need to help a traumatized soul, and how I used to be a Sexual Violence Outreach Advocate, just trying to help a traumatized soul. I relate to her in more ways than one, as silly and stupid as it sounds, and these may be extremely minute to notice, but important for me. 

My boyfriend and I had a few conversations this weekend, all separate times, that really pinned me to myself. One conversation, he asked me what exactly I believed, in that moment, when it came to religion and spirituality. From there we got into a lengthy discussion (mostly my fault) where I explained my thoughts in detail. One quote I said stood out (I was also stoned so when I said it, it came out as a surprise to me as well), for I digress from the want to overexplain myself. 

As I told my boyfriend, Hyperawareness will destroy a man before it enlightens him. And this year, Hyperawareness seemed to be the proprietor of my mind, for it most definitely would have destroyed me had I continued.

Another conversation we had, which we both agreed to, was the power of our physical bodies directly correlating to past experiences we’ve had with other humans. Also, our relationship with unsustainable lifestyles.

Example, my body issues are founded on the idea that I wasn’t allowed to be a tomboy and play sports or take karate or MMA Fighting classes, but I also wasn’t perceived as delicate and pretty because of my weight/I was bigger than other girls. I was discouraged from doing the physical things I was interested in, and gave up as a result.

Those experiences have perpetuated in many areas of my life as well. In High School, I chose Shop as my number one elective and Weight Training as my second. They chose to put me in Theatre and Intensive Reading instead (Intensive Reading is a class kids take when they make below average on state wide tests). Now, my first choices were classes I felt would develop my character and reflect the life I wanted to live, and I was told it was a bit manly for me to choose those classes. Now, as an adult, I don’t go out of my way to work on mechanics, even though it’s an interest of mine and I haven’t done weight lifting because I thought I’d look like a man. False ideas.

When you are denied your own personality as a child, and don’t realize that is what is happening because it is still happening, it becomes a spiral of what options do you actually have? You become an open book for others influences to freely write in, because you want to be your own independent self but you don’t even know who or how that person is. So, for a while when I got out of High School I was clinging to others personalities in an attempt to find myself. That’s not a good way of doing it, either. 

I lived to please, so when people called me Sunshine, I figured the Sun didn’t wear a lot of black and didn’t act like a man. 

Reality check, I was overthinking it.

I should dress and live how I see fit, regardless of the typical aesthetic. Fuck the idea that I have to subscribe to one aesthetic anyways. If I want to own a Bee Hive, a Cottage in the Mountains by the river with a tiny self sustaining garden, all while wearing black alternative outfits that somewhat line the aesthetic of post apocalyptical,  then fuck yes I’m going to be a gentle, bright, motorcycle loving, knife wielding, MMA Fighting, Yoga and Meditation doing, soft spoken bad bitch. 

Here’s the thing, I haven’t even bought myself clothes this year, because people were literally buying clothes for me. WHICH I AM EXTREMELY GRATEFUL FOR!!!! But, over the weekend I got rid of a lot of those clothes because they restrict my personality, I never wear them or they don’t fit anymore.

After the lengthy conversations, we both agreed that our youthful selves are not finished being fully alive. We didn’t stop being young once we got out of High School, we stopped being young when we started saying we were too old. So, we are starting to set goals together. Getting rid of old clothes was the first step, and we took into consideration that we are still individuals just helping each other accomplish a common goal, so the next step is our physical selves. 

The plan is to clean out our storage room and transform it into a self-care/training area. Together, we will start the P90X after work on some days, while I try to keep up with yoga on my off days. This month, being aware of what I eat without the focus of losing weight has helped me actually lose weight. Now, focusing on my workout regime is the goal. Not to lose weight, but to be able to start MMA Fighting Classes. 

MMA Fighting is something I started in High School right before going to college, but never finished. It’s something I want to commit to so as to release anger while Yoga will help me process my anger. So, healthy eating to support energy, and healthy workouts! I have also been having more endometriosis pain than usual, so avoiding my health won’t help me!

Spiritual wise, I want to focus on my better self. I want to put more effort into me rather than letting myself go in a world of people who don’t care if my personality exists or not. I want to be open, strong and powerful in what I believe. I want to own my shit, and fuck anyone who wants to stop that type of Sunshine. In the words of Meghan Thee Stallion, “Fuck being good, I’m a bad bitch. I’m sick of motherfuckers tryna tell me how to live.”

I’m inconvenient, and I’m happy with that. I’m not perfect, but I’m a process. I’m not weak and quiet, I’m strong and silent. 

This specific post is a reclamation of my power. Somewhere along the road of this shitty adult life, I forgot the beauty in my own power. I’m equal, not less than.

Thank you for reading, if you did. This is, again, one of those things where I am journaling my thoughts, and trying to go over everything in my head without going crazy. If you thought this was annoying, just remember I deleted 5 paragraphs before posting, because I was overthinking and didn’t want to overexplain. (I do everything in copious quantities). If it bothered you, look past my post. If you related, let’s talk about it. All in all, thank you for being alive, darling. I’ll see you later!