#will the scholarships i applied to email me back? so far the answer is no

[fridayyy-13th]

anyone else up trying not to think too hard about the future or is it just me haha

[superiorsturgeon]

hey I just saw your big post on why you like sturgeon and was wondering if you could touch a bit more on the ways you got started in your career/studies involving these fish, specifically if you have any tips and/or advice for someone hoping to pursue a career in the study of these cool guys (funky gar for your time)

Your offering pleases me.

First of all, I put a lot of thought into writing this to help anyone interested in working in my field, so it took me a while to respond to this ask. Sorry it took so long, but I hope it’s helpful!

I got into fish/biology because it was one of two things I really enjoyed learning about in school, and it seemed to be the more solid choice as far as a career (the other being music). Now, I was raised in the US, so most of my advice will be in dealing with grease-slathered American education and workplace experiences. I’m EXTREMELY bitter about certain facets of the system that I discovered the hard way, but I’ll try to stay focused here and I don’t want to discourage anyone!

Getting started…

Assuming you’re interested in actually studying fish like sturgeon, you’re probably going to want a degree of some kind. Now, most colleges these days are happy to take anyone who will pay tuition, but you definitely don’t want just any college! Some universities don’t have big biology programs, and some that do are focused more on pre-med tracks than on studying nature (my undergrad program had me in the basement a lot of the time). What you want is a program that will actually give you skills you’ll need for a job, such as electroshocking, designing/implementing experiments, counting fin ray/otolith rings, and other practical skills. You’re going to be paying a lot of money for this paper no matter where you get it, so you’ll want to do some research to get the maximum value!

The best way to go about choosing a program is to research the professors studying what you are interested in. Find a school, look up something like “fisheries” or “fish biology,” and you should be able to find info on the people actually involved, along with their CVs (curriculum vitae, basically an academic resume). This will tell you what their research focus is, as well as their professional specialties.

When something catches your eye, email them! If they’re any good at their job, they will be happy to tell you about the program, their own lab, and what skills you can learn at that university. Once you’re actually enrolled, you’ll be assigned an Academic Advisor, a professor whose job is to answer these questions. It’s very important to get in the habit of reaching out to professors at college, both in person and by email to ask questions like these. Tell them what your goals are and ask what courses you need, if there are any opportunities to volunteer in labs outside of classes, what workshops are available, etc, because these will help set you apart from the slobbering masses who just fulfilled the minimum requirements to graduate.

Paying for college…

You’ve probably heard that the cost of college in the US is outrageous these days, and studying fish definitely does NOT pay a lot, but there are a few ways to reduce the cost! Once you’ve found a university with a program that meets your needs, see how many basic courses/credits you can get out of the way at small community colleges, if possible while still living at home (on-site housing and food courts are marked up a lot, and many four-year colleges insist on living there at least two years). Remember how I recommended that you reach out to professors to choose a program? Do it again at community colleges near you or your chosen school and ask which credits can be transferred. It’s a common practice so they almost certainly have some procedures in place.

Second, never pass up a chance to apply for grants, scholarships, etc, any money that you don’t have to pay back, even if you BARELY qualify. Many of these cost nothing to apply besides your time, and it’s surprisingly easy to get approved! There are apps available that will give you a list of scholarships applicable to your degree, and your professors should also be able to help you find more possibilities. Seriously, apply to every grant/scholarship you can, because the worst that can happen is that you don’t get it. I myself received a grant from Trout Unlimited that caught me completely off-guard because I wasn’t even studying trout, but I wrote an essay and applied anyway! If your school has a writing lab, take your applications to them for proofreading! (Side note, being able to write grant applications is actually a valuable job skill for professionals doing science, so take the opportunity to learn!)

Developing marketable skills…

I touched on useful skills above, but I’m going to go into more depth. In theory, colleges are supposed to teach you what you need in the expensive courses they offer, but I can tell you that some colleges are happy to just get “butts in seats” and award diplomas for the bare minimum. It’s scummy, but it happens, so I recommend that you take some steps to make sure you get real-world skills, because basic biology lectures won’t impress recruiters after you’ve graduated.

The exact skills you want depend on whether you’re looking to be outside or in the lab, but my advice is to get as many as you can. Competition for jobs like mine can be fierce, so it never hurts to add more to your resume! Employers will look for things like the ability to drive/back up trailers, welding, using statistics software like R, determining fish age, operating boats, pipetting, basic electrical repair, plumbing, and electroshocking, to name a few. I had a master’s degree when I applied to a previous job, but my boss told me what really caught his eye was that I had experience fixing my own car and a little bit of construction. Some things like measuring/weighing fish accurately are easy to learn on the job, but just like anywhere else employers want to get new hires up to speed as fast as possible, so they’ll be pleased to see that you volunteered to collect data for someone’s graduate research or attended a weekend workshop learning to sample fish in a nearby river. If you find a good school program you’ll learn things like this, but it’s a good idea to ask your professors if there are any extra opportunities to pick up skills!

In addition to what you learn through the school, you can also pick up a few things on your own! The internet has become swamped with targeted ads and bullshit, but you can still find videos demonstrating things like basic engine maintenance, plumbing, electronics, etc (of course, make sure you’re being safe when researching that last one). If you have a relative with a trailer, see if they’ll teach you how to back it up safely in a parking lot! If your school has a statistics professor, find out when they have office hours and ask them for advice learning to use R!

Continuing your education…

After I got my bachelor’s degree, I decided to go back for a master’s degree, which a lot of research types decide to do. One thing I wasn’t told about until it was almost too late was how to actually get into grad school; the person who explained it to me called a simple application the “kiss of death,” unless you had a one-in-a-million rockstar GPA. You’ll have to seek out and take something called a GRE test (basically ACT/SAT for grad school), and then reach out to professors whose research/interests are close to your own and ask if they’ll take you on as a grad student. They’ll often want to interview you like you’re applying for a job (which is basically what grad school is), and they’ll often want you to apply for funding or a teaching assistantship to pay your tuition and living expenses. A teaching assistant usually does basic teaching at a university like Biology 101 labs or other grunt work, but in exchange, you get teaching experience, paid tuition, and usually a small stipend (I taught 3 labs and got about $1000/month, so it’s not exactly lucrative).

Grad school itself can be fun if you’re a real academic who loves learning. You’ll be taking a few very high-level courses, and also running a research project of your own. Remember that professor who interviewed you earlier? You’re going to be working as a researcher under their supervision, from designing a project to collecting data to writing a peer-reviewed thesis. It’s a lot of work, but it’s good training for doing science professionally! (This is why it’s good to get some practice doing/helping with projects as an undergrad).

Here’s a few tips for grad school. First, NEVER miss a chance to apply for funding! Your project will probably require some $ for materials, and I’ve seen everything from Trout Unlimited grants to a roommate who set up a successful crowdfunding campaign on GoFundMe to study wolves. Grad school is also much more like a job than school; it’ll be your responsibility to plan the stages of your project around your other obligations, coordinating with your advising committee, writing and rewriting a scientific paper, and possibly organizing a crew of volunteers to help with your project. Your advisor is there to help you, so don’t be shy about asking questions and scheduling meetings.

A few helpful tips for your graduate thesis: first, you’re going to be reading a lot of scientific literature so buckle in and get used to it, because it’ll both give you the information you need to draw conclusions and show you how publications are supposed to be written. You’ll be making use of Google Scholar to look up published research papers, but you’re not going to be able to access all of them beyond the author and the abstract (a quick summary of the article), which can be limiting. Either make use of a website that allows you to get around paywalls (eg Sci Hub), or use the information in the abstract to seek out and email the author of a paper directly (the authors of those publications don’t see any of the money from journal subscriptions, so they’re usually happy to give you a copy)! I’ve done this many times and never been turned down. In addition, you’re going to have PAGES of cited sources (I had a relatively short thesis and I had three pages)! Rather than suffer through the ordeal of doing it by hand, look up and download one of these two programs: Zotero or Mendeley. These programs will pull information from a scholarly paper you want to cite, catalog it for quick reference, and come with a plug-in function for Microsoft Word that will insert the citation and compile a Works Cited/Bibliography section in whatever format you choose. Be warned, sometimes the program gets confused and you’ll have to manually fix what it spits out, so make sure you proofread carefully!

After graduating…

Now, everything up to this point has had to do with getting an education before applying for a job. I was offered a PhD spot after presenting my research, but turned it down at the time to enter the workforce because my primary focus was on fisheries management. Certain areas of study expect you to continue in academia, while in other fields a PhD can actually limit you. Ask your advisor what’s right for you. Remember all those job skills I recommended earlier? Here’s where you’re going to want them.

Unfortunately for everyone, there’s a lot of competition for the decent jobs in fish research. It’s kind of like teaching, in that the people who stick with it tend to be passionate about their work, and that sometimes leads to being exploited. A LOT of government jobs expect people to spend time doing temporary work or seasonal work before they’re eligible for a full-time job that pays the bills. “But Supersiorsturgeon!” you may say, “What’s the point of getting an expensive degree if I have to spend years working part-time to get a job that pays enough to live on?”

The tl;dr of the whole situation is that colleges will take your money whether it’s worth it or not, and there are more passionate fish people than there are jobs, so employers can afford to make us jump through hoops. Unless you’re very lucky, the best advice I can offer is to minimize the amount of bullcrap you need to tolerate by getting as much experience/skill as you can while you’re still in school and MAKE it worth your money. In addition, a lot of those seasonal gigs in hatcheries, lamprey control, etc can be scheduled in summer around classes, so with some care, you can do your time while still in school! Talk to your advisor about building your resume, and try to develop connections whenever you get a chance.

Searching for jobs…

When it comes to finding jobs after you graduate, you’ll probably have to look online unless you’re lucky enough to already know staff at a research facility or hatchery. While these jobs do occasionally pop up on Ziprecruiter, Indeed, or Craigslist, you’ll find much better options on state websites for state/province Natural Resources departments (usually accessed through the state government website), the federal Fish and Wildlife Service job board, the American Fisheries Society (AFS) job board, and the Texas A&M job board. At time of writing, Alaska and the Pacific Northwest states seem to have the most work available for Americans, but by no means are they the only places hiring!

Be prepared to send out a lot, and I mean a LOT, of applications before you get an interview. I wasn’t kidding before when I said that competition can be tough, and the application process can be longer and more frustrating than some of these jobs deserve (No joke, I’ve applied to entry-level and seasonal jobs that demanded long-answer writing assignments or proctored standardized tests, in addition to resumes, transcripts, and cover letters. Government jobs are especially prone to this.). I’ve missed out on interviews for positions for which I was definitely overqualified because one or two minuscule details in my essay didn’t perfectly match my undergraduate transcript from eight years before. I’ve applied to jobs in other locations, only to find out later that the hiring agency had a secret policy of hiring only residents of that state. It can be extremely frustrating and discouraging, and unless you managed to develop some contacts with the department beforehand, you’ll have to apply to a lot of jobs, often in various locations across the country. To make the process easier, request electronic pdf copies of your transcripts and save them along with a base resume in your computer. Read the job descriptions carefully and tweak your resume/cover letter to what they’re looking for. Make careful note of the closing time/date for applications, and keep in mind that they may be for a specific time zone (I missed out on one dream job because I was in Pacific time and didn’t notice the deadline was for Eastern). When you DO get an interview, try to fill up the time allotted with your qualifications while still answering every question they ask (I know of several states who consider it a dealbreaker if you can’t do this). When you are allowed to ask questions of your own, don’t hold back. Ask what a typical day at work looks like, what the hours are, is there paid training, is there a union, etc! It shows that you’re seriously interested in that job and that you’ll take the job seriously if you’re hired. And if you’re applying for government jobs, expect them to take a while to respond.

On the job…

And finally, there are a handful of things you should be prepared for once you’re actually working in the field!

The first thing is that you will be counting. Like, a LOT. When you’re dealing with eggs, baby fish, etc the most efficient way to track their size and inventory is to take a handful of fish, measure their volume or weight, then count how many fish per gram/milliliter, etc to get an average size. Once you’ve got the average weight/volume, you can use that number to estimate total numbers without having to count out 10,000 tiny fish one at a time (better brush up on your algebra too!). Now, counting sounds straightforward, but when you’re taking a bunch of counts in a row your mind will eventually wander, and you’ll eventually find yourself thinking “wait, was that 49 or 59?” For my own peace of mind, I went online and bought something called a lap counter, which simply counts every time you press a button. You might miss one or two fish, but you’ll never completely lose your place!

Second, sooner or later you’ll have to deal with dead fish, or possibly euthanize them yourself. Especially in big hatcheries or aquaculture farms, you may have to deal with literal tons of dead fish. My old boss claimed that “you’re not a real fish tech until you’ve killed a tank of fish,” as a way of philosophizing the inevitability of making mistakes, but no matter how well you handle it someone will have to remove them from the tank or possibly finish them off. It’s never fun, but if you want to work with fish as a career, you have to accept the fact that you can’t save all of them, no matter how hard you try. Some people simply can’t handle that, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Conversely, some people get way too into killing fish, and I recommend they find a career path that doesn’t involve dealing with animals and talk to a therapist.

Thirdly, fish are animals and they don’t know or care what our schedule might be. Most jobs dealing with animals require work outside of the traditional capitalist 40-hour workweek, such as on weekends, late at night, and on holidays. Good organizations have rotating schedules to cover weekends and spread on-call time around fairly to make sure the fish are cared for, but sometimes things like nighttime spawning, larval drifts, or facility emergencies are all-hands-on deck events. Be prepared for these, but at the same time make sure you don’t burn yourself out by volunteering for constant overtime.

Finally, you’re going to get wet. And hot. And cold. If you’re working for any kind of decent organization, they’ll have rain gear or waders available, but you can’t always count on high quality or perfect fit for every possible body shape. Furthermore, anyone who does a lot of fishing will tell you that it’s not a matter of IF you’ll fall in the water/pop a leak, but WHEN. I had a supervisor who went through at least six cell phones in two years because he was constantly getting wet in the tanks. Working with big, powerful fish or moving water? Be prepared to get soaked by a big tail sweep or lose your footing on an uneven bottom! Not even planning to stand in the tank with the fish? You’ve gotta get them out somehow, and that means sticking your hands in the water or handling wet nets.

My advice? Accept that it will happen and take precautions! If you can, leave your phone and wallet somewhere safe, but if you can’t, then buy certified waterproof bags and don’t trust the pockets in waders or rain jackets to stay leak-proof! If you’re working in the cold, pack some synthetic or wool base layers, mid layers, and wool socks to stay warm if you get wet. Avoid cotton in the cold, it’ll hold moisture and suck the heat right out of your body. For hot weather, make sure you have plenty of water, sunblock, and possibly a sun hat to avoid heat stroke! And don’t forget bug spray, because fish live in water, and in a lot of places water means mosquitoes! Finally, don’t leave your waders or jacket outside overnight, because sooner or later you’ll find them full of rainwater.

One further tip regarding waders: when your waders inevitably spring a leak, you can often patch them! Plenty of waders are sold with patch kits included, but to increase your odds of success you should try filling your waders with water to locate any pinholes and dry/clean the area inside and out with alcohol. If you don’t have a repair kit, I’ve had great success a product called Shoe Goo, which is often available at hardware stores or Walmart.

If you have to/want to get clothing of your own, here are my favorites:

For footwear, I like Red Wing shoes and Xtratuf boots. Red Wing seems to be one of the few companies that still makes products that last, and they can often replace boot soles as they wear out, meaning a set of footwear can often last for years. Xtratuf boots are my choice for rubber footwear with a 1-year warranty, and even though people will tell you that they used to be higher quality before their manufacturing was sent overseas, they’re still very popular in Alaskan fish hatcheries. I’ve heard that the insulated boots are extremely well-insulated, to the point that people I’ve met from Alaska prefer to wear uninsulated boots with thick wool socks.

When it comes to wet weather, I’ve had my best luck with Grundens and Helly Hansen jackets and bib overalls. Their jackets come in both pull-over and full-zip with neoprene or elastic cuffs to keep out rain. They’re both great quality, and I once knew a guy who used his HH jacket for ten years, long after everyone else’s gear wore out. In cold/wet conditions I liked to pair a good jacket with either neoprene diving gloves (for sticking my hands underwater) or Showa 282 insulated gloves (for when I want to stay dry).

Like everyone else who works outdoors, a lot of fish people like Carhartt work wear. I personally think that some of their products have declined in quality over the years (I was gifted a Rain Defender vest that was both NOT waterproof and had pockets separating at the seams after a couple months), but I still have/use the first Carhartt jacket I ever purchased, so it seems that the garments made with thick cotton duck material hold up well.

Summary…

Find a good college program

Email your professors/advisors with questions about developing good job skills

Try to get as much college as possible at cheaper community colleges

Apply to every grant/scholarship you can

Seek out job skills like plumbing, stats, lab skills, driving trailers, etc both in and outside of the classroom (ask your advisors or look at job postings for the skills you want)

Get experience doing research as an undergraduate if you can (ask your advisor!)

Consider grad school if you want to get deeper into research

Learn to read scientific literature on Google Scholar

Use Zotero or Mendeley to make citations in your writing

Look for seasonal jobs in the field while still in school and cultivate relationships with potential employers

Search for jobs on Texas A&M, AFS, Fish And Wildlife Service, and state/provincial government agency websites

Apply to a lot of jobs

Get a lap counter and practice algebra for calculating averages

Be prepared to deal with dead/dying fish

Be prepared for late night, weekend, and holiday work

Be prepared for inclement weather conditions and especially getting wet

I hope this all helps. I’m by no means an expert in navigating finances, politics, etc, but I tried to lay out as much as possible here to help you avoid the many pitfalls I plowed into headfirst. Fish research is rewarding, but not particularly lucrative, so it calls for people who are truly passionate about fish. If you’ve got questions about anything I wrote above, I’ll try my best to answer them!

Best of luck out there!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Pacemaker

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.

Word Count: 8.2K

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship

Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.

A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.

Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks. 

I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.

However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.

But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.

In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.

Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.

It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.

“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.

“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said. 

“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”

Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.

Six Months Ago

The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.

When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.

Except for me, of course. 

And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.

I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.

But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”

“Interest?”

“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”

“How much money?”

“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”

Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.

Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.

“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.

“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.

“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”

“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”

“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”

It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”

“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”

“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.

“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”

“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”

“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”

“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.

“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”

“I really just need money for my tuition.”

“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”

“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”

His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read. 

“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table. 

“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room. 

Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?

“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”

“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.

But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”

I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.

“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”

I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection. 

If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.

“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”

I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan. 

“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs. 

“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.

And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips. 

Is this how it would be every time? 

I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return. 

Right?

But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.

And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?

Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.

But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:

“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.

The Voyeur

Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.

He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”

I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.

“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”

“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.

“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”

“But there’s someone else-”

“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.

“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.

“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”

Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.

“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”

“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled. 

“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.

“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.

“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.

My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage. 

“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.

“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.

“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.

“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”

“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.

Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.

“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.

“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.

Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.

The Sadist

That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.

Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me. 

“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.

Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer. 

It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.

It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:

“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”

I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.

But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room. 

Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.

Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.

“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.

“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.

“Minho and I have been friends for years.”

“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.

“He was really excited to meet you as well.”

“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.

“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.

“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”

“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.

“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.

“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”

“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.

“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”

Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”

“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.

“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.

“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”

“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”

“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”

“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”

“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”

“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.

Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”

“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.

“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”

I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.

“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion. 

“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.

“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse. 

But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.

“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.

And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.

“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”

“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure. 

The Participant

For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him. 

It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.

In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.

“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter. 

“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.

“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.

But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.

Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.

He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.

“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.

“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.

It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.

“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.

However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.

“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”

He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.

“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”

I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”

“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.

True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.

But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”

“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.

“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.

I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.

“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt. 

“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.

“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.

“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.

“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs. 

He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”

I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties

“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”

Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris. 

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.

“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.

“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt. 

“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”

“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock. 

“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”

I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind. 

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”

I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.

However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch. 

“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”

“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix. 

“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.

“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.

He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.

It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.

“What a mess,” Chan groaned.

“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side. 

“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”

“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”

‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.

Present

It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”

“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”

“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”

I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”

“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”

“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”

“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”

“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.

“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.

“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in. 

The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.

[lixxen]

NO WAY HOME SPOILERS (This is a kinda long fix-it drabble about Peter)

So, just to let y'all know I have been writing Peter & Tony fics for years and that's what I'm known for on AO3. I've written this big fic that had gotten some traction for a bit. I literally live for Tony basically adopting Peter and them having a better relationship.

So when NWH finished, after crying over Matt Murdock and Venom/Eddie, I automatically went to thinking about Peter and Tony (plus Pepper and Happy).

Hear me out though.

Peter finishes his GED and manages to get into MIT because his files still exist. His school records and connections to Tony Stark still exist.

Peter sends his application into MIT and gets a letter back telling him that he got accepted and they don't understand why he was rejected at first; since Tony Stark had set him up with a scholarship specifically for him.

Tony Stark took one look at this kid and how broke him and his aunt were (in the sense that they got by but didn't have enough to send him to school without scholarships. Because they were comfortable in the movie). So he set it up and put up connections.

MIT didn't understand it until Far From Home. They didn't want to risk it, so they denied him and never told him. What would Tony Stark do? He was dead.

Pepper Potts ends up being contacted when Peter reapplies, telling her that the Underoos Scholarship has been put into effect. Happy gets an email saying that a Peter Parker has applied and that he is the sole receiver of Tony's special scholarship.

Happy and Pepper go looking into this scholarship and the files on Peter Parker. The hours upon hours of footage and notes that Tony had on Peter.

They find what actually happened in Europe and during NWH.

They don't remember it, but they have the information to build a narrative and rejog some of the memories.

Pepper contacts MIT and basically tells them that if they do not accept Peter, SI will stop their help. She holds them in a death grip until they finally accept him (which they were going to anyways, but Pepper solidified it).

Peter gets into MIT and then Ned and MJ recognize him and befriend him after him getting coffee for months.

Peter lets their relationship build more until Peter asks them about if they had a memory spell put upon them and that, hypothetically speaking, someone was forgotten because of it. Would they be upset if it took the person long to help them remember because the person simply saw how happy they were and wanted to protect them.

They answered with a "they would be slightly hurt, but they would understand." That in the end, they understand. Nothing is ever cut clean and everyone makes mistakes.

Peter then tells them and they are silent the whole time. He shows them pictures upon pictures. His private social media that he removed them from.

MJ and Ned finally speak, saying that they thought it was odd that they had random pictures of him and that maybe they had known him briefly in high school or from AcaDec. But they had their suspicions. MJ did say she'd figure it out.

They may not remember, but they could rebuild memories. Visit Doctor Strange and ask him about the spell.

When they go see Doctor Strange, he isn't happy with what he hears. He seems like he knows that there was something wrong, but he doesn't voice it. He listens and helps them rebuild their lives.

Magic is very useful and memories aren't hard to access once you have experience.

[daveeddiggsit]

The Plan

WIDEOUT MASTERLIST

Series: WIDEOUT (chpt viii)

Note: Thank you @braidedchallah for proofreading. Reminder — before you kill me — there is one chapter left (and an epilogue). Keep that in mind. Enjoy. Feel free to yell at me afterwards. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry for what you’re about to experience.

Word Count: 12.2k

Pairing: Football Player!Thomas Jefferson x Tutor!Reader

Warnings: angst. possible breakup. perhaps some crying. implied sex (more than once). thom being a perfect boyfriend. thom looking fine af in denim (i’m trash).

Summary: Goodbyes are hard.

Tags: @coololdsoulpoetlove @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @lilangeldevil006 @pana-ce-a @merrahonthawall @katierpblogg @thespianbooks @a-hopeless-fan @uniquelystarchildthedragon @wcreech @sabbrriiinnaa @imperial-martian @harpersmariano @icanneverbesatisfied @underthewillowtreerycb @i-know-i-can @astralaffairs @braidedchallah​ (if i forgot anyone i apologize, just lemme know for next time)

As one of the smartest kids in your graduating class, you have a certain reputation to uphold. Maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA isn’t easy, which means that you have to choose all the right answers and make all the right decisions. 

As it turns out, you seem to be pretty good at that. Being right about a lot of things, academic or not, seems to come naturally to you. Especially when it comes to a certain curly-haired athlete who also happens to be your boyfriend of over a year.

You had been right when you told him that he would recover from his ankle injury on the night it happened. Well, you can’t be entirely sure of that yet since he’s still not clear to engage in full-action sports, but it’s incredibly clear that he’s well on his way to recovering fully.

Almost exactly seven weeks after the incident, he’d gotten his cast removed and replaced with a boot so that he could put weight on his ankle again. Since then, he’s been in physical therapy almost daily in order to make sure that he’s healing the right way. According to him, he’s progressing well every week and is slowly regaining his mobility, strength, and speed. Just two weeks ago he ditched the boot so that he could finally put on a pair of shoes; you remember the grin on his face when he gave you a little dance to show off the new kicks he’d gotten as celebration.

He’s not 100% healthy yet, and he certainly won’t be back on the field (or track) for another couple months until he’s clear to practice, but you’re proud that he’s been able to recover as much as he has in relatively so little time.

On the night of his injury, you’d also been right about another thing: the fact that Thomas would receive college offers.

And that’s what you’re celebrating today.

After weeks and weeks of advocating for himself and sending his player reel and personal letters to the head coaches of schools he wanted to attend, he finally got an offer from one of his top college choices: the University of Virginia.

While their football team isn’t the most notable in the nation, their program is one of the best in the state of Virginia at a Division I level, and that’s pretty much all Thomas wants. After he recovers fully, Thomas will make an excellent asset to the team since one of their starting wide receivers is entering the NFL Draft after this year. 

At UVA, Thomas would get the play time he needs to shine and show his true colors and talent as a wide receiver all while having a coaching staff there to support him and his every need. Their academic program for liberal arts is also something Thomas has been looking at in a school since he plans on majoring in English.

With all of that said, the Jefferson household decides to host a special dinner for their son in celebration of the wonderful news. 

And while under normal circumstances, you would feel happy and excited for your boyfriend and his amazing accomplishment, instead you have a voice that lingers in the back of your mind reminding you of the similar news you had received just a week prior.

Thomas isn’t the only one with a huge scholarship offer.

After applying to many different schools with somewhat notable engineering programs in-state (because let’s be real, out-of-state tuition is absurdly expensive), you’ve received only a few grants from NYU and Syracuse University, but it isn’t enough to cover all of tuition.

But when you’d received an email last week from the one out-of-state school you had applied to last minute, your heart had just about dropped from your chest.

UCLA is offering you a full-ride.

You should be happy that you have an incredible offer. You should be elated for Thomas with his scholarship offer, too. However, you can’t help but feel a looming sense of stress every time you think about telling him.

That’s why you haven’t told him yet; it’s been nine days.

“Y/N?”

Thomas’ voice snaps you out of your thoughts and suddenly you are brought back to reality. You’re dressed up and sitting at the dinner table with Thomas across from his parents. The menu of the night consists of a couple different French dishes that his mother had learned to make a few years back when they visited Paris for an entire summer. His mother’s rendition of the food is nothing short of amazing.

Your eyes meet the warm brown ones that belong to your boyfriend as you turn your head to glance at him next to you. “Hmm?”

”You didn’t hear anythin’ I said, did you?” Thomas chuckles, biting his lip as he watches you put on a guilty simper.

“No, sorry.” You breathe out a small laugh in order to cover up your underlying nervousness. “I zoned out for a minute there. What were you saying?” 

“Well, I’m arguin’ a case here. Technically, a hot dog — a piece of meat held together by two pieces of bread - is a sandwich, right? In simple terms and by definition this should be true, so don’t overthink it. My dad keeps saying it’s not, but please, Y/N, you gotta side with me this time.”

You take a breath in and click your tongue. “I don’t know, Peter, I think I gotta go with Thom on this one.”

“Yes!” Thomas celebrates, throwing his arms up dramatically. “I told you!”

Mr. Jefferson’s mouth drops at your response. “How dare you take his side. Did all those other times teaming up at dinner and making fun of him mean nothing to you?”

If it hadn’t been evident prior to this moment where Thomas gets his overdramatics from, then it’s certainly clear now.

“Case closed.” Thomas smirks, crossing his arms, proud of himself.

“What are you talking about? The case is far from closed.” His father retorts, splaying his arms out, causing Thomas’ mom to speak out. 

“Hey, calm down, you two. You’re gonna make a mess if you keep on bangin’ the table like that.” She chastises them. They both mutter their apologies before Thomas’ father continues on defending himself.

“Y/N, why’d you choose his side? You know I’m right. Don’t let that boy guilt trip you; he’s still gonna love you if you disagree with him.”

“Sorry, Peter.” You shrug, sneaking a glance at Thomas who’s watching you with a glint in his eyes. “As much as I don’t want to agree with your son on this one, I unfortunately do.”

Thomas pauses to narrow his eyes as you in puzzled manor. “‘Unfortunately?’ Your words wound me, sweetheart, really.” He says in a teasing tone before his smile turns smug as he directs his attention towards his father. “But you see, Dad? It’s 2 against 1. ‘M sorry to say, but your opinion is overruled.”

Mr. Jefferson waves his son off dismissively. “That’s horseshit; your mother hasn’t sided with anyone yet. We still have one more vote to count.”

“Language, Peter.” The woman in question warns, giving him a look that’s only half serious.

“Well, honey? You agree with me, don’t you?” Peter asks his wife with pleading eyes, causing her to roll hers.

“Sure, sweetie.”

You shake your head and smile, leaning back in your chair to watch the antics unfold.

“What? Ma, why you takin’ his side?” Thomas jumps in. “I’m supposed to be your favorite, you know.”

“Of course you’re my favorite; you’re my only child, Thomas.” His mother deadpans, causing Thomas to frown.

It’s Peter’s turn now to smirk at Thomas and you. “See? Now we’re tied. Opinion very much not overruled, thank you.”

“Wait, what was your side of the argument again?” Mrs. Jefferson asks her husband. “You said a hot dog is a sandwich, right?”

“No, that’s what I said.” Thomas interjects.

“Oh, well then I agree with Thomas.”

“Ha!” Your boyfriend exclaims, pointing at his dad. “I told you! Your opinion is not valid. Hot dogs are sandwiches. End of story.”

“They are not sandwiches! They are a different entity. How can you compare a ham and cheese to a weiner between two buns? Well I’ll tell you. You can’t!”

“For the last time, Dad. It’s a piece of meat in between two pieces of bread. That is classified as what? A sandwich!”

“With that logic, you’d say that a burger is a sandwich, too?”

“Yup.”

“There is somethin’ wrong with y’all.” Peter shakes his head, picking at the leftover food on his plate. “I thought I raised you better, T. Y/N, I expected you to take my side on this one.”

“Sorry, Mr. J.” You shrug. “Tommy’s right. A piece of meat in between two pieces of bread does indeed technically classify it as a sandwich.”

“Y’all got me thinkin’ that I’m the crazy one now.” Peter sighs defeatedly.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that nonsense.” Thomas’ mother chuckles, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “Thomas, honey, your father and I are very proud of you and are excited for your opportunity at UVA.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Thomas grins. “I’m excited, too.”

Under the table, Thomas’ hand finds yours and laces your fingers together. Its warmth is comforting and the small moment makes you forget about everything for just a moment. A small silence stretches on for a bit before Peter speaks up.

“So, Y/N, how are your college applications going? Have you gotten any scholarships yet? I feel like you’re too smart to not get anything.”

Your stomach drops at the question. You really hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this, and while it is a simple question that you should be able to answer quickly… you don’t. You hesitate and Thomas notices. 

You want to tell the truth, you really do, but you can’t. This is Thomas’ night to celebrate and the last thing you want to do is mess it up with news that you’d be going to school across the country. Tonight is supposed to be about him, not you.

So you lie.

“Oh, um, no, not yet.” You chuckle nervously. The hand holding Thomas’ fidgets slightly and he squeezes lightly to try and help calm your nerves. “I mean, I’ve gotten into NYU and Syracuse so far. Still waiting to hear from Columbia. I haven’t heard much as far as scholarships, though, unfortunately. I’ve received a few grants here and there, but nothing too big.”

“Columbia, wow. What’s their acceptance rate? 10%?” Mrs. Jefferson asks, seemingly interested.

“6%.” Thomas jumps in to answer before glancing at you with a small smile. “I don’t think Y/N will have any trouble getting in, though.”

You send him the biggest smile you can muster, though you feel like it sort of comes out as a grimace. “Thanks, T.” You say softly.

Beat.

“What time is it? I think it’s past my bedtime.” Peter yawns, checking his watch. “10 o’clock? Where did the time go? Y/N, are you going to be okay driving home this late?”

“It’s not that late, Mr. Jefferson. I should be fine.” You’ve definitely driven home from Thomas’ place past 10pm before (multiple times), but you’re not telling him that. “I do think I should probably leave soon, though.”

“You wanna go get your things upstairs, then I can walk you out?” Thomas asks you with a mischievous look in his eye. Knowing him, he probably just wants to get you alone for a bit before you leave. Even through your nervousness to tell him the truth, you can’t deny his charm.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Tommy.”

Then, both you and Thomas excuse yourselves from the table. You make sure to thank Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson for dinner and the invite. You’re always honored to be included in their family events even if it’s something as small as dinner on a Friday night.

When you make it up to Thomas’ room, he doesn’t waste another moment before he kisses you softly, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek after he gently shuts the door.

“Been waitin’ to do that all night.” He grins afterwards, softly brushing over the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

You smile as you bring your hands up to his shoulders, wordlessly leaning forward to sweetly press your lips to his again.

“Missed you.” He mumbles as he pulls away to lean his forehead against yours. “Feel like we haven’t been seeing a lot of each other lately.”

He’s right. With both of you not having any classes together this year, you both worried about college applications, Thomas not in football season anymore and in and out of PT almost constantly, you two haven’t been seeing each other as much as you’d like. Another reason why you haven’t been able to tell Thomas about UCLA (aside from the fact that you simply don’t have the guts to do it).

“I know.” You sigh, looking off to the side for a second. “I’m sorry.”

“‘S not your fault. We’ve both been busy.”

“Yeah, but still.” You say softly. “Feels bad. I miss you.”

He chuckles. “Well, I’m right here, baby. Don’t need to go far.”

You smile haphazardly and roll your eyes as you bring your hand up to the back of his neck and pull him into another kiss. Who knows how many more of these you’ll get before you both graduate and have to go your separate ways.

Before it can go too far, you pull away again.

“T?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m so proud of you.” You say genuinely because you really want him to know. You feel like you don’t tell him enough (even though that’s not the case).  “Really, I am. You deserve that scholarship and so much more.”

“Thanks, love.” He murmurs while a soft smile adorns his face. “Hey, if none of these in-state schools give you anything, I think you’d have a good chance at getting something at UVA. They have an honors college that gives up a ton of grants and shit, you should look into it. I’m not sure if the applications are still open, but worth a try.”

You purse your lips before you give him your response. “Maybe, we’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’ll get something anyway, but just wanted to bring that up and let you know.”

“Appreciate the thought, Thom.”

Thomas grins, giving you one last peck on the lips before finally turning away to remove his overcoat. He double takes when he sees your face drop slightly. His eyebrows furrow as he notices your mood shift. “Hey, what’s wrong? Somethin’ botherin’ you? Not gonna lie, you’ve been a little off all night, sweetheart...”

You hesitate, not able to look him in the eye, the guilt eating you alive. The pressure of holding everything in is building up and while Thomas is normally your rock, the one you can go to for anything, you can’t this time, and you can feel it wearing you down.

You take in a shaky deep breath before you go to sit down on his bed, eyes cast towards the ground. “I’m okay, T, I’m just… stressed. With school.” You say, finally willing yourself to look up into his caring gaze. It hurts to lie to him, but you keep telling yourself that it’s his night.

“You sure?” He asks, taking a seat next to you to gently grab your hand in his. “Seriously, baby, I know when somethin’s up. What’s on that brilliant mind of yours, huh?” He lightly bumps his shoulder against yours in a teasing gesture, causing you to let out a half-hearted chuckle. He always knows how to get a laugh out of you, doesn’t he? “I know you’re worried about more than that stats test you have next week. Tell me what’s really botherin’ you.” He says softly, catching your gaze again.

Sighing once more, you tear your eyes away from his pleading ones. “I um…” You trail off after trying and failing to come up with another lie or excuse. 

Thomas always draws your worries and frustrations out of you; he knows you so well to the point where he knows exactly what to say to convince you to tell him something. Honesty has never been a problem in your relationship, and the last thing you want is to push it to a point of no return. You already feel terrible for withholding the truth; you want to be free from this secret you’ve been holding.

And suddenly seven words echo in your head:

“Tell him. He’ll understand. He loves you.”

Your eyes flit back up to meet his concerned gaze. Here it goes.

“I did get a scholarship. All tuition and expenses paid. I got the email a week and a half ago and I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen at the confession, taken aback by how big the news is.

“Holy shit, Y/N, that’s… that’s amazing, baby. I’m so proud of you. Not surprised, but proud nonetheless.” He says genuinely, a smile evident on his face before it drops slightly. “Why didn’t you wanna tell me?” There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again. “Wait, why’d you lie at dinner when my dad asked?”

You give him a sad smile before you look away again, fidgeting with your fingers on the hand that Thomas isn’t holding. “I didn’t want to take over your night, T. And I didn’t tell you when I found out because… the school’s in Cali.” You say, releasing a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He cocks his head to the side slightly, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you only applied to schools in-state.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips before you respond. “That’s what I had planned originally, but my advisor pushed me to apply for this scholarship program at UCLA and… well, I got in.”

Thomas goes silent for a few moments as he looks off to the side, breathing deeply. It’s hard to tell what he’s feeling. Then, he lets out a low whistle. “Full-ride to UCLA, huh?” He says softly before he turns to look at you. 

“Thomas…” You start, your voice soft and full of worry, but he continues to talk.

“Are you going to accept it?” He asks and you nod slowly. 

Ideally, you have no other real choice; by going to UCLA you’d graduate with zero debt. And with UCLA’s engineering program and opportunities that other schools can’t fulfill, it fills all the boxes you want in a university.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Really. I’m glad they recognize how amazing you are.” The tone in Thomas’ voice is fond and he’s absolutely sure of the words he’s saying. “It’s far away, I know, but we can make it work.” 

The emotions in his eyes are conflicting, but they still hold unrelenting love and support in them. When you hesitate to respond, his eyes search yours, trying to find some sort of answer in them, but before he can decipher anything, you tear your gaze from his.

“Right?” He asks as his grip on your palm loosens until your hand falls back into your lap, the warmth from Thomas’ fingers completely vanished. “Baby, talk to me. Please.”

“Thom, I… I want to think that but I’m not sure.” You admit quietly, and having said that, you can see something in Thomas’ composure crumble.

He shakes his head. “Nah, don’t you say that. We can make this work, Y/N.” His voice wavers slightly as he stands up and runs a hand over his curls, smoothing them back and away from his face. “I haven’t accepted the offer at UVA. I can decline and apply to UCLA—”

“T, I’m not going to ask you to do that—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to ask me, love. I’m willing to do this all on my own. Like I said, we can make this work. I’ll improvise. My parents can afford it, then I can just join the football team as a walk-on. I’m confident I’ll make it. Since they didn’t give me an offer I’ll prove them wrong and be the best damn walk-on they ever had.”

“Thomas, don’t—”

“I can also have my dad send the head coach a letter. I didn’t wanna pull that for any other schools because I wanted to earn all my offers — and because of the whole nepotism thing — but I’ll make an exception for—”

“Thomas, please!” You raise your voice and when he finally stops, you immediately regret it. You’ve never raised your voice like that with him before and doing so right now feels terrible. 

“Please, T, just stop. I don’t want you to do any of that for me. How long have you been waiting for UVA to give you a chance? How many letters have you personally written to Coach Michaels, begging him to consider you for one of their open receiver positions?”

Thomas is silent as you speak, knowing full well that you have a point. You continue.

“You’ve been set on UVA as your top school for a couple months now. Don’t forget how hyped you were when you finally got the offer this morning. And now you want to just throw that away? No. I’m sorry, Thom, but I am not going to be the one to take it away from you.”

“You’re not.” He says earnestly. “Taking it away from me, I mean. I want to do this for you. For us. UCLA has a good football program, too, all I have to do is pull some strings if you’ll let me.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay, well I’m not letting you do that. Thomas, it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem. Think about this, okay? Think about yourself and your football career and all the opportunities that you’ll have for yourself down in Virginia. Don’t let me get in the way of that! I don’t want each of us to be an obstacle in each other’s successes.”

Thomas gives you an incredulous look and stills himself. “Are you serious? Is that what you consider our relationship? An obstacle?”

You look away, sighing. “No, T, I… I didn’t mean it like that, you know that.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t know that.” He looks at you with a distressed gaze, all traces of comfort and playfulness gone and replaced with hurt… caused by you — something you never would have thought you’d see in his eyes. 

“Look, I don’t wanna talk about this right now. Today’s supposed to be your day.”

“Let me get one thing straight, Y/N. Our relationship is not an obstacle… it never has been and it never will be.” Thomas says coldly and you cringe when he calls you by your full name in a tone that’s less than friendly.

“I just don’t want our love for each other to get in the way of…” You trail off, but decide against speaking mid-sentence. “You know what, nevermind.”

“Get in the way of what?”

“Thomas,” you start, making eye contact with him once again. “I don’t want to get in the way of your football career. It’s unfair; I can’t do that to you, T. You deserve to make the most of your career in college so that you can make it to the NFL. That’s your dream, right? To play in the NFL for the New York Giants like your father did. Am I right?”

His jaw clenches slightly as he nods, and you continue.

“The coach at UVA believes in you — even through your injury. Why are you going to throw that away? In order to be with your high school girlfriend? Do you see how childish that sounds?” A beat of silence passes before you continue in a softer tone. 

“I just… I don’t want you to do that, Thomas, it’s too big of a risk. You have a solid spot at UVA to prove yourself on the field. If you drop that for a walk-on position at UCLA, it’ll be a mistake. Instead of proving yourself to NFL recruiters, you’ll be set on proving yourself to college coaches just to get a chance on the field. I want you to have the best chances at making it to the NFL.” Now it’s your turn to stand up. You pace away from him as you continue to speak. 

“Let’s say you do follow me to UCLA and join the football program. What if… what if something happens while we’re in college and we’re not together anymore? What will happen? You’d have potentially messed up your career for me and I don’t want that to happen, T. I’m sorry but I won’t let that happen.”

Thomas holds a hand up to stop you from your ramblings. He speaks his next words slowly.  “Wait, wait, hold on now. You think we’re going to break up in college?”

You roll your eyes in frustration, crossing your arms defensively. “That’s not what I said—”

“No, no that’s exactly what you said.” He responds coldly, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’m starting to question our intentions in this relationship, Y/N. Did you ever plan on us being long term?”

“See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell you. I didn’t want this to happen.” You say, annoyed that it’s gotten to this point of you two having an argument.

“You just gonna ignore my question?”

“Before applying to schools, T, I wasn’t even thinking about the future. I was taking things day by day. We were both pent up in our little perfect world, but right now we need to face reality.”

“Okay, so then why’d you keep this a secret from me? Were you plannin’ on keepin’ this to yourself until graduation? I don’t know if you knew this, sweetheart, but a relationship is a two-way street and involves a little somethin’ called communication.” His snarky tone fills the room and has you rolling your eyes again. “Girlfriends aren’t supposed to lie to their boyfriends and then get mad at him for reacting a certain way when she finally decides to tell him huge news.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” You say, breathing out another sigh and softening up at his last sentence. He’s right; you shouldn’t have kept it a secret. “I wanted to tell you, I just, I don’t know what’s gonna happen after we graduate, okay? And I’m scared.”

“You don’t think we can work through that together? As a team?” Thomas’ eyes are begging you to reason with him. “I’m scared, too, but we’ll figure something out. Right?”

The look in your eyes is distant as you cast them down to the ground. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we could do a long distance thing. I’ve seen other couples do it.”

You fiddle with a loose thread on your sweater. “I don’t know, T. We’ll see if we can come up with something.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs out a hot-tempered laugh. “Okay.” He says shortly.

“What?”

“So you don’t want me to drop everything and go to UCLA with you, which is fine. I understand that. But now you’re telling me that you don’t wanna do long distance?”

“I didn’t say that, I just— we need to be realistic, Thom.”

“What does that even mean?!” He yells, and it’s the first time he’s ever raised his voice at you. You hate it.

“We have to keep the future in mind!”

“I want you in my future! Don’t you want me in your future?”

“We both have different ideas of what we want. Different dreams, okay? You can’t have your dream of making it to the NFL and also have me when I plan on going to an engineering program across the country!” 

You’re deflecting and he knows it.

“Answer the damn question, Y/N.” He says lowly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Of course I want you in my future, Thomas!” You say exasperatedly, looking at the ceiling. “What kind of question is that?”

“Forgive me if I’m strugglin’ to believe that when you’re actin’ like this.” He says, his voice taking a more neutral tone, but he sounds exhausted. “You’re going to school across the country and you were hesitant to tell me - fine. I fucking get it. But you can’t just say that we’ll probably break up in college and think that that is fucking okay. It’s not! And you can’t say ‘I don’t know’ about dating long distance when that’s literally the only other option we have.”

“That’s the thing, Thomas. I don’t know if that’s the only other option we have.”

His face looks puzzled as he looks at you for a few seconds before realization finally settles in. Thomas narrows his eyes at you once again, his gaze cold, making your heart drop in your chest. “You wanna break up, don’t you?”

“No.” You state, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t want to. But we have to think about—”

“Our future, yeah. I get it.” Thomas snaps, cutting you off. “You know what? You want to talk about the future? Fine. Maybe we should.” He says simply, crossing his arms. “If you think we’re just going to break up in college anyway, maybe we should just speed up the process and get it over with.”

You shake your head at him. “Thomas, don’t do this. That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s not.”

“I find that extremely hard to believe.”

“I’m done arguing with you, Jefferson.” You breathe out tiredly, running a hand through your hair.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks completely drained as he speaks again, his voice now calm. “What are we doing here, Y/N?”

A small silence fills the air before you answer quietly. “I don’t know, T.”

What are you both doing? Arguing about whether or not your relationship should continue after high school? Maybe you are being a little irrational about it, implying that you should break up before college and all. Thomas’ reaction to it all is understandable because he doesn’t want to lose you. However, he needs to be truthful to himself. Is this relationship going to work when the two of you are seeking entirely different career paths on opposite coasts?

What a fucking mess.

You hate that it’s gotten to this point. Your fear about telling Thomas and it going downhill has come true, and knowing that makes you even more emotional.

“Tommy… I…” You say sotto voce, on the edge of tears as you slowly reach for him, but he puts a hand up stopping you from moving any further. He turns his face so you can’t see his expression.

“Don’t, Y/N.” Thomas’ voice is firm, but it breaks slightly when he says your name. “Just don’t.” He whispers.

You watch him and he struggles to keep himself together. You hate that you’ve done this to him, that you’re making him feel this way… you hate that you’ve caused this.

“I’m gonna go…” You voice (barely above a whisper) after a long silent pause, not trusting your normal voice due to the shaky deep breaths that begin to rack your body. You’re on the verge of breaking down.

Thomas nods. “I think you should.”

And that breaks your heart.

You feel weird leaving like this, gross even. You don’t want to leave things off like they are. You don’t want to leave things unresolved and you don’t want to leave with Thomas still angry at you. Still, though, you grab all your things and head to the doorway of his room.

Pausing to look back at him, you open your mouth to say something, but hesitate. Deciding against it, you turn to open the door and leave without another word.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You call Maria as soon as you get to your car. She helps you keep your composure as you drive to her house, keeping you company via phone. You make sure to send your family a quick text of your whereabouts and that you plan to spend the night at Maria’s place.

As soon as you arrive in her bedroom and drop your bag to the ground, you break down and begin to sob, crashing into the welcoming arms of your best friend. You cry until you can’t anymore, and Maria is there for you the entire time hugging you and easing you through it.

She stays there, quiet and still, allowing you to let out all of your emotions. You don’t tell her the details about what happened until after you have no tears left to cry.

“Don’t be mad at T, please, none of this is his fault.” You sniffle, wiping at your nose with a tissue Maria gave you. “It’s all mine.”

“Y/N, don’t blame yourself for all this. You just want what’s best for the both of you in the long run. If he doesn’t understand that, then he’s just not seeing the whole picture.”

“I just hate arguing with him, Maria.” You say weakly, wiping at your face to dry your tears. “This is our first fight and I hate how I feel right now. I don’t want things to end on bad terms. How am I supposed to get over this feeling once we… if we break up before college?”

“You don’t have to end things on bad terms, Y/N.” Maria says softly. “You both need to be on the same page about this. If you both make a plan and sort things out, then maybe you can leave things on a positive note. Not as a goodbye, but as a see you later, you know? And if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. You’ll meet again one day and you can pick up where you left off. But if it’s not, then at least you guys can cherish what you had when you were just two kids in high school who didn’t know any better and made the most of their teenage years.”

You nod slowly. She does have a point, and this is all what you were thinking when you had even brought up the thought of breaking up after graduation.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“It’s my best friend superpower. I can’t help it.” She shrugs, making you laugh, even if it was only a half-hearted one. “Seriously, though. You two need to have an honest conversation with one another.”

You sigh, wiping the rest of your drying tears away with the tissue. “I think we both could use some space right now, though. I’m going to wait until Monday.”

Maria nods. “Monday. But you have to talk to him. You can’t chicken out. I know you, Y/N.”

“Sometimes a little too well…”

“All for the best.” She grins.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

After a long and lonely weekend, Monday finally comes and you make sure to wake up earlier than usual in order to make it to school in time for when Thomas comes out of his physical therapy session with his track trainer.

You haven’t called, texted, or seen each other since Friday night and the guilt and heaviness from what happened still weighs on your chest despite the reassuring words from Maria. 

Patiently and nervously, you wait outside the boys’ locker room like you have countless times before, only this time, things feel much different. The anticipation lingers in the air surrounding you and you feel the stress push at your shoulders until the door finally opens and Thomas walks out.

After over a year of dating, you still get butterflies at the sight of him even though he’s just wearing simple black jeans and a t-shirt.

As he shrugs on his jean jacket and backpack, he glances up through a few stray curls that fall down in front of his eyes. His eyes flicker to you as he walks in your direction before he rips them away quickly. 

“T, hey how was…?” You try to speak to him, but he just continues to walk past you.

You watch him as he goes on like nothing, completely disregarding your presence.

“You’re still mad…” You trail off, falling into step with him and his pace doesn’t falter.

He doesn’t say a word.

“Listen, I know you probably don’t wanna see me right now, but please hear me out.”

Still nothing.

You know he’s still upset; he only gets quiet when he has a lot on his mind or he’s going through something. Taking in a deep breath, you speed up so that you can get in front of him.

“Thomas, hey, stop.” You say, putting a hand on his chest. You know that if he really wants to charge past you he can, but instead he stays there, halted by your touch. He looks down at you, his face nearing yours, and your eyes plead with his. “Please.” You whisper, your fingers curling into his black shirt to hold him there (or maybe it’s more of a way to ground yourself).

Thomas’ detached gaze lingers on your face and as your eyes search his, you note just how devoid of energy he looks. 

“I just want to talk. I…” You watch him as he breaks your gaze to look at the ground. “I know I fucked up; I said some things I shouldn’t have. Just please let me make it up to you. I need you, T. I want to fix this while we still can.”

You sneak a glance around you to see that you’ve attracted some attention from your fellow classmates who are unapologetically staring. Do they know about you and Thomas’ fight? How could they possibly know? You two are hardly making a scene, but then again… people are vultures who will perk up at even the slightest bit of drama.

“Can we go somewhere private? Please? Just the two of us.”

Thomas licks his lips as he looks around, then back at you lazily. “Can this wait? We have class in six minutes, you know.”

“Let’s skip.” You say, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “This is more important than class today, okay? How about we go to that diner down the street?”

“It’s a little too early for a milkshake and fries, isn’t it?”

“They have eggs and waffles, too.” You say, your eyes pleading him to accept your offer. “Please? I know you love breakfast.”

He’s quiet for a few more minutes and you wait in anticipation for his answer. Just when you get your hopes down and think he’s going to reject you, he speaks up.

“Okay.” He responds finally. “But only because I really don’t want to watch boring presentations about the social cognitive theory in my Psych class…”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “That’s good enough for me, T.”

“Bribin’ me with breakfast. You know that shit’s my weakness…” He mutters under his breath as he shakes his head. You’re not sure if he’d meant for you to hear that, but either way it makes a hint of a grin form on your lips.

“Come on, I’ll drive.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When you get to the diner, it’s fairly empty except for an elderly couple at a booth and a man at the counter drinking a cup of coffee. The smell of eggs and bacon wafts through the air and enters your nostrils as you breathe in.

A waitress greets you when you two slide into a booth, sitting across from each other. She hands you both menus and gets your drink orders before she’s off.

Silence fills the air between you as you both look over your menus. Thomas doesn’t say anything and it feels weird, suddenly reminding you of why you’re here in the first place. While from an outside perspective it may look like a normal outing between you two, you can feel the lingering tension in the air that’s leftover from Friday night. Unspoken feelings and unresolved problems still remain. 

You sneak a glance at him over your menu only to find him already staring back at you. As soon as your eyes meet, he looks away.

“I feel really bad about Friday.” You finally break the silence, your voice small. Wanting nothing more than to let him know how you feel, you try to catch his gaze. When his brown eyes finally meet yours, you continue. “I hate the way we left things…”

“Me too.” He finally says softly. You two stare at each other for a few more seconds and Thomas opens his mouth to continue. “I…”

Then, the waitress comes back with a couple water cups and two black coffees, interrupting whatever it was that Thomas was about to say. You and Thomas direct your attention to her with fake smiles as she asks for your orders. 

After she takes your menus and leaves, you let out a sigh as you look down at your fidgeting hands.

“Listen, T…” You begin, regret and guilt evident in your voice. You make sure to look up and meet his gaze one more time before you continue. “I'm sorry for lying to you and your family — I should have told you the day I found out, but I was too afraid of losing what we have. And I'm sorry for fucking up your day when we were supposed to be celebrating instead.” 

You stop to take in a shaky deep breath, looking down at your hands once again. “I’m so sorry if I made it seem like I was doubting our relationship or… or if I made you feel like I didn’t… like you weren’t…” Struggling to find the right way to express how sorry you are, your tone gets more and more emotional as you stumble over your words.

Thomas saves you from your struggle, however, as his hand reaches across the table to cover yours, causing you to look up at him with surprise. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“What?” You voice breathlessly. “I… I thought you were still mad. It shouldn’t be that easy. Why are you…?”

He shrugs slowly. “Because you’re not entirely at fault… and as much as I want to stay angry, I can’t stand seein’ you in distress like this.”

You purse your lips and squeeze his hand in yours. “I’m still really sorry, T. I want you to know that. I said some things I regret and…”

“I know you are. Especially after seeing you try to fix things today by not takin’ no for an answer earlier. We both said some things we regret and it’s okay, Y/N. Really.” His voice is soft as he responds. “I’m sorry for yellin’ and not fully listenin’ to what you were sayin’. And for bein’ kind of a dick to you earlier when I ignored you. I was in denial. I just felt like you were givin’ up on us too quickly and I… I don’t wanna mess up what we have. I really don’t.”

Your eyes soften at his words. “I know. Me neither.”

You both are quiet for a few seconds as you both struggle to find a way to address the elephant in the room. 

Luckily, you both get interrupted by the waitress again who comes back with your orders. You let go of each other’s hand when your plates are placed in front of you. Your mouth waters at the sight of your food, and you thank your waitress before she leaves again, telling you to let her know if you need anything else.

A comfortable silence falls in the space between you and Thomas, and though you feel that the tension from Friday night has now dissipated, the stress of the upcoming conversation still sits on your shoulders.

Surprisingly, Thomas is the one who initiates it.

“So…” He starts after chasing a mouthful of pancakes with a sip of water. “I’m guessin’ you won’t be comin’ back to town on holiday breaks?”

You cringe at the bluntness of the question. “What made you assume that?”

He shrugs, chewing his food before swallowing. “Just the way you were so helpless with your options. Thinking back to it, I figure that you probably wouldn’t have jumped to the possibility of breaking up unless you’d already thought things through somewhat.”

Very observant of him.

You nod before letting out a small sigh. “Yeah. My family’s planning on moving to Miami once I move out. Apparently they’re tired of the cold weather and wanted to wait to move until I graduated high school. They let me know when I told them the news.”

“Erik, too?”

“He’s staying in Philly until he graduates next Spring.”

“Well, that sucks.” He says, picking at the leftovers on his plate.

“Yeah.” You reply softly. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Thomas. I thought the answer was clear, but now I’m not so sure.”

He sighs, putting his fork down before looking up at you. “I think I do.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you tilt your head in confusion.

Thom sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Well, for starters, you’re always right, let me just put that out there.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Well, for this instance, at least.” He says simply before he continues. “As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think we’ve got options here.”

“Yes we do, you said it yourself, T.”

“We don’t, Y/N, you were right. I didn’t wanna believe it before but now, I don’t think I have a choice.” He says, holding your gaze firmly. “The two of us going to the same school is out of the picture. Especially with application deadlines already being passed - I checked and I don’t know what I was thinking on Friday. And with us not going to be able to see each other even on holiday breaks… I don’t think that leaves anythin’ else on the table.”

“Thomas, really, you don’t have to do this. Don’t let me pressure you into something you don’t wanna do. Like you said, a relationship’s a two way street. We can work something out. I don’t know what, but we’ll try something else.”

“You’re not pressuring me, Y/N. What would that ‘something else’ be? Long distance? The chances of us visiting each other are slim, especially since I’ll be stuck at UVA for the majority of summer break for training camp. Especially since you’ll be in California and especially since you have no incentive to come back to town after you graduate.”

“You’re my incentive, T.”

He licks his lips and lets out a small laugh. “Baby, don’t fight me on this; you wanted this. Why the shift?”

“I don’t wanna lose you.” You say, voice quiet and close to tears.

Thomas reaches out across the table for your hand again. You lace your fingers with his and hold tightly. “I know. I don’t want to lose you either, but you were right, sweetheart. Seeing each other once a year isn’t good enough, let’s be real. I think we’d be hurting more than we'd be happy.”

You let out a long, deep sigh, squeezing his hand. He’s absolutely right and you knew this when you started this conversation on Friday — doesn’t mean that you don’t want to avoid it, though.

“We… we should…” He hesitates to continue the sentence. “We— God, why is this so hard?”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, T.”

He takes a deep breath before the words finally come out. “We should break up. This summer.”

It sounds foreign coming out of his mouth and his change in viewpoint surprises you still, even after talking it through with him.

“I don’t wanna be your shackle, Y/N.” He says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. “I want you to do great things without worryin’ about me. Just like you were sayin’ on Friday. And I don’t wanna risk getting to a point where we grow too distant we lose all hope.”

Your eyes tear up a little bit and you reach up to wipe at your eyes with your free hand.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you off easy, missy.” Thomas looks at you pointedly, his voice wavering slightly. He lets out a small bittersweet laugh before he continues. “I’m gonna consider this more of a ‘see you later’ than a ‘goodbye forever’ kinda thing. At some point, I don’t know or care when, we’ll continue where we left off. Mark my words.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. You’ve definitely heard those words before. “Have you been talking to Maria lately?”

He gives you a confused look. “No, not since we went on that double date with her and Ellie like two weeks ago, why?”

“She said a similar thing to me when I vented to her this weekend.”

“Really? Oh. I thought I was clever for that one.”

“You were.” You smile, rubbing small circles on the top of his hand.

A comfortable silence settles. The waitress comes back with the check and you give her your card against Thomas’ protests. It’s not long before she comes back and wishes that you both have a good rest of your day.

“This is gonna fucking suck.” Thomas suddenly says bluntly.

“Yeah, it is.” You sigh. “But you know what? We’re gonna make the most of the next three months. We’ll laugh together, we’ll cry together, we’ll enjoy the good times, and when the time comes… we won’t look back. Then, maybe one day, when I’m an engineer and you’re in the NFL… we’ll meet again.”

He sends you a watery smile, giving your hand a small squeeze. “I’m countin’ on it, sweetheart.”

You reciprocate his smile as a small silence stretches in between you two.

Thomas’ eyes fall onto his untouched (and probably now cold) coffee and with his free hand he reaches for the cream. You take that as a sign to let his hand go to let him tend to his glorified bean water, but as you try to withdraw your fingers from his, he just holds on tighter.

“Um, excuse me? What do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, glancing at you like you just committed a sin. 

“Don’t you need to pour creamer?” You raise an eyebrow, wondering what the big deal is. “I don’t want you to spill it.”

“Girl, I can pour creamer with one hand, thank you very much.” And there’s the Thomas you know and love, not that he was ever absent in the first place, but it’s good to see him messing around again. “Let me hold your hand in peace because God knows how many more times I’ll get to do it. I gotta savor it.”

“Stoppp.” You whine, drawing the word out. “This is how you’re gonna act until graduation, isn’t it?”

“You complainin’, sweetheart?” He fake pouts as he carefully pours the cream in his coffee and stirs with a spoon. “I thought you loved me.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I love your dramatic ass.”

“Mhm. In more ways than one.” Thomas hums before he takes a sip of his coffee. He cringes when he realizes it’s cold and you laugh at his reaction.

“Ready to go yet?” You ask, amused.

He nods. “We’re not going back to class, though, are we? Because if that’s the case, then no.”

“What? Hell no. Who do you think I am?” You say as you both mutually let go of each other’s hand to get up from the booth.

“A goody-two-shoes, that’s what you are. Really, baby, I didn’t expect you to mention skipping class. That’s like… blasphemy for you.”

You shrug as he holds the front door open for you. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

Thomas gives you a suggestive look and that causes you to smack his arm. “God, Thomas, not like that. Jesus.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh as you approach your car and he grabs you by the waist as he leans back against the driver’s door. He presses a kiss to your forehead, hugging you close to him. “Just messin’.”

You roll your eyes before you pull back to look him up and down.

“When’d you get this jacket? Haven’t seen you in it before.” You muse, bringing your hands up to grab the denim on each side of his collar.

“A week ago? Maybe two? This is my first time wearing it, though.” He answers before he smirks. “Why? You like it?”

“Yeah, you look good in denim.”

“Do I, now?” He cocks his head slightly, amused as your face drifts closer.

“Mhm. The jacket really suits you.” You hum, releasing the material with one of your hands to slide it up to his jaw. You give him a soft kiss on his lips before you pull back. “Might look better on the floor, though. I don’t know. We’ll have to try and find out.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise; he hadn’t expected you to turn the suggestive talk around on him. A smirk forms on his lips as he presses them to yours one more time.

“Your parents home?” He mumbles against you.

You pull away slightly to think about it for a second. “No, actually.”

“Well, then I guess we’re about to find out.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Over the next few months, you and Thomas keep the promise you gave to each other at the diner. You’ve stayed positive and lived in the moment and, to be honest, those three months have probably been the best three months of your life.

You and Thom are both making the most of your time, making sure to spend almost every weekend together. 

You study together even though you don’t share any classes. Most of the time is spent doing homework in silence, but you still enjoy each other’s presence.

For spring break, you go on a trip to the beach with Thomas, Maria, Ellie, James, Aaron, and a few more mutual friends. The week is full of banter and lots of fun-filled memories that you’ll remember for many years to come. It’s definitely one of the many highlights of senior year.

Thomas, being his over-the-top self, asks you to prom by spelling ‘Prom?’ out with bouquets of roses on your front lawn. And as if that isn’t enough, you wake to the sound of a live orchestral quartet playing your favorite song. You groggily walk over to your window to see where the sound is coming from and you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend grinning up at you with his arms gesturing around him proudly.

Of course you say yes. 

You would have said yes even if he had asked you casually — but what can you say… you’re a sucker for flowers and he knows it.

Prom night is an absolute blast. You feel like a stunner in your dress and Thomas looks unbelievably handsome in his fitted tux. You stay together the entire night, dancing, singing, laughing, and joking around with both your and his friends.

You almost lose track of the amount of date nights you have with Thomas. You have movie nights, some nights you go rollerskating, concerts, restaurants, hell, you even go paintballing together, which is something that neither of you had ever thought you’d get into.

But as June grows closer and closer, you can’t help but feel that heaviness settle back into your chest. You’d be lying if you said that you haven’t thought about backing out of this agreement the two of you have. In fact, you’ve spent countless nights lying wide awake (sometimes right next to Thomas), trying to figure out how things would go if you decide to stay together.

With your parents deciding to move down to Miami a week after you graduate, it pushes the day you move out to LA earlier than you had originally intended, which makes the idea of staying together seem next to impossible. Your mother says that it’ll be a good opportunity for you to get to know the LA area before classes start in August. 

This causes you and Thomas to have a more in-depth conversation about the plan and it ends with you two deciding to break it off a week before your big move. Both of you are in agreement that it would be best for the both of you, so that you have some time to recover. You figure it will be easier that way.

So, when the time comes to start packing your things for your move to California (and your parents’ move to Florida), you get stressed out. You notice that Thomas’ and your enthusiasm/positivity starts to fade as the date of graduation creeps closer and closer.

Which brings you to the present.

On the day of graduation, reality finally hits you. Because not only are you recognizing the fact that you’re leaving the love of your life in eight days to go to school in Cali, you’re also leaving Maria who has been a constant in your life since elementary school.

Maria plans to stay in town and go to community college to knock out all her general education classes before she transfers to a four-year university. Luckily, her girlfriend Ellie has the same idea, so they’ll be taking the same path after high school.

At least they will be together.

Unlike you and Thom, who are currently posing for a photo together for his and your parents who stand behind their phones grinning and teary eyed. You both give your best smiles to the cameras, trying to preserve the memory as best as possible without breaking.

Surprisingly, you and Thomas have stayed strong despite the impending suspension of your relationship that lingers in the atmosphere between you. Although teary eyed because you are saying goodbye to a lot of friends and faculty you’ve gotten to know over the years, you and Thomas don’t cry on graduation day. You don’t cry during the ceremony, you don’t cry during the many pictures you take that day, and you don’t cry at the large family dinner the Jefferson household holds for both you and Thomas.

You’ve both toughed it out both privately and in public. But graduation day eventually comes to its inevitable end, and the day after begins, marking your last day with Thomas Jefferson as your boyfriend.

The two of you make your last day special and have a day-long picnic in a nearby park. You wake up early and spend the entire day together, laughing, kissing, talking, and having as much fun as you can with the inevitable future looming over your heads. You both make the best of your time together, and that’s really all you can ask for.

As the day goes by, your time together begins to run out. And both of your composures begin to fade as each second passes.

While your curfew to be back home is 10pm, you and Thomas decide to hold onto each other a bit longer, so he drives you home and you sneak him into your room when your parents are too busy packing in the basement. They know that this is your last day with Thomas, so when you’re distracting them while Thomas makes his way up the stairs, you tell them that you’re going to sleep early. They comfort you for a few minutes but leave you to your own grief, knowing to respect your wish of ‘sleeping the night off.’

Little do they know, you and Thomas decide to have one more special night together. 

When you finally make your way up to your bedroom, Thomas is sitting on your bed, glancing at the half-empty boxes in the corner of your room that need to be filled. Half of your room is packed up, but you’ve put off packing lately to spend time with Thom before you physically can’t anymore.

You let out a sniffle and you don’t realize that you are on the verge of crying until you see Thomas begin to break, too.

“Come here.” He murmurs, standing up from your bed to pull you into a tight hug. 

You both cry into each other’s shoulders, fully letting yourselves go emotionally as you let out your pent up sadness. You’re getting each other’s clothing wet with tears, but neither of you care as you cling onto each other, not wanting to let go.

You don’t know how long you stay there or how long it takes until both of you calm down enough so that your tears fall silently.

“I told you this was gonna fucking suck.” Thomas mumbles against you, causing you to let out a laugh and sob at the same time.

You don’t respond, but after a few seconds, you pull away from his shoulder to look at him. Silence stretches between you before you whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He echoes without hesitation before he leans his forehead against yours. You both bask in each other’s presence for a few more beats until Thomas speaks again, his words shaking. “Football won’t be the same without you, Y/N. I won’t be the same without you.”

“You played football for years before I became a part of your life. You’ll be fine, T.” You say quietly, though you are absolutely sure of your words. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek and wipe some of his tears away. “You’re gonna move on and be great and show people what you’re capable of.”

Silence stretches between the two of you before you take a step away from him as you remember something. Thomas frowns at your sudden withdrawal, but you explain yourself as you both wipe at your faces to dry them as best as each of you can.

“That reminds me…” You say, digging into one of the open boxes in the corner of your room until you feel a familiar piece of fabric. You pull out Thomas’ purple hoodie — the one he gave to you the night you officially became a couple. Damn, it feels so long ago now, but it hasn’t even been two years. “Here. You should probably take this back.”

He lets out a small laugh and takes the purple fabric from you to examine it. He seems lost in thought, but after a few moments, he shakes his head and hands it back to you. “Nah. Keep it.”

When you don’t take it, his hand reaches out to one of yours and he wraps your fingers around the fabric. You try to protest, but he continues.

“Don’t want you forgettin’ about me, now, do we?” He chuckles dryly.

“I won’t forget you, Thomas.” Your voice sounds so sure of your words that Thomas has no choice but to believe you.

He swallows and looks down for a second before he glances back into your eyes. “I know.”

“You’re gonna forget about me, though.”

Thomas shakes his head and his eyebrows scrunch together and he looks like he’s about to break again before he reaches out to pull you close.

“Never.” He mumbles into your hair before he pulls back. “Hey, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I will never forget you, Y/N Y/L/N. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

He brings his hands up to cup both sides of your face. His thumbs brush some fresh tears away before he continues to talk. “These eyes? Unforgettable. This beautiful face? Ingrained in my brain forever, sweetheart, I promise you that.” One of his thumbs lightly brushes over your lips. “Don’t even get me started on these lips. I’ll miss them for sure.”

Thomas pauses for a second before his beautiful brown eyes gaze into yours, letting you know that he truly means his next words. “I’m never going to forget any part of you, Y/N.”

You stay there, gazing at one another with nothing but pure love and admiration. Without breaking eye contact, you gingerly put Thomas’ hoodie (which is apparently yours now) back in the box you removed it from. You reach up to pull Thomas’ lips down to yours passionately. 

Thomas responds, instantly reciprocating the kiss with the same amount of emotion that you pour into it. He moves his hands from your cheeks to pull your body closer to him. Your hand digs into the material of his shirt and suddenly, you can’t get enough of each other. You both need more — to be closer — but neither of you rush anything. You take it slow and try to take in every little detail about each other.

As layer after layer of clothing comes off, you two savor the feeling of each other’s lips, bodies, and touch. Every soft moan, every sigh, every gasp, every kiss… each and every moment that you spend with each other is savored in one final heat-filled act of love.

Afterwards, you both lie in your bed under the blankets, Thomas’ arm around your naked body and your head on his bare chest. You cherish each other’s presence for one final time, basking in silence until Thomas finally breaks it, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You still sure about this, sweetheart?”

You are quiet for a few seconds before you answer, sotto voce. “Yeah, T.” You listen to his steady heartbeat as you bring your hand up to rest on his torso. “You?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

A few seconds pass and you subconsciously trace little circles on his abdomen with your thumb. Thomas’ arm tightens around your waist as he pulls your closer.

“I’m sorry things have to end this way.” He mumbles against you, his deep voice reverberating throughout his chest.

“Don’t be.” You murmur, exhausted from the emotional toll this day has taken on you. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world — unless there’s a way where it doesn’t end with you and Thomas going your separate ways.

You shake your head at yourself for thinking so negatively. You promised each other something back at that diner.

“It’s not the end, T.” You speak out loud, shifting so that your head rests on the pillow and you’re face to face with Thomas. “You said it yourself before and now it’s my turn to say it: this is a ‘see you later,’ alright? So I better fucking see you later, or else.”

He laughs (oh, you’re gonna miss that laugh) and his hand slides up the curve of your hip to pull himself closer to you. “Back at ya, princess.”

You both sniffle, but you know that your time together, for the time being, at least, has come to an end — especially as both of you begin to drift off no matter how hard you try to stay awake.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” You whisper in Thomas’ warm embrace.

Thomas responds after he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to.” 

So neither of you do. 

And you both fall asleep, bodies entangled with one another, content to be in each other’s embrace one last time before you move away.

The next morning, Thomas wakes up before you do and he slowly untangles himself from you as he wills himself to stay strong. He dresses himself as quietly as he can before he presses one last kiss to your temple.

Then, he takes one last look at your sleeping form before he leaves, keeping his word to you and not giving either of you a chance to say your goodbyes.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━   ♛   ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A week later, your heart beats frantically as you drop a box of things you plan on leaving behind against the wall outside of your room.

It’s minutes before you’re supposed to leave for the airport — you want to leave early in case something goes wrong and you get delayed. Sighing, you walk back into your empty room to check for any last things you may have missed packing into the many boxes that are already stashed into your parents’ car.

“Y/N?” You hear your brother call out from downstairs. “I think there’s someone waiting for you outside.”

Who could it be? You’ve already said your goodbyes to Maria earlier that day when she’d helped you finish packing.

Erik gives you a sad smile as you pass by and you give him a confused look.

“What? Who is it?” You ask, eyebrows raised. “You know we have to leave in a few, right?”

“You’ll see.” Erik says, causing you to sigh.

After determining that your final sweep (even though you’ve done it three times now) is done, you make your way past Erik and open the front door. When you make it onto your driveway, you’re shocked to see Thomas Jefferson standing there with a sheepish grin and his hands in his pockets, looking as handsome as ever.

“Thomas…” You trail off, surprised to see him after your last day together the week prior. “What are you doing here?”

Your boyfriend (well… ex now, technically) walks closer and takes his hands out of his pockets. You can see him fidgeting with his fingers as he speaks. “I uh…” He breathes out a nervous laugh before one of his hands reaches up to rub the back of his neck. 

You watch him from a few feet away as he struggles to get his words out.

“Well, I… as your… not-boyfriend wanted to say goodbye.” He says softly, shifting his eyes to the ground briefly before looking back up to gaze into yours. “I changed my mind. Leaving without saying goodbye just gutted me and made me feel like we had unfinished business. I had to see you one more time, Y/N. I-I’m sorry.” Thomas’ voice is unstable as he apologizes and you feel tears well up in your eyes as he continues. “I know this breaks our agreement and everything, but I couldn’t just let you leave before—”

You cut him off by stalking forward to wrap him into a crushing hug — a hug the two of you desperately need at the moment. Thomas doesn’t waste a second before his arms encircle your waist to hold you just as tightly to him.

Even though you had spent the entire day with each other just a week prior, the need to see each other — to feel each other — one last time has consumed you both. You agree that waking up to an empty bed without saying a proper goodbye (even though it’s what you had initially wanted) had crushed you, and it had caused you to be an emotional wreck to the following two days.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, sniffling before letting out a bittersweet laugh. “I just made this so much more fucking difficult for us.”

“It’s okay.” You reciprocate his laugh as tears stream down your face. “It’s so worth it, T.”

A few minutes pass by as you hold each other close.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m really gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, T.” You say quietly. “So much.”

You’ve lost track of time and your mother is the one to finally bring you and Thomas back to reality.

“Y/N, we gotta go, honey…” Your mom speaks as softly as possible from her position at the front door, and you can see the guilt on her face as she watches her daughter’s heart break. “You’re gonna be late for your flight.”

You turn back to Thomas and give him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You gave me the best year and eight months I could ever ask for… so thank you.”

You look up at him for a second before you sob and crash into his chest. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.” He replies softly before he steels himself. “But you have a flight to catch. Which means you need to go.”

You give him one last kiss, it’s watery from both of your tears but neither of you care.

“Go be great.” He says when you pull back. “You deserve the world, Y/N.”

He holds your hand until the grip slips when you take a step towards the car.

“See you later, Thomas.”

He smiles through his tears before he replies. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You get in the car and a few seconds later, your mother pulls out of the driveway (apparently Erik and your father are going to drive separately). As the car drives away, Thomas waves from your driveway until you can’t see him anymore. You know that’s the last you’ll see of him for a while.

And maybe, just maybe, you regret leaving him behind.

But a voice lingers in the back of your mind that gives you some sort of relief:

If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.

[jjmaydank]

Love Language

summary: love languages come in every shape and size. If there are only truly five, How do you and JJ express yours? 

a/n: Not sure if I am thrilled with how his came out but I wanted to post anyway. I might write a part two about how JJ appreciates words of affirmation and physical touch too depending on how this one does. 

If you ask any adult they’d say that 16-year-old’s have no idea what love is, and for the most part they’d be right. You weren’t naive, you didn’t expect to end up engaged, married, and living full kook with JJ, but every time he looked at you. Man, your heart skipped a beat and maybe just maybe you thought about how losing him would be like losing everything. You’d been together since the summer of 2019, one year together and yet the genuine ‘I love you’ statements were reserved for more intimate moments. Moments where only you, JJ, and the four walls in John B’s guest room could hear. Or hushed moments in the hammock watching the sunset for the who-knows-hundredth time. Sometimes the love pours into everyday moments, whether with words or with actions.

Acts of Service 

The group was huddled in John B’s kitchen yet again.

“JJ don’t” Kie pleads. He only glances at her “I have a stomach of steel Kie don’t worry” JJ boasts proudly. Just as he finished putting together his sandwich, the front porch door opens. “Hey guys” You say carrying in a white plastic bag in your left hand. They all mumble out their course of hellos and you walk over to JJ. He begins to wrap his arms around your waist and lean in to kiss you, you lean back. A confused look spreads on his face and you look at the sandwich on the plate, “did you eat any of that?” You ask, disgusted? “Nah, but I’m about to” he says, removing his arms from your waist and going towards the sandwich.

“Don’t” you say seriously, taking his bicep in your hand. “I bought you something to eat”, you put the bag on the counter and slide it towards him. “Fuck I don’t deserve you” he says. Removing the layers of the food as fast as possible. You kiss his cheek and turn your attention back to the gang. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one who goes to school anymore?” you question sitting down on the couch. John B shrugs, Kie and Pope are engrossed in a conversation, and then JJ speaks up, “School is for losers” he says with his mouth stuffed. You give him a look from the couch that translates to ‘you wanna rethink that’. “...and pretty girls” he says after swallowing and grinning at you. “Nice save” Pope comments sarcastically. JJ just winks at him and decides to sit next to you.

Words of Affirmation & Physical Touch 

The scholarship you had applied for was supposed to send out the finalist email beginning today. You nervously kept refreshing your email, although you were too far out in the marsh for it to get signal. You enjoyed spending time with the group on the boat but right now, getting that email was all you could think about.

“Babe, Beer?” JJ says walking up to you and offering you a fresh can. 

You look up briefly before returning your attention to your phone screen “No thanks”. He picks up on your distressed tone quickly. I guess that’s what dating for a year will do to you. You could always tell when JJ needed you with just one look and he could always tell with your choice of words and the way you said them. “What’s up?” He sounds so concerned, you almost feel bad for coming to this outing. Everyone else is having fun but you’ve been sober and sitting down since you arrived. “I just- Remember that scholarship I told you I applied for? The one where I got really vulnerable for and poured out everything I had? Well they are sending out the results today and I haven’t gotten anything yet” you feel relieved to have finally told someone how stressed you were feeling. “They’d be stupid not to choose you Y/N” he says. “What if I didn’t even stand out? I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford any university without that scholarship J” you voice getting quieter towards the ends. “You already have a full ride to a university,” he says nonchalantly. You give him a questioning look before he grabs your hand and holds it against his chest. “The university of my heart” he says kissing your cheek. You pull your hand away, “ oh my god you dork I’m being serious” yet you can’t help and smile at his antics.

He reaches out and for a second you think he’ll pull you onto his lap or rest his hand dangerously close on your upper hand as he usually does. To your surprise he does either, instead he puts a hand on the knee and uses his thumb to rub comforting circles onto your thigh. You sigh peacefully and choose not to say anything. In this moment you feel as if every little circle motion his thumb makes is a secret language of its own. ‘I love you’ ‘you’re gonna get in’ ‘you’re amazing and crazy smart’ things he’d typically say to you out-loud. You choose to embrace the silence and revel in the secret language for as long as possible until you hear the familiar chime of your phone and break out of your trace to check it. “The application Status of Y/N L/N” reads the subject line, the opening line begins with congratulations and right then and there you know. You were chosen as finalist. “Holy shit I made the finalist list” you whisper to yourself but JJ hears. “You made it?” JJ says a bit louder. “Hey guys she made the finalist list” JJ calls out to the group The music. They all express delight for you and John B hands you a beer, “Cheers, I’ll drink to that” he says clicking his cab against everyone else’s. You feel JJ’s hand give a small squeeze to your hand before you turn to him, “I knew you could do it” he says, removing his hand from your knee and opting to place it on the back of your seat.

Quality Time & Gifts 

Feeling the sand under your bare feet and the night breeze, you curl up closer to the warm body next to you. Keeping your eyes closed as you pay attention to your breathing and try to sync up with JJ’s. 

“Considering you’re trying to jump onto me at any given moment, I’m surprised you haven’t tried anything” You say eyes still closed and adjusting your position against his chest. It’s moments like these that become rarer and rarer with all the chaos of John B possibly being put in foster care at any given moment, and in general always being around the gang. It wasn’t like you and JJ were a secret but you weren’t a fan of couples that made out in the hallways during passing-period, so PDA was kept minimal out of respect for pogue rules. “Pretty sure it's always you who wants to jump on me” he says and although your eyes are still closed, you can tell he’s smirking. You say nothing and let the conversation die there. No matter how terrible a day is, just being in JJ’s arms makes it better. 

“Do you think we’re together by chance or Fate? You ask quietly. You wonder if JJ would have even pursed you had you been a kook or missed at the party the night you met . “Does it matter?” He asks, “I’m just wondering” you whisper back. The silence that washes over you two feels comfortable. Your thoughts run wild thinking about how JJ is really a whole person stubborn but with feelings and thoughts. Out of all the people that you could have come across that night, it was him and out of girls that consistently admire him, he was here with you. Will this last forever? And if not how would it end? What if-

“I love you” JJ says, kissing the top of your hair. “What for?” you happily accept the head kiss but still inquire why the random love confession. “I always love you, but you were thinking so hard I could hear your thoughts” He explains. He begins to shift to sit up and you pull away to give me the room to do so. You knew that you couldn’t stay out there all night long, it was cold and dark but you were willing to bear the environment if it meant more alone time with JJ. You wait for him to get up and extend an arm to pick you up. Instead, he sits up and begins to reach around his neck. He takes off his shark tooth necklace with ease and motions for you to sweep your hair to the side. You do as you're told and he slips the necklace on admiring how it looks against your skin. You reach up and grab at the necklace slowly as if it could break at any given moment. “JJ you don’t have to, it’s yours” you say not wanting to take one of the most important things away from him. “You’re mine too, I want you to have it” He says running a hand through his hair, leaving his hair messier but framing his face nicely. “Well I love it and I love you” grabbing onto either side of his face and bringing him in for a kiss. He easily lays you down against the sand and crawls on top and you know exactly where this might be going. You push his face away and look into his eyes, it's cold and dark but you stare into him like he holds the answer to every question in the universe. JJ goes in to kiss you again and you roll to the side. You love him but you aren’t risking ending up covered in sand and with hypothermia.

“Inside?” You question while lifting yourself up and dusting off the remaining sand.

“Fuck yeah” He responds, ready to go.

[noona-clock]

Him

Genre: College!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jinyoung x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 1,685

“And that’s all I got for you today, folks,” your professor announced before closing his laptop and ending the slideshow presentation. “Class dismissed.”

A low buzz of activity suddenly filled the lecture hall as your fellow classmates began to pack up their bags and then make their way to the door. Once you slipped your laptop into your backpack, you followed them, sidling down your row of seats and loping down the stairs.

Before you reached the door, though, your professor called out your name. “One second,” he said.

Your brow furrowed slightly, and you gripped one strap of your backpack as you turned toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you still interested in a TA position?”

The wrinkle in your forehead suddenly smoothed out as your eyebrows rose. “Oh -- yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Last week, you’d asked your professor if he would need a teaching assistant for this class next semester. Unfortunately, he’d said ‘no’ at the time, but maybe now he’d changed his mind! 

Your parents’ business had run into some financial trouble recently, so you would have to pay your own way through school from now on -- but it was way too late to apply for a scholarship this year, which meant you had to find a job. And fast.

Obviously, you would work retail or in one of the campus food halls if you had to, but a TA position was perfect for you and your organizational skills -- especially for a professor in the literature department.

“A colleague of mine was talking about needing one, so I thought I would tip you off,” he continued, and while it was little disappointing he didn’t need one himself, you couldn’t afford to be picky right now!

...You actually couldn’t afford anything.

“Thank you so much,” you replied, shooting him a hopeful grin. “That would be perfect.”

Your professor reached for a sheet of paper on the lecture stand and handed it to you. “It’s Professor Stewart, he teaches Medieval Literature.”

Well. Your major was British Literature, but hey. Britain was around in Medieval times, so you could totally follow along with the curriculum.

Hopefully.

You took the application from him, and he gave you Professor Stewart’s office room number before you thanked him again and headed out the door.

You decided to fill it out now so you wouldn’t get caught up in your studies and forget, so after exiting the lecture hall, you made a beeline to one of the study rooms in the literature building.

After scratching down your information and answering all of the questions in your favorite green ink pen, you hurried out of the study room and made your way to the offices on the second floor.

You searched the small numbers on the side of each door, looking for the one your professor had given you not even fifteen minutes ago. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw another figure coming down the hallway from the opposite end, walking toward you, so you stepped over just a bit to the side so he -- or she -- could get past you.

But when you found the office number you were looking for and stopped walking... so did the other person.

You shifted your gaze to look at this other person, quickly realizing it was a him.

And... a very handsome him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and you once again stepped to the side so he could get past you.

But he stepped to the side at the same time, like he was allowing you to get by.

“Sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly, now taking a step to the other side.

...But he did the exact same thing.

“I -- I’m trying to get to this office, actually,” you explained, your lips curved into a very clumsy grin.

“Oh,” the guy replied as his brow furrowed. “...So am I.”

And it was then you noticed he had a piece of paper in his hand just like you did.

“Are --” you gulped. “Are you applying for the --”

“TA position for Professor Stewart,” he finished. “Yes.”

You shifted your weight slightly and let out another awkward chuckle. “Me -- me too. I really need a job, and who wants to wash dishes in the dining hall, right?”

You weren’t sure why, but you anticipated the same sort of reaction from him. He would let out a nervous laugh, smile a bit anxiously, and wish you luck.

Instead, you got raised eyebrows. You got a very serious expression. 

And you got, “I have the highest GPA in the department, and I’ve taken two of Professor Stewart’s classes before. You should probably just recycle that, if I’m being honest.”

It took everything in you not to jerk your head back with surprise.

But you did knit your brows together and say, “Excuse me?” in a very annoyed and confused tone.

“I’m going to get the job.”

You just kind of... stared at him for a few moments before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “What makes you so sure? My professor seems to think --”

“I already said,” he interrupted. “I have the highest GPA in the department. Professor Stewart knows me. He knows how impeccable my work is, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t accept me.”

“My work is impeccable, too!” you scoffed.

“Trust me. As soon as he sees my name on the application --” The guy turned his piece of paper around and tapped on his name.

Park Jinyoung.

“He won’t have to even look at yours.”

“Okay, getting hired simply because the boss knows you is called ‘nepotism.’ You know that, right?” you reminded him, trying your absolute best not to sneer at him.

One corner of Jinyoung’s mouth quirked, and he murmured, “Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.”

All right -- it was time to ask a question you should’ve asked about two minutes ago. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Jinyoung immediately shook his head.

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, your forehead even more wrinkled than it had been just a few moments ago. “Do you always treat people you’ve just met like this?”

I mean! The guy was being incredibly arrogant and had just insulted you! ‘Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.’ Who says that without even knowing someone’s name?!

Jinyoung looked at you as if you were just a little bit crazy before he let out a soft chuckle and answered you. “No, of course not.”

“Ah, so I’m just that lucky,” you retorted, barely holding yourself back from rolling your eyes.

“Not it when it comes to getting this TA position.”

You actually laughed at that. You had to! Because the nerve of him! It was so ridiculous that you had to laugh -- otherwise, you probably would have punched him. And there was a good chance Professor Stewart would have found out about it which would have definitely hurt your chances of getting the position.

“I guess we’ll leave that up to Professor Stewart,” you countered with pursed lips. You reached over to open up the mail slot in Professor Stewart’s office door and slid your application through.

If Jinyoung had been a normal person -- meaning polite and not a total asshole -- you would have held the thin, metal flap open for him so he could slide his application in, too.

But he wasn’t a normal person. He wasn’t polite. He was a total asshole.

So, you didn’t hold it open for him.

You let it close with a fairly loud clang, turned on your heel, and strode away from him with your head held as high it could possibly be.

It wasn’t until you stepped outside of the literature building that you let out an extremely frustrated groan. Honestly, you felt like clenching your fists and stomping your feet, too -- but you would hold off on giving into those urges until you got back to your apartment.

Seriously, though! You had never in your life met someone so irritating and arrogant and annoying and handsome and aggravating and presumptuous as that guy! That -- that Park Jinyoung.

Ugh!

Hopefully -- if there was some higher being out there in the universe -- you would never run into him again. You hadn’t run into him before today, so it stood to reason that the odds of seeing him after today were pretty slim.

As you marched toward the nearest bus stop on your apartment complex’s route, you realized -- he hadn’t even asked you what your name was. You hadn’t given it to him, and even if he had asked, you probably wouldn’t have answered.

The fact he didn’t know your name was a pretty good sign that he probably wasn’t fuming about you as you were about him. So, you would let yourself be bothered on the bus ride home, and then you would stop.

You would stop thinking about his arrogance. His stupid little smirk. His dumb face. My word, did he have a dumb face. Just thinking about it made you even more angry than you already were.

But what put the icing on your angry cake?

His dumb face was just so perfect. 

How sad that his extremely good looks -- and I mean extremely -- were wasted on someone with that personality!

Okay, you should probably just stop thinking about him now. The bus ride was far too long to let your thoughts go on like this. The bus wasn’t even here yet.

So, you took off your backpack and plopped down onto the bench with a sigh.

That was it. No more thinking about -- no, you wouldn’t even think his name. No more thinking about him. Instead, you would think about an email to draft and send to Professor Stewart once you got home. That was definitely more worth your time than... him.

In fact, by tomorrow, you were pretty sure you would forget all about him!

Yep.

Totally!

He would be 100% completely and utterly and positively forgotten.

Part 2

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

Accidental Feminist Icon

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone. 

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami. 

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.  

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again. 

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out. 

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere. 

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her. 

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled. 

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.” 

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?” 

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep. 

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained. 

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing. 

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control. 

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know. 

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?” 

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

[thatoneloser-kid]

Can I please request Ellie surprising Aster by showing up at Aster’s first big art showing for Art school please?

She and Aster hadn't talked much at all over the past two years. There was the odd message over the holidays, birthdays, but other than that there wasn't much. 

Aster never came home after her first summer, word quickly spread that she was dating a girl at college, and as much as that hurt, Ellie was proud of her, happy for her, even. 

She and Paul still talked every day, which is why it wasn't odd for him to call her at ten pm on a Wednesday. 

"Hey," Ellie murmured, her eyes not leaving her paper. 

"Hey," Paul greeted. "Okay, so I know I'm not good at romance or nothing like that, but I have an idea."

That got Ellie's full attention. "What?" 

"Aster has an art show in a small church thing for a project." Paul said. "You should go."

"Paul, I have papers to finish."

"I know you've finished them, and proof read them a million and two times." Paul shot back, and Ellie couldn't really argue, he knew her too well. "She is in Michigan, it isn't far, the train is a little under a day. Ten hours or something."

"I don't know, Paul." She said thoughtfully. 

"Bold, remember?" Ellie could hear the huge smile in his voice. "Come on, El. You've told me about soulmates and stuff, and the greeks, maybe Aster is your greek… or whatever."

"That's-" Ellie smoothed her fingers over her forehead, deciding against correcting him. "Close enough, well done, Paul."

"Thank you," Paul said. "So? Will you go?"

"I don't know," Ellie sighed. "What if she doesn't want to see me, Paul?" 

"You won't know for sure unless you go." Paul urged. "Come, El. Take the jump."

"Plunge," Ellie corrected absentmindedly. "Fine, okay. When is it?" 

"Yes," Paul cheered, Ellie knew he fist pumped, too. "I already emailed you the ticket, don't worry, it was free."

"Free?"

"Mm, I think they needed numbers or something, but you can buy paintings. It said on the Facebook page that the money goes to the art department at the school or whatever."

Paul sent her comforting and hype messages throughout the day she was traveling, which was surprisingly helpful, especially when she looked at herself in the mirror of the seedy motel she was staying in, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black jacket to match, a simple white shirt underneath. 

"Is it too much?" 

"No, you look so good!" Paul assured. "Besides, I read that lesbians love girls that wear suits and stuff."

"You don't even know if she's gay or not."

"She's a little gay," Paul said, just before the phone tumbled from his hands and into the food he was making. Her curses as he scrambled to get it, and Ellie could hear his mother scold him for it. "Sorry mom." he called as he reappeared, that big smile still in place. "You look good, El. College has been good to you, you've gotten more attractive."

They had gotten over the awkwardness of Paul claiming he loved her. Turns out, he did, but not in the way he thought, having misinterpreted best friend love with romantic love. 

"Thanks, dude."

"Sure," He smiled. "Go sweep her off her feet, Princess Charming."

Ellie scoffed. "I'm not charming."

"Aster is certainly charmed by you." he disagreed, but before she could question him his mother was telling him to get a move on. "Gotta go, El. Let me know how it goes!" 

--

She had been there for half an hour and still hadn't seen Aster. 

It was busy, so she wasn't really surprised, she just spent the night strolling around the church, looking at the paintings, stopping at one of the larger paintings. 

She recognised it immediately, a painting of the graffiti she and Aster had made back home.

It was a little more abstract than the actual thing (Ellie would know, she had taken a picture of it when it was finished, it may or may not be her laptop background), and had the silhouette of two people standing in front of it. 

Ellie loved it more like this. 

"What do you think?" A voice asked somewhere to her left. 

"It's… amazing. They all are." Ellie said, her eyes not leaving the painting. 

"It's my favourite." they said, and Ellie turned to look at them, blinking in surprise when her eyes landed on Aster, who was wearing that stupidly charming half smile. "Brings back happy memories." 

"Uh, yeah." Ellie murmured, cursing herself because she practiced this, what she would say when they met again. 

"What're you doing here, Ellie?" Aster asked, no sense of malice in her voice, just curiosity. 

"I, uh- Your art show, I wanted to- Paul called and told me about it, said it would be romantic if I came, or whatever." Ellie could feel herself starting to blush, especially when Aster's smile grew mischievous. 

"Romantic, huh?" she took a few, slow steps toward Ellie, until she was stood directly in front of her, fingering the lapels of her jacket. "You look good, Ellie."

"So do you," And she did, dressed in a pretty green dress, her hair shorter than Ellie remembered. 

"Thank you," Aster smiled, dropping her hands but not moving out of Ellie's space. "How have you been, Ellie?" 

"Good, I have finished all of my school work, I think I'm ready for exams. I can't wait to get home for the summer." Ellie answered. "You?" 

"Really good, getting out of that town, I feeling I- I just -" 

"Like you can breathe." Ellie whispered, and Aster gave her that soft smile she had given her that day in the bathroom. 

"Yeah," Aster breathed. "Exactly."

They stared at each other, Aster with a soft smile and Ellie probably looking like a dumbstruck loser. 

"Aster," a hand clapped onto the girl's shoulder, and Ellie quickly looked away, taking a step back as she pushed her glasses up her nose. "Someone wants to speak to you before buying a painting."

"Of course, professor." Aster nodded, "I will be right there."

He nodded, eyeing Ellie briefly before leaving. 

"Hey," Aster reached out to take a hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Will you stay? It is almost over."

"Of course."

Aster beamed at her, and Ellie swooned. "Great, have fun."

Aster disappeared, and Ellie quickly pulled out her phone to call Paul. 

"Hey, have you seen her yet?" 

"Dude, I was a mess." Ellie sighed. 

"You at your messiest is still so much better than me at my best, and she went on two days with me. You'll be fine." Paul assured. 

That was oddly comforting, in a way only Paul could be. 

Ellie strolled around the room until it started to empty, then Aster found her again.

"These are the keys to my car, you can go wait inside while I clean up." Aster offered her keys. 

"I can help," Ellie offered. 

"Oh, you don't have to."

"I don't mind," 

Aster looked somewhat surprised, but nodded. "Okay, all of the paintings sold, so the people here will take care of that, but we need to put away the tables and stuff."

Ellie nodded, and followed Aster's lead, slipping off her jacket and setting it over a railing, rolling up her sleeves messily before helping up stuff away. 

It was fine, until Ellie realised that Aster kept staring at her, or glancing over at her, and she felt herself getting a little flustered. 

It was a little over half an hour before they clambered into Aster's old car. "That was amazing. Your paintings were amazing."

"Thank you," Aster looked down at her hands for a few seconds, before looking at her. "So you want to get coffee?" 

"It's nine pm."

"Decaf," Aster offered. "I know a cute little place, it's open late 'cause it serves alcohol."

Ellie nodded. "Okay," 

Aster smiled. "Okay."

The cafe was small, but cosy, with sofas as well as tables, and a fireplace crackling in the corner. It was empty, it was nine pm on a Monday after all, so she and Aster settled on the safe sofa beside the fire. 

"So, tell me everything." Aster probed, turning to face Ellie, tucking her leg under herself, which caused her knee to press into Ellie's thigh. 

Ellie told her about college, about the small group of friends she had made, about Paul and his actually very promising future with is dumb good concoctions. 

Ellie relaxed into it, and come mid night they were laughing and giggling with ease, like it was how they had always been. 

Aster dropped Ellie off at the motel after they were kicked out of the cafe as it was closing. 

They sat in silence for a short while before Aster spoke up. "When do you head back?" 

"I'm getting the six am train tomorrow."

Aster looked disappointed, chewing the inside of her cheek as she nodded. "Can I take you to the station?" 

"You don't have to," 

"I want to." Aster promised. "Pick you up at five."

Ellie nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Five."

"Goodnight, Ellie Chu."

"Night, Aster Flores."

Ellie clambered out of the car, only getting a few steps away before Aster was calling after her. "Ellie?" 

"Mm?" Ellie turned to her, and Aster grinned cheekily at her.

"Did you find something to believe in?" 

Ellie nodded, somewhat thoughtfully. "Yeah. Myself."

That seemed to be better than Aster had hoped for, if that beaming smile was anything to go by. "You're amazing, Ellie."

Ellie didn't know what to say to that, nodding once awkwardly before waving and disappearing inside. 

Ellie didn't sleep much that night, too restless, her mind running wild with the events of the day.

Aster was outside bang on five, giving Ellie the one over as she smiled. 

"What?" Ellie asked, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands self-consciously. 

"You look cute." Aster shrugged simply before driving off. "I think I'm going to come home this summer. Dad asked me to, I don't know if he wants to try and fix things."

"That��s good, right?”

“I’m hoping so, but we will just have to wait and see.” Aster shrugged. “I’m excited to be back, it has been so long.”

“Everything is the exact same.” Ellie said. “I’m trying to convince Paul to go for a scholarship in culinary school, but he said he couldn’t leave his family like that.”

“He’s too loyal, that guy.” Aster shook her head.

“I have applied for a whole bunch of scholarships for him for the new school year, and I’m going to talk to his family when I get home, to see if they could convince him to go.” Ellie said. “He is wasted in that town.”

“He dropped off a little cooler to my place the first summer I came home, ding dong ditched.” Aster laughed fondly. “Left a note apologising about everything that happened. It was his famous sausage tacos, they are really good.”

“I know, right?” Ellie said, fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie as they pulled up outside the station. “You know we never wanted to hurt you, right?”

Aster shut off the car, chewing the inside of her cheek as she nodded slowly.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I didn’t get the chance to explain myself.”

Aster glanced at the clock on her dash. “You have twenty minutes before you should go inside.”

Ellie nodded, taking that as a go ahead to continue.

“It was only supposed to be one letter, Paul asked me to help because he was convinced he loved you, and you should have heard the first letter, Aster, it was awful, he talked about his dead grandma.” Ellie laughed, and Aster grinned softly. “The real reason I did it was because I’m stubborn and he challenged me, but I didn’t have a clue about love either.”

“So, you plagiarised Wim Wenders?” Aster arched an eyebrow at her.

“Exactly,” Ellie laughed. “But then you wrote back, and now you were challenging me, so I said to myself it would just be one more. It was just so easy to talk to you, I felt like we just clicked, even thought you thought I was Paul, I still felt special, somehow? I had your attention, you wanted to speak to me, and that made me feel so incredibly special, and it was hard to stop. I enjoyed just sitting in my booth, texting back and forth about really personal shit or what our favourite hand soaps were, it didn’t matter. I just enjoyed getting to know you. But i’m sorry that I did it how it did, and that I lied to you.”

“You know, I probably would have been just as happy had those letters been signed off by you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Maybe now, but back then, you weren’t ready back then.”

“Maybe not. But now? I wouldn’t want to get a letter signed from anyone else.” Aster gave a little smile. “And the kiss?”

Ellie flushed. “I just- I couldn’t leave without kissing you.”

“Not our kiss,” Aster smiled, her Ellie felt like her face was on fire “Between you and Paul.”

“Oh,” Ellie nodded. “That was Paul thinking he loved me. And he did, just not the way he thought, we are best friends. But that was nothing, we were never, like, making fun of you or anything. Honestly, we were both just enamoured by you.”

Aster nodded. “You know, back then I convinced myself that I was so mad because I was so jealous of you.” She laughed softly. “I know now that’s not true, I was jealous of Paul.”

It took Ellie a stupid amount of time to realise what that meant, and when her head snapped to Aster, she was staring at her with a mischievous smirk.

“That I’m sure of now.”

“Yeah?” Ellie breathed.

“Yeah,” Aster’s smile softened. “But we still have two years of college left, we shouldn’t start anything when it is going to be long distance from the start.”

“That’s the only reason you wouldn’t want to start anything?” Ellie asked, peering up at Aster through her eyelashes as she pulled on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” Aster hummed, covering Ellie’s fidgeting hands. “If we were closer I would take you out tonight.”

“But we can’t?’

“No, not long distance, Ellie.” Aster said, and Ellie understood, agreed, even, but that didn’t make it suck any less. “Hey,” Aster whispered, bringing Ellie's eyes back to her. "What's a couple more years, right?" 

"Right," Ellie smiled. "I should go, you know it can take a while to get through the turnstiles."

"Of course." Aster agreed, leaning across the centre console to press a kiss to Ellie's cheek. "Text me when you get home?" 

"Sure," Ellie grabbed her hand and clambered out, trying and failing to hide how flustered she was. 

"Ellie?" Aster called, peering at her through the passenger side window. "Thank you, for coming. It was really good to see you."

"It was amazing." Ellie said. "Drive safe, Aster."

"Bye, Heathen."

Ellie found herself smiling at the nickname, giving a little wave as she headed inside. 

Paul called her just as she got on the train. "So? How was it?" he asked, and Ellie could tell his mouth was full of food. 

"It was really good, actually. She left me explain, and we hung out for a bit last night."

"Dope. So, are you guys, like, dating now?" 

"No, a couple more years."

Paul groaned loudly. "You guys are so weird."

[bonaintan]

A Journey to KGSP/GKS: How I Ended Up in Korea

Everyone has at least one turning point in their life. It’s a momentum when one believes that his/her life has completely changed and a new one has begun. To me, KGSP/GKS is one of my turning points. I wouldn’t say that my journey to get the scholarship and my student life in Korea were full of blood and tears. Tough days were there, but there must be a bunch of more heart-breaking stories other than mine. God allows us to experience things and difficulties within our ability and even though I had mine in an unexpected way, I know that He had been very soft to me all the time. It was the time when I learned different versions of myself I never knew existed. And just now, months after I graduated and managed to finish the program safely that I had the courage to share my experience.  

---

Korean Government Scholarship Program (KGSP), which has changed its name into the Global Korea Scholarship (GKS), is a scholarship program from the Government of the Republic of Korea. This program provides foreigners the opportunity to continue to higher education (undergraduate and graduate degree programs) in South Korea. You may click here for more information.

Studying abroad has always been one of my dreams since high school. It turned from a mere dream into a plan once I graduated from university. Given my major is not a common one (Family Science) especially in Indonesia, I knew that I should go overseas to do my master’s degree program. I could’ve just continued my studies at the same university where I graduated, but even my advisor suggested to find some overseas universities, the most possible one is in Malaysia. At the time, Korea hadn’t been on the list as I had no idea if any universities were providing my prospective major.

I only did my research on schools in Malaysia and the US until I ran into a broadcast message about overseas scholarship for graduate programs. The list was quite long so I did a quick scan and started to dig into each based on my country preference, where Korea happened to be one of it. Back then, my knowledge of Korea was limited to dramas that I got to watch along with my older sisters (if you have three older sisters you can hardly choose what to watch on TV) and then some bands my little sister listened to. So I’ve been a fan of the Korean entertainment industry before coming to Korea, but studying there was never on any of my imaginations because I was skeptical on the idea of learning a new language (there were days when I laughed on Korean language and how the actors/actresses look, never imagined it would be part of myself in the future).

Surprisingly, the moment I learned about KGSP/GKS, I decided to give it a go. I did calculations on time and energy that I had (I was working at the time) and knew that I could afford only one scholarship application at the time. So I wrapped up my research on other countries and scholarship programs and spent the rest of the year preparing for KGSP/GKS applications, which means that I literally gave my all to my first scholarship journey. As a person who was spoiled by her parents and never had experience in scholarship application before, it was quite overwhelming. But, I tried hard to prepare everything myself despite their disapproval. It was actually my way to show them as well as God that I could do it and I would make it (what a confidence. Lol).

I sent my application to the Korean Embassy in Jakarta as I applied via Embassy Track. I learned that the competition on the first round through this track was not a joke, but I simply preferred having three university choices rather than one and I didn’t want to take a risk of having my documents lost on the way (that’s odd, I know, but I’m always more on the safe side). Thank God, I got the interview call and then had my documents sent to Korea after passing the interview process. The next round was having my documents screened by the Korean National Institute for International Education (NIIED) in Korea and once I passed this process, I had to wait for the email from my chosen universities, whether they wanted to do another interview or directly announced their decision. At this round, a lot of awardees say that you’ve already put your first step in Korea and there will be at least one university that will accept you. The saying was such a tranquilizer for me that I even started to make my packing list (’m not always this confident, seriously).

I got the first email from Kyungpook National University who was interested in my application and sent me a written interview. While undergoing the university selection process, applicants have to submit the medical check-up form. And it was around that time when things started to go down the hill. It should be easy if you have no history of having any acute diseases. I was not a healthy kid myself so I was quite worried that something off would unveil. It turned out that the underlooked mental health check-list was the one that got in my way. I took my medical check-up in a nearby hospital which happened to be a mental hospital where the doctor couldn’t simply sign my form without doing all the tests including the mental one. So, I had to take a written test to get the psychiatrist's signature, which unfortunately turned out that she didn’t want to give.

It was probably the wrong time to take the test. I was tired and drained out after taking several tests in a day. But, I know the result wouldn’t turn out differently had I done it on another day. So, I had to respond either yes or no on 300 questions. I guess the test basically tries to reveal your mental state (e.g., stress, anxiety, depression) through your fears and your response to stressful situations. Unfortunately, my result didn’t come out well. As silly as it sounds, I couldn’t hold my tears in the counseling room when the psychiatrist showed me the result and told the story of people with similar cases like me and what happened to them. I sobbed not because she couldn’t give her recommendation, but because finally came the day when someone put my condition into words. It might sound like I was being judged and the way she frankly explained it to me was also unpleasant, but nothing was wrong with what she said which made me feel even worse.

You might think I could’ve just taken the test again in another hospital. But, I couldn’t let my money go down the drain, and asking my parents’ money was not part of the plan. Plus, I had no ample time to do it all over again and get the results on time. More than anything, I started to doubt my decision to study abroad. I knew that the fear of living away from my parents and not being able to handle things independently had always been there all along (I don’t know if anyone at my age could relate). Not only one person who pointed it out, but I kept on denying it. So, when it was brought to the surface especially by a professional, it was painful to the point that I considered withdrawing because I couldn't even trust myself to take a risk.

Surprise-surprise, only a few days after the medical check-up I received the acceptance email from Kyungpook National University. I took it as a yes from God. I had come that far and I wouldn't trade my spot for some future events no one never knew would really happen. So, with as much courage as I had, I took the mental health test again suggested by the kind nurse who listened to me crying in the counseling room, answered the same questions differently, and managed to receive the psychiatrist's signature to complete my medical form. Later, I got the acceptance notifications from Pusan National University and Seoul National University as well, which I ended up choosing the latter for my graduate school in Korea.

---

Preparing for KGSP/GKS applications and undergoing the selection process for months have taught me the pain of waiting and struggling. At one point, it showed me that I could push my boundary and instead of jumping out of my comfort zone, I tried to widen it and made things that were used to be hard become part of myself. With the permission of God, I could turn myself into such an overconfident head by asking prayers from people I know (in case my family’s prayers were not strong enough to persuade God. Lol). At another point, I was awakened to things I have been feared to deal with although I know I eventually have to. Confronting my fears wasn’t always pleasant nor that it affected me positively and became part of my comfort zone, but I did my share by trying to face it. At the end of the day, I learned Ikhlas and literally let God do the rest and decide for me. While waiting for the announcement I pictured the day I was rejected, hoping that it would ease the pain later. I also told myself hundred times that everything would be okay even if I failed as long as the sun still rises; I would cry my eyes out for days, receive comforting words halfheartedly, and wake up one day feeling okay again. 

And my journey to be part of KGSP/GKS came to a beautiful end as I flew to Korea in August 2016 and started the real struggle for 3 years. Some of what the psychiatrist said back then about people with similar cases like me did happen to me too, but I finished it differently. It was tough years and only God’s mercy and the people I spent my time with in Korea that helped me to stay sane and get through it. 

[velinxi]

Important life update on me dropping out of college and Countdown to Countdown

Read the TLDR here: 

As some of you know, I’m currently attending art college as a freshman while balancing my freelance work and webcomic. I chose to go because I believed that receiving a diploma would provide me with a sure fire job, and because I received a scholarship- making me feel as though I shouldn’t waste this opportunity. I’ve learned a lot throughout the year, but I found it extremely depressing and unfulfilling. Still, I stuck with it because college isn’t always about doing what you like. However, my body started to break down under the strain of video editing classes and my tuition continuously hiked up in price. Discussions about artists being successful without going to college also circulated. Artists that I knew and/or befriended spoke openly about how they managed without an arts degree, and I began seriously considering what I want to do with my college situation.

To put it bluntly, I’ve decided to drop out of art college and will be looking for freelance work/ permanent illustrative work while building more of my portfolio on the side. This is one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made but I feel like it’s the best call for now. Even with the “highest” scholarship and financial aid, art college is still not affordable for me. I can’t be paying 20k-30k a year for some classes that will not benefit my career path in the future. I’m eternally grateful for the friends I made here and the few teachers that encouraged me. I’ve learned a lot in the year I’ve spent at Sva, but I feel the need to withdraw. My family and I have discussed this, and I’m extremely lucky to have them be understanding about my choice. There’s a chance that I’ll come crawling back to art college with my tail between my legs if it turns out I can’t make it without a degree to back myself up. Even with friends reassuring me and speaking of their own successful experiences, I don’t know what lies in MY future. I don’t know if I’ll be unlucky and land no jobs. I have no idea, but I’m going to be taking a gamble and work harder than I ever have to try to make sure I don’t ever have to go back (Key word “try”). I feel like a fraud for flushing a golden scholarship down the drain and wasting the 20k I spent on one year of art school, but I feel even more terrible about every tip and encouragement for me to go to college. I’m very sorry to anyone that’s disappointed about my decision, I’m extremely grateful for the support thus far. I am so sorry for quitting this early on. So many opportunities could come from me bearing with it, but I need to at least try this option- I can’t imagine breaking my body and financial situation even more for the next three years with classes I don’t need for my career path. I was on the road to recovery by the end of high school, but constant video editing, essays, etc in college put me in a worse state than when I began. From here, I’ll be working hard on freelance jobs, applying to more cons, and looking for other opportunities (like a permanent job that requires my illustrative abilities or long term jobs I’ve had to decline before because of my responsibilities as a student). As for Countdown to Countdown- I’m also taking another huge leap that was painful to ponder. The current webcomic will be stopped for now, and my Patreon tiers will be shifted in the near future to accommodate this. I AM NOT giving up on CTC, I am planning to reboot it entirely in a more traditional comic style to save time and have a more cohesive storytelling. For a while, CTC has been painful to draw and I’m ashamed to admit my fuel for it nearly died after several personal events happened in the past months. It was something I started in middle school, and needless to say my writing was outdated, and my old ideals of painting every panel perfectly was unrealistic (and very damaging). I will probably explain this better in another post in the future, as CTC readers deserve a more proper explanation and update as to where it will go. Do know that I’m not giving up on it. I’m going to try to publish it under a comics publisher or simply self publish when I have a more solid hold on the reboot. I’ll be making updates on it when I can. Again, I’m sorry if these decisions disappoint or sadden anyone. I’m really grateful for every tip and/or encouragement that’s went to my college fund or CTC. I’m trying to do what’s best for myself, my family, and my comic. I also want to be uninhibited in my artistic improvement and spend more time building my portfolio. I want to give the best version of CTC to my readers that I can be proud of as well. I’ve been debating these decisions for the past few weeks- draining as it was, I’m glad I came to this conclusion. I understand I’ll be throwing away four years worth of my comic and one year of my life. The thought of it is exhausting, depressing, frustrating, yet a bit freeing. Thank you all once again for your support and reading through this jumbled mess. I’m here to answer any other questions, just shoot me a DM or email. See you guys next time.

[sirenfromthelostcity]

A Cat and Spider Game

A/N: For a really long time i could not get the idea of making a Black Cat Reader x Spider-Man fic out of my mind so i finally decided to make one. Black Cat has really white hair so for the purpose of this fic, when you’re dressed as your alter-ego (Black Cat) you’ll be wearing a platinum white wig. I just wanted to say that from the beginning bc that’s just how Black Cat’s character looks and also i feel like it’d actually help keep your secret identity a secret if you didn’t have platinum white hair on your civilian persona as well lol. When writing this i was thinking about the Marvel’s Spider-Man PS4 game but tbh this can also fit in for Tom’s version of Spider-Man too since they’re both still Peter Parker anyways, it’s just that in this story he’s older. This is also a college AU so all the characters in here are about 20 years old. With that said not everyone you has powers, just you and Peter so far but i guess we’ll see what happens no? This is my first ever Marvel fic so i’d reeeaaalllyyy appreciate some feedback on this and if you’d like a second part just shoot me an ask or like and reblog and whatnot :) 

I do not own Spider-Man’s character or any of these characters (except you i think?). I hope you enjoy!!! <3333

Words: 3.6k+

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Making your way through the cluttered dormitory halls, you sigh in satisfaction as you not only finally reach your assigned suite but are greeted with silence and emptiness. You’ve arrived before any of your other roommates. You actually know who one of your roommates is going to be but only because you’ve dormed together last semester and got along so well that you’ve requested to dorm together again. Still, you’ve always made it a personal mission to be one of the first to arrive on campus on moving in day. Mostly just so you can pick out your room, settle in, enjoy some alone time, and overall begin preparations for the beginning of the semester and your “other” plans. 

A few hours pass and in that time you’ve managed to get a good chunk of your stuff unpacked and set up in your room. Wanda, your previous roommate, also arrived, said hi, and settled herself in. The two of you are still waiting for your third and final roommate to arrive. 

Deciding to take a break, you grab the Daily Bugle newspaper you picked up earlier on the way to the dorms and plop down on your freshly done bed. 

You stifle a laugh as you read the headline in J. Jonah Jameson’s voice. 

“MASKED MENACE SPIDER-MAN STILL TERRORIZING CITY!” 

They bring him back for one piece and of course he decides to make this the headline. 

You continue to peruse the many articles in the newspaper and stop as you find the one you’ve been looking for. 

“No new leads on New York’s newest criminal police are calling ‘Black Cat.’”

Criminal.

By definition according to google, ”a person who has committed a crime.”

Yes, a criminal is technically a bad person. However, you would argue that there are bad people and then there are worse people. Personally, you don’t feel as if you fall onto the worse branch.”

“As if I ever even actually hurt anyone,” you begrudgingly comment to yourself. “Rich people don’t count so, technically, I never did hurt anyone.” 

You haphazardly flip the page of the magazine you were browsing when you hear suddenly hear a knock on your door prompting you to look up.

“Come in,” you say and in enters your roommate Wanda along with another girl.

“Hey (Y/N), this is Gamora,” she gestures to the tall girl next to her, “it’s her first year at Empire State and she’s our new roommate.”

“Oh,” you sit up from your bed and walk up to the two women to properly greet your new roommate. “Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you smile at Gamora as you shake her hand.

“You showed her around the suite?”

“Mmhmm,” Wanda nods.

“Cool. So first year, huh? How you liking the campus so far?”

Gamora hesitates her response, “I’ve seen a lot of it since I got lost finding my way to the right dorm building yet I still don’t think I’ve seen all of it. But, so far it looks really… “

Both Wanda and you interject. 

“Opulent?” 

“Preppy?” 

“Yes, actually. No offense.”

You exchange an amused smile with Wanda, “None taken, this is a pretty preppy and opulent school but it’s got some good people in it. Also some bad people, but that’s everywhere you go really. Luckily for you though, you now have us to navigate your way through Empire State.”

“This is mine and (Y/N)’s second year at here so we know the terrain and its people pretty well,” Wanda elaborates.

“Speaking of terrain, have you had a chance to go to The Cool Bean Cafe?” you ask.

“No, but it sounds like a popular cafe.”

“Unfortunately it is a popular cafe. Not unfortunate for the owners, the sweetest old couple by the way, but kinda unfortunate for us in that it often gets crowded. But y’know,” you glance at your watch, “it’s only one-thirty right now, people ought to be busy unpacking and whatnot at this time. Do you guys want to wanna go now? It’d be the perfect chance to get to know each other better, my treat.”

“It’s always a yes from when the cafe is involved,” answers Wanda.

“Doesn’t sound like it could be terrible. I’m in.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fortunately for all of you, The Cool Bean Cafe is only moderately crowded today so you and the girls were able to find a table to sit at. You spend most of your afternoon chatting with them and, to yours and Wanda’s delight, even witnessed Gamora genuinely laugh a few times. Okay she laughed once and briefly smirked one other time time but it was still silently agreed between you and Wanda that those were some pretty monumental moments shared with your new roommate. You did learn a lot about her too. Apparently it was Gamora’s dad who really pushed her to apply to this school. She wasn’t planning on attending upon acceptance, partly because of the move she’d have to make from Virginia to New York, but she was offered a full scholarship and her dad convinced her to attend. Afterall, Empire State University is a pretty highly esteemed school. It couldn’t be all that bad, she figured. Her major is astrophysics and she’s decided she wants to take on a second concentration but hasn’t decided on one yet.

Gamora learned a lot about you and Wanda as well. She learned that you and Wanda were roommates for your first semester at Empire State. Because there was no other roommate, you two had the whole suite to yourselves and became very close. She learned that Wanda has a twin brother named Pierto but he’s currently playing professional soccer in Sakovia. Wanda is an international student from Sakovia and is pursuing a psychology major with a minor in Sakovian studies. You were born and bred in Queens, New York and your major is journalism but you haven’t yet picked out a second concentration.

Wanda was explaining to Gamora the locations of the buildings in which her classes are going to be held in when you get a email notification from your phone.

“Shit,” you lowly mumble.

“Is everything alright?” Wanda inquires.

“Yeah, it’s just an email from my film studies professor. Apparently he believes that ‘Teamwork makes the dream work’ so as part of our weekly assignments he’s paired everyone in the class into pairs of two to complete the assignments together.”

“(Y/N) loves working with people,” Wanda sarcastically comments to Gamora and to both of yours and Wanda’s surprise, she actually chuckles at the joke.

“Does it say who you’re paired with?” Gamora asks.

“Yeah, he provided a list with the email, I’m checking right now……. Peter B. Parker.”

“Hopefully he’s not an asshole,” Gamora takes a sip from her coffee.

“Fortunately he’s not,” you put away your phone and take a sip of your coffee before elaborating. “I used to go to high school with him. We never talked because I was really busy with stuff at home and our after school activities never collided. He’s super smart though, we had a few classes together and I know he was in the school’s robotics club for a while as well as the academic decathlon team. Trust me, the guy is brilliant. Plus, from what I heard, he’s apparently a total sweetheart. I don’t think I have much to worry about.”

“You sure seem to know an awful lot about a boy you’ve never spoken to,” Wanda complacently coos before blowing at her tea and drinking it.

“Y’know, I have to agree with Wanda there,” Gamora raises her eyebrows.

“Could it be you harnessed a crush for this Peter guy back in the old high school days?” Wanda twirled her cup in hand, smirking but not looking at you.

You playfully scoff, “Y’know you treat your roommates out to one of the finest cafes within walking distance and how do they thank you? Oh yeah they don’t, they interrogate you instead,” you tsk and slowly shake your head side to side. “In all honesty though, no I did not harbor a crush for Peter Parker. Believe me, with the stuff I had going on at that time with my family and myself, boys were the last thing on my mind.”

“I feel that,” Gamora nods. “Also, do all professors send emails days before the first class?”

“Some professors do but not all of them, which is why you have to be really vigilant with your emails. I’ve ignored them for most of my life, but trust me you’re gonna have to pay attention to them from now on.”

Wanda nods as she downs the rest of her tea. “Speaking of vigilance, Gamora, have you yet heard of the masked vigilante swinging through our streets?”

Gamora shrugs, “A little actually. I overheard a few students talk about him when I was looking for the dorm building. Apparently he often literally swings by our campus and goes by…. Spider-Something?”

“It’s Spider-Man,” Wanda chuckles. “There’s some mixed opinions of him in this city but for the most part he saves lives, helps people in need, and fights crime. He’s a hero. Have you heard about the theories?”

“No. There’s theories about this guy?”

“Oh, there are so many theories about his origins and his identity. Some people think he’s an alien who snuck in through the vortex that opened in the 2012 attack here, but others argue that maybe he’s actually just a person with advanced technology. Some people even think he actually attends here because of often he seems to pass through the campus. Personally, I don’t think that’s true. Simply seeing him pass by the school a lot is not enough to support that theory and being in college while maintaining a job is hard enough. I cannot imagine a person trying to maintain a job, along with their grades, and a crime fighting alter-ego on the side. I just think he passes through here as a shortcut to someplace else, we are in a very big city after all.”

“Wow, people seem to be really fixated with this Spider-Guy,” says Gamora.

“(Y/N),” Wanda calls for your attention. “You’ve been awfully quiet on this topic. Don’t you have any theories of your own about the Spider-Man’s identity?”

“Not really,” you lie. “I mean as a journalist major in New York, it’s impossible to not write about him, especially with all the recent crime that’s been going on here, but outside of that I don’t really think much about him.”

“Wait, so there’s frequent crime happening around here? God, I really should’ve done more research before just moving here,” Gamora shakes her head.

You lightly laugh at Gamora’s reaction, “Don’t worry it’s not really that bad. Lately what’s been happening is a string of robberies but whoever’s doing it seems to be targeting the homes of the very rich or the places only the very rich can afford so we have nothing to worry about.”

“It still amazes me that the police still have no lead as to who the thief could be,” Wanda comments. “The investigation has been going on for at least two months now and already four homes have been robbed. Whoever has done that must be very affluent right now.”

You hesitate for a moment but deep down you can’t help but wonder and ask, “Do you think that, y’know whoever robbed those homes, that they earned the loot?”  

Wanda furrows her brows at first but takes a few seconds to ponder her answer, “Well, morally no because stealing is wrong. However, the people this person decided to target, they’re already insanely wealthy with more money than they could ever spend in one lifetime. Not to mention that the thief is so adept at what they do that no one has any clue as to who they could be so… I guess in some ways… yes, I’d say they earned their loot but I still think that stealing is wrong.”

You hum in thought, “That’s a good point. What do you think Gamora?”

“I agree that it’s not morally correct to steal but if this person is as good as you say they are then, I guess they do deserve to have their earnings. It’s not exactly easy to baffle the cops, normally they have at least one clue. But, it also makes me wonder why are they doing this, the thief I mean. Is it because they’re good at it or because they need the money or both? Guess we’ll never know.”

“Those are good questions, though,” says Wanda. “It does make me wonder about the thief’s motives. What about you, (Y\N), do you think the thief earned their prize?”

“Honestly, yes. I do believe he or she earned their prize. I get that it’s not morally right to steal but, according to the reports no one was harmed during the robbery. No one was even aware anything was stolen until the morning. And as you said, Wanda, the targets of this thief have more money than they could ever use in a lifetime so it’s not like the thief is preying on the less fortunate. As for the motive, we really can’t know without directly asking the thief. But my guess would be that it’s a combination of both the need for it and the confidence boost they must get from the police’s frustration at their lack of leads to his or her’s identity. As if stealing from a bunch of rich duds is the worst thing a person can do, though. There’s bigger issues than some rich people missing a couple of priceless artifacts. But I guess that could just be my bias against rich people speaking,” you tilt your head to the side and lightly laugh.

“If I hadn’t already known about your hatred for rich people I sure would know now,” Wanda awkwardly laughs.

“Yeah, I kinda went off on a tangent there. Sorry about that,” you briefly look down before changing the topic. “Hey, do y’all wanna get ice cream and maybe show Gamora around the campus more? My treat.”

“Someone woke up in an incredibly generous mood today,” says Wanda.

“I’m all for the tour of the campus but since you’ve already paid for the coffee you don’t have to buy me ice cream,” adds Gamora.

“It’s not a problem guys, really. My mom got a bonus at her job so she decided to treat me to some extra cash and now I’m deciding to treat you all to some good food. Are we ready?”

Wanda and and Gamora briefly look at each other and simultaneously nod before grabbing their things and exiting the cafe with you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Much later that day…. 2:15AM ~ Stanlee Co-ed Dorms

Peter B. Parker lays comfortably asleep in bed after an exhausting day of moving into his dorm and of course being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man almost everyone loves. Peter loves being Spider-Man. While it can sometimes get complicated balancing out the hero life with the civilian life, Spider-Man truly helps people. Sometimes not everyone sees it that way but the good Spider-Man does heavily outweighs the few negative responses he receives, at least to Peter it does.

Yeah, being Spider-Man is great. Peter would never change it for the-

“Peter, wake up!” Ned storms into Peter’s room, effectively and abruptly waking him up.

“AH! WHAT?!” Peter locks sleepy eyes with Ned and then his alarm clock on his nightstand. “Ned, what the hell man, what are you-what are you doing up so late?”

“Binge watching Game of Thrones to prepare for the finale,” he shrugs,” but that’s not important right now. I heard the police scanner say something about an alarm going off at that really expensive wine place on east 98th street near the park. It fits the M.O. of that burglar that keeps getting away.”

Instantly Peter tosses his covers to the side, hopping out of bed and retrieving his Spidersuit from his closet, hastily putting it on.

“It’s a possibility that it could be a false alarm but I have a feeling about this one and it wouldn’t hurt to take a look since we don’t have class tomorrow,” Ned commentates, handing Peter his web shooters.

Peter takes his web shooters from Ned before finally putting on his mask, “Thanks, Ned. Don’t wait up!” With that said Peter swings out of his fire escape window and into the night to potentially catch what even he admits to be a very skilled thief.

“You know I will!” Ned yells out to Peter from the window. “Oh shit,” he quickly pulls himself in, realizing he’s in a dorm building with other people possibly sleeping.

“Go get em, Spider-Man!” he enthusiastically whispers as he exits Peter’s room and closes his door.

Swinging at breakneck speed, Peter makes his way to the location of the expensive wine store, Wine and Spirits Co.. Within four minutes, he spots not only the building but an opened window on the third floor. Quickly, and quietly, he zips through the window. Upon landing, Peter immediately spots the elusive thief simply standing behind a bar counter observing a bottle of wine and a wave of shock washes over him as he realizes he recognizes thief. Donned in an all  black, skin hugging suit laced with white,  small cat ears on her wavy platinum white hair, and a black mask. He never thought he’d see her again.

“I-It’s you,” he mumbles.

You turn around in slight shock but hum in delight at seeing the great Spider-Man himself right before you. “And it’s you. Not many people can sneak up on me and arrive two minutes before the police. I have to admit, that’s pretty impressive.”

“But you h-how are you–– I-I-I saw you-”

“Wow, do you always stutter like this around girls?”

“N-No- Darn it!”

You chuckle as you slip the bottle of wine into your bag that’s already filled with at least five bottles, “Y’know that’s actually kinda cute, but you need to relax more.”

“I’d relax more with some answers,” he starts. “That night- how did you survive the fall? I-I tried to save you-”

“You can’t save everyone, Spidey… I chose to be where I was. The job just didn’t work out as I had planned. It wasn’t your fault. Also in the end it wasn’t really that bad. I mean from your viewpoint, watching that serum practically explode in front of my face and send me plummeting down to what should have been my death probably was bad but… I still have about eight lives left. Why stop the thievery now? Especially when I’m so good at it. ”

“I don’t really think that’s how cats work,” he says, still shocked at the sight of you. “Wait, so you’re the one who’s been behind these robberies all along?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “I’m pretty damn good aren’t I?” You hop over the counter and proceed to walk towards the window you used to enter until he halts you by grabbing your arm that holds the bag of wine bottles.

“Look I know this is your first time being caught by someone so you might not be familiar with how things go, but I can’t let you leave.”

You hear the police sirens go off signaling their arrival. Flashes of red, white, and blue begin to sear into the dim wine store and you give him a small smile, “Yes you can. You just won’t.”

You look down as you hear the footsteps of the police ascending the stairs then look back up to Spiderman, “But that’s okay. You’ll have other things to worry about.”

Suddenly the door to the entrance gets kicked in and in enters seven police officers aiming their guns and flashlights at the both of you.

“Freeze, Spider-Man!” yells an officer.

“Call this in, we got Spider-Man here and a potential accomplice,” instructs another.

“Accomplice, really?” Peter addresses the officers.

“Gotta run, Spidey. See you soon,” you say into his ear. Taking advantage of the distraction, you quickly attach a device onto him and jump out the window using your grappling hook to latch onto a roof’s edge and swing away.

Seconds later the EMP goes off, effectively short circuiting Peter’s suit and web shooters. He convulses in pain onto the ground until he manages to take off the device and stomp on it. Peter jumps out the window to follow you but is forced to tuck and roll onto the ground when he realizes you’ve disabled his webshooters. Not one to give up, he attempts to follow you on foot but your trail is quickly lost.

“Systems back online. Sorry about that Pete, she used an EMP device to disarm you.”

“It’s alright Karen. Can you call Ned for me, please?” with everything now fully functional, Peter lunges into the air and begins to swing through the air.

“Of course,” Karen replies. After a few rings, Ned finally picks up.

“Hey, Pete, did you get him?”

“No, but she got me pretty good.”

“She? What happened?”

“Remember the girl I told you about a few months ago, with the robbery?”

“Ohhhh, the one with the chemical explosion who seemingly disappeared after falling from a fifteen story rooftop? Yeah, that’s pretty hard to forget.”

“Yeah, well, it’s her. She’s been behind all these robberies all along and she’s picked up some new tricks.”

“Whoa, what kind of tricks?”

“Well, so far she’s used an EMP device to disable my webshooters and suit, and before she got away I saw her use some sort of grappling hook to swing away and escape, just to name a few. I’m sure she’s got more I haven’t had the chance to see yet but I’m sure I will soon,” he recalls your last words to him.

“No Way! Another super villain! But wait, how did she survive that fall, do you think it could’ve been something in that chemical explosion?”

“She said it was actually a serum but she didn’t specify. Not that we really had much time to talk when the cops stormed in anyways, they thought I was her accomplice!”

“The people know you, though, I’m sure that story won’t stick. Plus, when you catch her, it’ll all blow over quick. Where you heading to now?”

“Back to the dorms, I lost her trail but now that I know that she’s alive and that she’s behind all the other robberies I can probably create an algorithm to try to pinpoint where she might hit next.”

“Alright, well I’ll still be up when you get here. See you soon.”

See you soon

Your words echo in his head. He was there on the night of your apparent death. He tried to save you but failed. It haunted him for some time. Yet now you’re not only alive but back to your old ways. Peter didn’t know you but he still has some questions and, so long as you kept stealing, he knows he has to stop you.

[caffeine-catastrophe]

New Fic! Go the Distance

A/N: I have been working on this idea for over almost two years now. In my spare time, I alternate between writing this story and Don't You Stop Believing, and I've kept this a secret from all of my writing friends since I've gotten the idea. I was going to wait until I finished it before I started posting, but I can't wait any longer, and it's far enough along anyways. Updates will be sporadic and work around my schedule, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride.

Go the Distance

Three days, four million dollars, and a cross-country road trip that will change their lives for good. OR: The Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures is a prestigious scholarship granted to only the most deserving of candidates, but even miracles don't come without a price.

I have often dreamed of a far-off place... ...And a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be...

At first, Lucy thinks she might be drunk.

"Excuse me?" She stammers, pressing her cellphone closer to her ear and stepping regretfully over the shards of her favourite wine glass.

"Miss Heartfilia, we're pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a recipient of the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures," comes the sweet voice on the other side.

"We'd like you to come in for a brief meeting tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of the grant. That is if you're interested in accepting the offer," the woman on the phone sounds like she's trying not to laugh.

"Y-Yes! Of course! I'm honoured, thank you so much! I'll be there," Lucy manages to choke out.

"Wonderful! I'll have the details of the meeting sent to you via email. I look forward to meeting you, Miss Heartfilia. Bye now," the phone call ends with a click, and Lucy forgoes the mess on the floor to wander shakily over to her bed. She perches at the foot in dazed silence, nearly startling herself out of her skin when her phone beeps a few moments later.

Dear Miss Lucy Heartfilia,

Congratulations! We have reviewed your outstanding application regarding the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures, and we are pleased to announce that you have been selected as one of four lucky recipients. You are eligible for this grant of up to one million dollars, provided you are in the possession of a piece of government-issued ID confirming your status as a citizen of Fiore.

Please bring a legal piece of picture ID, as well as proof of your successful completion of secondary school to your scheduled appointment.

The meeting will be held in the company's Magnolia branch in Conference Room 1407 at 2 PM sharp on Thursday, July 28. Please do not be late.

We look forward to meeting you!

Sincerely,

Mirajane Strauss Secretary Dreyar Industries

She looks over the details once, twice, three times, trying to convince herself that this isn't just another alcohol-induced hallucination. She is not going to find herself sprawled out on the bathroom floor of a sketchy club somewhere tonight. She lies there, staring up at the blank ceiling of her cramped apartment until she finally accepts that the springs of the mattress digging into her spine are entirely too uncomfortable to be a dream.

"Holy shit."

---

"Alright, deep breaths. You can do this," Lucy mutters herself the next day, straightening her pencil skirt and clutching at the envelope in her lap. Balanced on a bench outside of Room 1407, she is a good half hour early and exudes the air of a chicken in a nugget factory. The girl perched gingerly beside her seems equally on edge, smoothing down her pretty red hair now and then and tapping the toe of her crisp heels on the pristine carpet. She looks about as green as Lucy feels.

"Are you here to meet Ms. Strauss as well?" Lucy asks hesitantly, trying to relieve some of the unbearably awkward tension. The girl lets out a startled squeak, tensing as if she is unused to being spoken to. She turns uncertainly towards Lucy, brushing aside the scarlet curtain to reveal delicate features and a pair of wide brown eyes.

"Yes, I am," the girl answers in a low voice, glancing around the hallway as if she might be disturbing those in the rooms nearby.

"You applied for the scholarship?" Lucy tries again gently. The girl simply nods. "That's really cool. Honestly, I was so shocked when they called me. I applied for the grant, but I didn't actually think I'd get it, y'know?" She continues casually. "My name's Lucy, by the way," she introduces herself with an encouraging smile. The other girl finally responds, rewarding Lucy for her efforts with a slow smile that seems to light up the whole hallway. Her gracefully lifted hand shakes Lucy's with a grip so strong she's pretty certain she can hear her own bones cracking.

"I'm Erza," the girl tells her, and Lucy mumbles a vague response. She's too busy being stunned that someone so demure in appearance could probably snap her like a toothpick. Erza, oblivious to Lucy's internal monologue, seems like she might continue the conversation when she spots something over Lucy's shoulder. Her brown eyes widen in panic, and she clamps her mouth shut, dropping her gaze back to her hands. Confused, Lucy turns to see a man approaching from the direction of the elevators. Average height, athletic build — probably the brooding type, she assesses; dark hair and cold blue eyes. He's good looking, but not enough to render someone speechless. Besides, Lucy is pretty sure that there's more to Erza than what meets the eye — she doesn't seem the type to lose her mind over a guy.

The man meets Lucy's gaze with an equally calculating stare, sizing her up as he comes to a halt just in front of their designated meeting place. He glances towards Erza, and Lucy is surprised to see his eyebrows shoot up and his gaze soften minutely in recognition. At his reaction, Erza shrinks back, practically cowering behind Lucy in the most inconspicuously conspicuous way possible. She isn't exactly sure how the two know each other, but Erza is clearly too sweet to be mixed up with someone so standoffish. She clears her throat abruptly to gain his attention, rolling her eyes when he simply raises an eyebrow and levels her with an unimpressed stare.

"Dreyar Grant recipient?" she settles on raising her own eyebrows and matching his expression. He looks to be a man of few words, and while Lucy can respect that she can't say she's too impressed with his attitude. That is, until the newcomer rubs the back of his neck with a boyish grin and his demeanor shifts from cold businessman to sheepish teenager in a split second.

"Yeah, I guess you are too, huh? I'm Gray," He introduces himself brightly.

"Lucy," she responds with an incredulous shake of the head.

"Sorry I walked over here and didn't say anything like a creep," he chuckles ruefully, leaning against a nearby wall. He leans in conspiratorially, "If I'm being honest, I'm kind of hungover. I told my friends about the grant last night and they insisted on taking me out to celebrate. We got a little carried away."

Lucy chuckles sympathetically, amazed at this guy's natural charm when he isn't being all silent and moody. Even Erza's mouth quirked up into an amused smile. Gray seems about to continue when a flurry of pink and white comes barreling out of nowhere, crashing into him with a muffled curse.

"Shit, I am so sorry man, I got really lost on the way here and I thought I was going to be late," the stranger pants, regaining his balance. Lucy tries not to stare at what must be the final member of their scheduled meeting. The boy's hair is dyed a shocking pink, sticking up in all directions and flopping carelessly into his green eyes. Sharp, angular features, muscular build, shorter than Gray by a couple of inches. Familiar, too. I've definitely seen this guy before, Lucy thinks, resisting the urge to smack herself when her dad-joke addled-brain responds, yeah, in your dreams.

"I'm Natsu," he tells them cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the way Lucy is still trying to remember how she knows him while he shakes her hand. "Sorry about scaring you guys like that," he apologizes, "I thought I was going to be late, so I drove here and almost got pulled over for a speeding ticket, and then I thought I was getting followed by a cop so I had to drive the rest of the way like ten miles under." The newcomer rambles on for another few minutes, filling the stale air with his chatter. It's like he's got a built-in oxygen tank, Lucy thinks, marvelling at his sheer ability to go five sentences without a breath. She gets so caught up in his animated conversation that she forgets to be nervous.

And then the door to Room 1407 swings open, and Lucy realizes she might've accidentally swallowed a golf ball with her cereal this morning. The woman standing in the doorway is gorgeous, with big blue eyes and long silver hair that curls down her shoulders. Lucy is usually comfortable in her own skin, but a curling iron has never been her friend and something about this woman makes her adjust the sleeves of her freshly-ironed blouse self-consciously. She sneaks a glance at the other three. Erza is deathly pale, subtly tugging at her crimson locks with shaking fingers. Gray's icy, uncaring facade has returned, his shoulders rigid as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Only Natsu seems unfazed — his posture is as relaxed as ever and the easy grin still tugs at his lips. He catches her eye, winking, and Lucy can almost hear his voice in her head.

Don't worry, we've got this.

The woman finally speaks. "I'm Mirajane Strauss," she introduces herself with a sweet smile. "Won't you come in?"

---

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment; your thoughts, a moment you found particularly interesting! There's nothing better than posting something you're truly excited about and getting to see all the reactions!

Part 2

[millyivybloom-blog]

University

Hi all,

So I’m currently deciding on which university I should attend. I have received offers from all 4 I applied to but now I have to choose which one I want to go to the most so I thought id share the process I use to make these decisions. There are lots of universities out there so how do you decide which to apply for let alone your favourite? Here is my advice.

Step 1: Choose the course.

There is no point even considering a university if they don’t offer the degree you want to do. Use university guides which are available from the times and guardian etc. to find the rating of universities as well as a list of schools that offer the subject you’re interested it. Use UCAS to search your course as well because that is likely to be the most up to date recording of the courses offered by universities.

Make lists of the universities that offer your course, how good they are considered both academically and by the students, how far from home they are and what grades they are asking for. If you can only find the UCAS points they require, a quick google should show what grades you will need and ask your teachers if you are still unsure.

For courses such as psychology, there is a society (the British psychological society or BPS) which accredits courses. This accreditation is a requirement to start training to be a chartered psychologist and will cost your a few years of study if you don’t have this and want to be a psychologist. 

*Check websites for both the university and the body or society that controls the area you want your study to lead you into so you are sure if your course needs any form of accreditation and ask the lecturers on visits.*

Step 2: Visits.

University open days exist for a reason. Most of them are on Saturdays but if you still cannot make it to one email the head of departments asking for more information on the course and if you have ay questions they should be happy to answer them. You can also tour the university digitally for most schools or request a private tour. It is important to know you feel comfortable and safe at the university you are considering as you could be living and studying there for 3-5 or more years depending on your course. There is no point going to a school in the middle of a city if you prefer living near open countryside or in the middle of nowhere if you feel isolated. Get a feel of the location, town, campus, accommodation, study spaces and anywhere else you would be likely to find yourself over the years you will be studying there.

For example, one university I was considering was taken off my list when I visited and felt incredibly unsafe and unhappy there. I am a country girl at heart so an open campus in the centre of a city was no going to make me feel at home or allow me to be productive in my learning.

Step 3: Talk to people.

Talk to lecturers, asking any questions you have and discussing areas of interest. This is how you get a feel of the teaching at the university. Are the teachers engaging? Do they care and are they willing to talk to possible students at length about their subjects? Chances are, if they are willing to take time out of their day to talk to a perspective student they will be happy to do the same with their actual, committed students. 

Talk to other students. These are people who are living the life you want to be living in a year or two. They are having the experience you are dreaming of right now so ask about classes, social aspects of university, the nightlife if you are interested in that, where the good coffee is and how crowded the laundrette can get. Even if they are at an open day and probably being paid to be there, they are likely to have a very different perspective to any of the staff at the university so take the time to have a chat to them.

Talk to our friends and family. Remember that this is your decision but it is always good to get a second opinion. Parents are often focused on your safety and how far away you will be moving whilst friends are probably going through the same problems you are right now. Do not base your decision about who will be where and what other people think but it can be good to have other ideas presented from different perspectives.

Step 4: Make pro-con lists.

Once you have cut down your list to your favourites make a pro-con list for each one. These don't have to be long but they can help you decide which ones are at the top of your list and which aren’t your favourites at all. UCAS allows you to apply for 5 universities but you don't have to fill all 5 spaces if you don’t like that many places. 

Step 5:Apply.

Even if you’re not sure you will get the grade some places want they might still consider you with a good personal statement. Make sure you have universities with a range of grades so you have a back up if you don't get the grades you wanted. 

Once you have applied you just need to wait. Regularly check your emails and UCAS account for any updates. Some universities may get back to you incredibly quickly and some might take weeks, just keep calm and think positive.

Step 6: Exams.

Taking your A-Levels can be stressful so take time to focus on preparing for them as early as year 12 and revise right from the beginning (you’ll thank me later).

Some universities offer merit scholarship and entrance exams so make sure to check when you apply. Even if you doubt you will do well on these tests, take them anyway, you might surprise yourself and it will show the university that you are committed to them and the course. Not all places offer these exams though so check. Your college should be happy and able to help you to apply for and take these exams but they are often earlier than A-Levels, around January to March so check early if you want to take them.

Over all, it is good to start early and stay organised and committed. Keep a notebook solely for university information so you can keep it all organised. When in doubt ask your teachers for advice as they help students apply for university every year so probably have some good advice by now.

Good luck. xoxo

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND THINGS

You rarely hear that kind of money in a company, the work you do, but in enforcing it. Jessica is the main reason they never considered this was that they never imagined we could be had so cheap. If this paradigm is crowded, just wait for the next round. One would be to start or join a startup. Any city where people start startups will have one or more of them. Now it's just one of the first things he'll ask is, how they'll make money, and once you have money, people will choose conservatively. In retrospect it shouldn't have been surprising that a place so pleasant would attract people who wanted to work especially hard. Starting a startup will do.

It's much better than 100, if you can manage it, is to make the region a center of scholarship and industry which have been closely tied for longer than most people realize. Falling victim to this trick could really hurt you. One reason that's unlikely is that someone starting a startup can be demoralizing. This principle isn't only for big ideas. There is no prize for getting the answer quickly. The word was first used for backers of Broadway plays, but now applies to individual investors generally. Not all cities send a message. If I had a startup and a restaurant or a barber shop. There were no police. I would have been delighted if I'd realized in college that there were parts of the world.

It's not just an airy intangible to most people. If you plan to start a startup. Going to or back to school is a huge predictor of death because in addition to the distraction it gives you something to say you're doing. It will, ordinarily, enjoy doing. With some emails it's hard to say whether he should be classified as a friend or angel. One thing I do feel pretty certain of is that if you're against software patents, and as a result feels like a body cavity search. If you have to assume it takes some amount of pain.

Google did for Kleiner and Sequoia, it generates a lot of them. I don't believe it till you get the first big chunk of random text to counterbalance the spam terms. Her list seems plausible. No matter how determined you are, it's hard not to be. If Galileo had said that people in the mailroom or the personnel department work at one remove from the actual making of stuff. This pays especially well in technology, you cook one thing and that's what I'm going to give you distance, you have to do a deal with you just to lock you up while they decide if they really want to. I'll probably focus on the personal ad type first. Arguably this isn't a real false positive either, but a better way to explore ideas. Over-engaging with early users is not just that it's more legitimate many of the people have half the total wealth, they tend to grow into a big company on the phone, with a feeling of dread in the back of your mind? Ditto for many other kinds of companies that don't make anything physical. Another effect of a larger vocabulary is that when you have to be careful to avoid if he happened to set his time machine for Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1992. The Dutch seem to live their lives up to that point?

So I inverted the 5 regrets, yielding a list of the biggest obstacles to creating startups in Europe is the attitude they reflect: that an employee is a kind of premature optimization. She can see through any kind of faker almost immediately. There are also a couple things you could do more; you should try harder. We tell the startups we fund succeed, then half of you are going to die. For example, so far the filter has caught two emails that were sent to my address because of a typo, and one outside person acceptable to both. It seems to be that the Europeans rode on the crest of a powerful new idea: allowing those who made a lot of money for them, it's a great advantage to be able to give advice about how to make one consisting only of Japanese people. I tried writing, I ignored the headers too. In fact we only spent about $2 million in our entire existence. That's the myth in the Valley. But he compels admiration. The way to become an expert on startups, but to be an all-or-nothing aspect of startups was not something we wanted. So their numbers may not even be aware you're doing something people want.

The old ideas are so powerful that even the most successful startups from the batch that just started, AirbedAndBreakfast, is in NYC right now meeting their users. There was no real distinction between working hours and not. But surely a necessary, if not beyond the bounds of possibility, is beyond the scope of this article. The other teachers were at best benevolently indifferent. It seems fitting to us that kids' ideas should be bright and clean. The other kind of spams I currently do have trouble with. Its more general version is our answer to the Greeks: Don't see purpose where there isn't. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that mobility gives hackers the luxury of being principled.

I've written a whole essay on this, so I can usually catch them. While writing the prototype, the group has been traversing their network of friends in search of angel investors. Since software patents are evil. The danger comes when there's a bump in the road, as happened to Steve Jobs at Apple. If you look at the emails I exchanged with him at the time. But I am not negative on this one, I am interested, but we knew this wouldn't scale. So by caring more about money and less about power than Silicon Valley, the message the Valley sends is: you should expect a plan that cuts the risk of starting a startup is not to do is other things. If you took ten people at random out of the big dogs will notice and take it away. As in families, relations between founders and investors can be complicated.

Let me see and decide for myself. He applied to YC with some bad ecommerce idea. Companies are not set up to reward people who want to do more than put in a solid effort. In a typical VC funding deal, the board of directors will become more powerful. They always get things wrong. New York is a classic example of this technique. This was a direct result of making tokens case sensitive; the Plan for Spam filter wouldn't have caught it. Ideally you transform your life so it has other defaults. In our startup, one of the most important skills founders need to learn about are the needs of your own users, and you learn things you'd never have known otherwise. My immediate reaction to this list is that it was inappropriate to compliment a colleague or student's clothes.

[thethingssafhaslearnedsofar]

Act 1, I Can't be Your Hero, Baby.

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio

When I was a senior in college, I wrote an anonymous essay for The Daily Beast about what they wanted to call my dirty little secret, that I was undocumented. This was in 2011, before DACA, and I was one of the first undocumented students to graduate Harvard. The essay got me some attention, and agents wrote me asking if I wanted to write a memoir.

I was angry. A memoir? I was 21. I wasn't fucking Barbra Streisand. I had been writing professionally since I was 15 but only about music. I wanted to be the guy in High Fidelity. And I didn't want my first book to be a rueful tale about being a sickly Victorian orphan with tuberculosis who didn't have a social security number, which is what the agents all wanted.

The guy who eventually ended up becoming my agent respected that, did not find an interchangeable immigrant to publish a sad book, read everything I would write over the next seven years, and we kept in touch. I was the first person who wrote him on the morning of November 9th, 2016.

That morning, I received a bunch of emails from people who are really freaked out about Trump winning. And the emails, essentially, were offers to hide me in their second houses in Vermont or stay in their basements. Shit, I told my partner, they're trying to Anne Frank me.

By this point, I had read lots of books about migrants. I hated a good number of these books. I couldn't see my family in them, because I saw my parents as more than laborers, as more than sufferers or dreamers. I thought I could write something better, and I thought I was the best person to do it. I was just crazy enough. Because if you're going to write about undocumented immigrants in America, tell the story, the full story, you have to be a little bit crazy. And you certainly can't be enamored by America, not still. That disqualifies you.

I did not want to write anything inspirational. I wanted to write for everybody who wants to step away from the buzzwords in immigration-- the talking heads, the Dreamers in graduation caps and gowns-- and read about the people underground, not heroes, randoms, people. I wanted to write about my parents, and that's the story I'm going to tell here, the story of my parents.

If you ask my mother where she's from, she's 100% going to say, she's from the kingdom of god, because she does not like to say that she's from Ecuador, Ecuador being one of the few South American countries that has not especially outdone itself on the international stage. Magical realism basically skipped over it. And our military dictatorship never reached the mythical status of a Pinochet or a Videla. Plus, there are no world famous Ecuadorians to speak of other than the fool who housed Julian Assange at the embassy in London and Christina Aguilera's father, who she said was a domestic abuser.

If you ask my father where he's from, he will definitely say Ecuador, because he is sentimental about the country for reasons he's working out in therapy.

But if you push them, I mean really push them, they're both going to say they're from New York. If you ask them if they feel American, because you're a little narc who wants to prove your blood runs red, white, and blue, they're going to say no, we feel like New Yorkers. They've lived in New York since they left Ecuador in 1991.

I don't know much about my parents' decision to choose New York, or even the United States, as a destination. It's not that I haven't asked them why they came to the United States. It's that the answer isn't as morally satisfying as most people's answers are-- a decapitated family member, famine. And I never pressed them for more details because I don't want to apply pressure on a bruise.

The story, as far as I know it, goes something like this. My parents had just gotten married, and their small auto body business was not doing well. The idea of coming to America to work for a year to make just enough money to pay off their debts came up, and it seemed like a good idea. They left me with my dad's family when I was a year and a half old. That's about as much as I know.

My parents didn't come back after a year. They were barely making ends meet. When I was four years old, going to school in Ecuador, teachers began to comment on how gifted I was. My parents knew Ecuador was not the place for a gifted girl. The gender politics were too fucked up. And they wanted me to have all the educational opportunities they hadn't had. So that's when they brought me to New York. I was just shy of five when I stepped off the plane.

White Americans love academically achieving minorities. And I learned quickly that the most alluring thing about me was that I was young and brown and a good student, the holy trinity. I went to a Catholic elementary school on a scholarship, and we lived in Queens. My mother stayed home, and my father drove a cab. This was back when East New York was still gang country, and he had to fold his body into a little origami swan and hide under his steering wheel during crossfires in the middle of the day.

Then came September 11th, 2001. Here's how I remember the day my father started dying, not long after the twin towers fell. My father comes home from work, and I greet him in the doorway to give him a kiss hello. He walks slowly and comes toward my body at a strange angle a child could only interpret as a terrible fall. He collapses onto me to cry into my neck. I'm little, 12 or 13, but he does, he falls.

The letter says in English something about the DMV suspending driver's licenses for undocumented immigrants. It was part of an attempt to strengthen security measures after 9/11. My father had just lost his job as a taxi driver. He had also lost his state ID. Over the next 20 years, he'd lose many more things, but let's put a little blue thumb tack on this memory map, the first place in Hell we visited.

September 11th changed the immigration landscaper forever. ICE was the creation of 9/11 paranoia. It changed my father, too. It was hard to see him fall, because he was the most powerful person I knew. He was a difficult man, and I was a difficult child. I was polite and craved approval from authority figures, but I was also dark and precocious. Not precocious in the, we live in Tribeca, and my kid is a born artist, kind of way. More like, my immigrant third grader is reading Hemingway but is secretly drinking Listerine and toothpaste until she throws up because she wants it to kill her, kind of way.

Only years later would I realized how real my suicidal impulses were. That was too damn young, I'd think, lying down in the dark at my doctor's office with an IV of ketamine hooked up to my arm, hoping to extinguish the suicidality that began when I was five and lay crayons around the perimeter of my bed so I'd know in the morning if I'd been secretly raped at night. I'd know because the crayons would be broken.

My father read parenting books that explained how to raise troubled children. But those children were never straight-A students who were soft-spoken and loved teachers. It confused him, and the dissonance made him angry at me. He saw me as different from other children in a way that troubled him, and he fumbled in the dark to help me with what he couldn't name.

When I was off from school for any kind of break, my father would plan out my day in half hour increments, scheduling everything from bath time, to TV shows, to coloring time, to math drills, to time to play with dolls, and even bathroom breaks. He called it my schedule, and he hand wrote it on graph paper in different colored inks and taped it to my desk. When I became overwhelmed with panic, crying hysterically, he would send me to take a cold shower or take me out on a jog around the neighborhood.

He'd set aside a magazine or a newspaper articles for me to translate. He could not review the fidelity of the translation, but he judged my penmanship. I didn't know what would have happened to me if I had not been kept away from my own thoughts for so many years. My father kept me alive.

After my father lost his job as a taxi driver, he found a job as a delivery man at a restaurant down in the Financial District. In the mornings, he would deliver breakfast to offices-- a raisin bagel with cream cheese and a coffee with hazelnut creamer, orange juice and a banana, a granola bar and chocolate milk. There was no delivery minimum, so my father delivered it all. Because the deliveries were so small, sometimes he didn't get a tip. Sometimes he was told to keep the change, a quarter. Sometimes he was tipped in pennies. He had to say, thank you, sir, thank you, ma'am.

Sometimes he was given a $20 tip for a $5.00 breakfast. He always told us about those tips. They were usually from Puerto Rican receptionists who talked to him in Spanish and asked to see photos of me. When he came home was one of those tips, it was like having my dad back from the dead. He would dance to no music, and he'd make jokes, and he'd come out of his shower looking like a teenager.

My father didn't use a bike. He made all his deliveries on foot. He speed walked while carrying bags of food to offices on Wall Street. The plastic handles of the bags would twist and cut into his fingers, and he developed large calluses on both his hands. His polyester pants rubbed up against his calves so much that he lost all the hair on his legs.

He went through many pairs of inexpensive black rubber shoes. My mother massaged his feet at night. My dad's feet are small and fat, like mine, so you can't tell when they're swollen. After a few years, my dad's feet would hurt so much that he walked like he was on hot coals, sometimes leaning on me to move from the couch to the bed. Aye, yai, yai, yai, yai, he'd say, as he limped, like a mariachi.

When I was 15, the owner of the restaurant where my father worked hired a new manager to oversee the delivery men, who were all immigrants. The guy was Puerto Rican, an American citizen, and became immediately abusive, threatening to call ICE on them, yelling at them, getting up in their faces. My father fell into a bit of a depression.

I had just watched All the President's Men. I put on my best posh accent, dialed *69 to block my number, and called the restaurant. I asked to speak to the owner. I said I was a beat reporter for a big city newspaper and had just received a tip from a customer about overhearing racist abuse in the kitchen. And did he have a comment? The owner said he'd handle it and asked me not to write the story. I don't know, man, I said, it's a pretty good story. In the end, the manager was fired, and the cloud over my father lifted.

My father was furious when I told him what I did. But not for a minute in the 15 years since have I felt that what I did was unethical. Nor have I felt guilty for having a man fired. I'd do it again, but my accent would be better.

I went to a small public high school in Times Square, where around 80% of the student body was at or below the poverty line. We were mostly all black or Latinx. I was a high achiever. I wanted to go to the University of Chicago because I found the unofficial motto, where fun goes to die, appealing. But there is no beating Harvard. That name. I needed the name to keep my parents safe.

Harvard, at the time, did not know how to deal with undocumented students. When I was there, a very successful Wall Street man who knew me from an educational NGO we both belonged to-- he as a supporter, me as a supported-- learned I was undocumented and could not legally hold a work-study job. So every semester, he wrote me a modest check. In the notes section, and he cheekily wrote, beer money.

I wrote him regular emails about my life at Harvard and my budding success as a published writer. He was always appropriate and boundaried. I had read obsessively about artists since I was a kid and considered myself an artist since I was a kid, so I didn't feel weird about older, wealthy, white people giving me money in exchange for grades or writing. It was patronage. They were Gertrude Stein, and I was a young Hemingway. I was van Gogh, crazy and broken. I truly did not have any racial anxieties about this, thank god. That kind of thing could really fuck a kid up.

Different therapists throughout the years have tried to get me to confess to cultural shock about arriving to Harvard as a poor, undocumented freshman. But the truth is there was none. I've always had a really wonderful sense of self-esteem thanks to my mother, who is a tiny bit of a narcissist and has delusions of royalty, and because of my mental illness, which comes with delusions of grandeur of its own. So I kind of felt like it was my birthright. That probably makes a lot of people very mad.

As I began to receive my diagnoses and misdiagnoses throughout my 20s-- depression, anxiety, OCD, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, complex trauma-- I didn't feel anything other than affinity with writers I loved, people like Emily Dickinson, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and Robert Lowell. It made sense to me that I had my own demons. Of course I did.

I've always been super casual when people ask me about my parents having left me in Ecuador. That's a bravado I'd like to keep on the official record. But sometimes I think about it. I haven't talked with my parents about their having left me in Ecuador when I was a year and a half old. Sometimes I do adorable things, like take pictures of myself chugging vodka bottles or pretending to down the contents of a pill bottle, and send them to my mother with the caption, because you abandoned me.

When I am away from my partner and dog for a few days for work, and it's hard, I wonder how my parents were able to do it for three years. I don't blame either of them for it. I never have. What I'm describing to you is dirt extracted from a very tight pore. I don't feel anything about being left on the day to day, but I am told by mental health experts that it has affected me.

And I fought that conclusion. I denied it. I wanted to be a genius. I wanted my mental illnesses to be purely biological. I wanted to have been born wild and crazy and weird and brilliant, writing math equations in chalk on a window. Instead, therapist after therapist told me I had attachment issues and that my mental illnesses were related to my childhood. I left those therapists, ghosted them.

But it's not just those early years without my parents that branded me. It's the life I've lead in America as a migrant. As an undocumented person, I felt like a hologram. Nothing felt secure. I never felt safe. I didn't allow myself to feel joy because I was scared to attach myself to anything I'd have to let go of. Being deportable means you have to be ready to go at any moment. I've never loved a material object. When my parents took me home after my Harvard graduation, we took the Chinatown bus, and we each took one suitcase of my things. If it didn't fit, we threw it out. We threw out everything that wasn't clothes.

After I graduated from Harvard, I went to Yale to do a PhD. I never wanted to PhD. But DACA didn't exist then, and I couldn't legally get a job anywhere. And I had to buy time for something to happen-- for the DREAM Act to pass, which my dad had assured me would happened since I was in middle school. And I needed the health insurance.

It's allowed me to write, and my parents will be proud when I get that doctorate. I have fetched the American dream and laid it at my parents' feet. But the twisted inversion that many children of immigrants know is that, at some point, your parents become your children. And your own personal American dream becomes making sure they age and die with dignity in a country that has long wanted them dead.

A few years ago, my father experienced heart failure. This was the moment I had been preparing for my entire life. Everything that had happened to me since I took that New York-bound flight 24 years ago had been preparing me for this moment. Learning English, getting bangs, gaining weight, losing weight, getting the sick puppy from the pet shop-- all of that happened to prepare me to this point. My parents were sick, undocumented, uninsured, and aging out of work in a fucking racist country.

Until the pandemic hit, my father was a salad maker, feeding Manhattan's executive class. He had worked for 14 years at the same restaurant, then left. He was invited to a promising new job, lured there by an acquaintance who assured him of better hours, better treatment, a better environment. My dad is very gullible.

He spent a week at this new restaurant, where, for spare change, they had him work all day. And then at the end of the day, he was given just two and a half hours to clean an industrial kitchen-- an industrial fryer, a refrigerator, a stove, an oven, and a sink-- wash the dishes in the dishwasher, take out the trash, sweep and mop the floors, and clean the garbage chute. His body was wrecked at the end of each day. I'm too old to for this, he said. So he quit. His old job wouldn't take him back.

Desperate, he began each morning by showing up at a Latinx job agency, which would send him out to audition at a different restaurant day after day, week after week, to no avail. My dad started texting me blurry cell phone pictures from the job agency. He took the photos when he was sitting in the waiting room of the agency, waiting for his name to be called.

The first picture is of a man, maybe in his late 70s, wearing a green button down, khaki pants, and aviator sunglasses. His lips are downcast. My dad said he was applying to be a dishwasher. The second picture is of a man, maybe in his late 40s, who was wearing a black baseball cap, a gray sweater, and maroon pants. My dad said he'd had a stroke. His right arm was paralyzed, and he had a limp and his right leg. He was also applying to be a dishwasher.

It's hard to see men like that not get jobs, my dad texted. I hope they have children who can take care of them, I respond. What I mean to say is, I hope they have a child like me. I hope everyone has a child like me. I tell god, this is going to kill me anyway, so just take me. Patent and mass produce and distribute me to undocumented immigrants at Walmarts. I am a professional undocumented immigrant's daughter.

I saved the photos on my phone as a reminder to myself of why I need to be successful, so successful, statistical anomaly successful. Then I deleted them because they harmed my mental health. I wish I still had them.

My parents live in New York City, and after the pandemic hit in March, they lost their jobs. They're both in Queens, the center of the center of the epidemic. I've prohibited my father from doing dangerous gig work, like deliveries. And I've begun to financially support them both. My mom is immunocompromised. She has an extremely low white blood cell count.

I have really lovely dreams, crazy fucking cotton candy fantasy dreams, dreams that make my whole body feel warm, where I cut up my chest, no anesthesia, take out my lungs, and implant them into her chest with the tree stitch. And if I'm lucky, in the seconds I have before I die, I would be able to see her heart. We wouldn't even need a ventilator.

There is a Harvard scholar named Roberto Gonzalez who has conducted longitudinal studies on the effects of undocumented life on young people. He found his subjects suffered chronic headaches, toothaches, ulcers, sleep problems, and eating issues, which is funny to find in research because I get these migraines, an 8 or 9 on the 10 point scale. I have a CAT scan, an MRI. I go to the neurologist. The readings are all inconclusive. I'm told it's a migraine with an unknown cause. Have you tried yoga, they say.

The headaches get worse when I write about my parents. From migrants shot in the head by Border Patrol, to migrant children being forcibly injected with drugs in detention centers, US government's crimes against immigrants are beyond the pale. And the whole world knows. But when I was growing up and throughout the Obama administration, similar crimes were happening, if on a different scale, and I'm not sure the same people cared.

I felt crazy for thinking we were under attack, watching my neighbors disappear and then going to school, and watching the nightly news, and watching award shows and seeing no mention. I felt crazy watching the white supremacist state slowly kill my father. I would frantically tell everyone that there was no such thing as the American dream. But then some all-star immigrants around me, who had done things the right way, preached a different story, and Americans ate that up. It all made me feel crazy. I also am crazy. Pero why?

Researchers have shown that the flooding of stress hormones resulting from a traumatic separation from your parents at a young age kills off so many dendrites and neurons in the brain that it results in permanent psychological and physical changes. One psychiatrist I went to told me that my brain looks like a tree without branches. So I just think about all the children who have been separated from their parents, and there's a lot of us, past and present, and some under more traumatic circumstances than others, like those who are in internment camps right now.

And I just imagine us as an army of mutants. What will happen to us? Who will we become? Who will take care of us? We've all been touched by this monster, and our brains are forever changed, all of us trees without branches.

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio reading an essay adapted from her brand new memoir, The Undocumented Americans. https://www.thisamericanlife.org/700/transcript