#i just finished my ap lit exam. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rogueshadeaux · 10 months

Text

Chapter Seventeen — Reascendance

6k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: child death, implied terrorism. Sorta ooc Delsin but just pretend it's his customer service voice

Brent didn’t object when I appeared in his bedroom in the middle of the night — I knew he was awake, he wasn’t snoring. He didn’t even say anything when I took one side of the full sized bed and bundled up in the woven blanket, finally managing to fall asleep. Maybe it was the few years before we moved to Chapman where we shared a twin mattress as toddlers in that one bedroom apartment in downtown Portland, or maybe it was the fact that we entered this world sharing a womb — but I always felt better with Brent close. He’d never admit it, but he felt the same — it was an unspoken agreement of sorts.

We were up all too soon again for exams, of all things, Betty shuttling us to the absolutely miniscule high school and parking in its front lot. “God, how many kids go to school here?” Brent asked, sleep still thickening his voice.

Betty, being chairman of the Akomish, apparently knew. “Well the middle school has about 350 kids and the high school has 270.”

“Middle—“ I cut off, glancing back at the school. “Is this a blended school?”

Betty nodded. Holy shit, I didn’t even know schools were allowed to do that.

Four teachers met us in the lobby, guiding us through a hall that seemed smaller than the one at my fucking gyno. We were taken to a small computer lab in a glorified broom closet, and told we’d take each exam with a break in between. “We provide lunches to those on the free and reduced lunch program during the holiday,” one guy with thick glasses said. “You’ll attend lunch with them at 11:45.”

All this life changing drama and yet I somehow couldn’t escape my AP Lit exam.

But hey, we survived, finishing up just before eleven and told to just sit tight. “You can even play around on the computers if you’d like,” a woman teacher that stayed behind offered, her partners all going to the lunchroom to prepare it.

There was no hesitation; Brent immediately began typing in a news channel’s domain name, and I left my place on the other side of the room to sit beside him.

The march was headlining news, helicopter view of COLE’s remains, which was now gated and its front absolutely covered in little offerings. Couple posters I couldn’t make out, unlit candles, one section completely dedicated to a pile of dinosaur toys. There had to be thousands, all lined up in the street and contesting it enough they had to fan into the corners of the intersections, and there at the head was Eugene Sims.

But no Dad.

That didn’t make sense; he left at 9 at night. He probably got to Portland by midnight, two in the morning if he was more cautious. Why wasn’t he there? Did something happen?

Brent’s leg started going again.

But eventually 11:05 came, and Dr. Sims started forward, leading the entire march with his own group of supporters at its head. It took me a moment to realize I knew a lot of those in the group he walked with; that financial advisor who always played on his PS Vita-lity in the break room, Annabelle. He specifically linked his arm with a woman in all black, and it took me a second to tell it was the mom of that seven year old, the charred remains of that little toy Annabelle made in her hands.

But no Dad.

We were ushered to the cafeteria at some point, something that didn’t really register with me because of how absolutely worried I was. I wasn’t sure if I should say luckily, but the teachers had a television going on in the cafeteria with the same feed, volume turned high, a bunch of kids ranging from sixth to senior in the tables surrounding it, all turning in place to stare at us as we were directed where to sit and handed some tray with cold cut ham sandwiches and baby carrots.

“Hey,” one called, an older boy with hair damn near as long as mine, staring straight past me to Brent. “Aren’t you the guy from the Longhouse yesterday?”

One of the kids, seemingly excitable ‘cause she simply wouldn’t stop moving, confirmed before Brent could even try to. “Yeah! That’s the dude with the wings!”

We were surrounded before I could even blink.

It wasn’t a bad thing, though; the younger ones were absolutely enamored, begging him to pull the wings out and making him act all awkward. There was one girl who immediately began flirting with him and his ears started to turn pink, but he managed to keep his cool enough to say, “Sorry, I’ve uh, got a girl.”

The guy with long hair slid in beside me. “They’re saying you’re Rowe’s kids,” he directed at me, the only one to actually pay me any mind. “That true?”

My first chance at admitting it. “Yeah, we are,” I said with barely any hesitation, the teeniest bit of pride managing to burst through the nausea.

“Jean,” Brent said urgently, shooting up to stand, “Jean, look.”

There was a bit of commotion on the television now; the march had been met with a small batch of Lifeline protestors that broke through the police barrier on an adjoining street, practically rushing forward to meet Dr. Sims and the COLE survivors. He made them stop, letting the mother of the seven year old go and gently putting her behind him, standing tall and refusing to flinch. The cops didn’t look in any rush to aid Dr. Sims either, the bastards. “They’re just gonna let them get through,” I scoffed, not even bothering to phrase it as a question as we walked closer to the television, the group moving with us. Cops around the march didn’t even flinch at the Lifeline protestors, instead eyeing the marchers, waiting for them to move to take action.

“Where the hell is he?” Brent muttered, and I instinctively reached out to grab at his wrist in an effort to stay there. If Dad was in trouble, we’d already know, right? But I mean, how? It isn’t like he could message us, and if something happened with that Archangel thing, wouldn’t the whole point be for no one to know?

I glanced at Brent, who was already looking down at me with the same face. I was about three minutes from stealing a car and driving to Portland myself.

Brent looked back to the television as I felt a tap on my shoulder, a little face full of equal amounts freckles and acne looking up at me. God, was I that small at some point? “Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?” She asked, giggling.

Oh I wanted to vomit. Did we really look that unalike? “Ew, god no, he’s my twin,” I almost gagged out, going to move my hand from around his wrist. His hand twisted and shot out though to keep it in place, the grip hard.

“They’re not stopping,” Brent muttered, eyes still glued to the television.

The chatter around us died off as they all began to realize there were more important things going on — like the altercation that was about to begin on television. Dr. Sims was losing control of the crowd, who were beginning to shift defensively. A few of the Conduits in the crowd called up their powers, the stagnant hold of sleeves of their abilities waiting to be used. Lifeline was making an aggressive beeline straight for the center, seemingly not intending on giving them any kind of space, and the cops in riot gear surrounding the show readied their weapons.

But off to the side, some hard light overexposed the camera, making the Lifeliners stop abruptly in place — especially as the aura of neon rushed down the side of a building at a speed I never knew he was capable of, the camera’s frame rate catching frozen glimpses of him mid-run. He zipped onto the road and skidded to a stop in the middle of the 10 feet of space between Lifeline and the COLE survivors, the pink and blue neon on his body slipping away into the air with a snap like a lightning bolt. Dad stood, shoulders squared and chest out as he eyed them, challenging them to try and push further.

They didn’t dare move.

Eugene Sims broke away from the crowd, closing that space and meeting Dad there in the middle, a hand clapping his shoulder. Dad turned, the two embracing for a quick squeeze featuring that man-back-slap thing, separating just as the camera tried zooming in on the Conduit emblem on Dad’s back. The anchor was saying something about it being Delsin Rowe, and the kids around us began looking at us again, but I didn’t care — he was okay. He made it there, and was alive.

There was newfound vigor to the marchers, Dr. Sims taking time to lead Dad back to the group of survivors. They hovered there for quite a while, giving the camera the chance to grab that million-dollar angle it was looking for a moment ago, zoomed in only on Dad now as he talked to the COLE survivors. He went to reach out to the mother but paused midair, hands eventually falling back to his side. He was making his apologies.

Lifeline didn’t move this entire time; in fact, when the camera zoomed back out, it showed they were standing stupidly in the middle of the road, wind gone from their sails. Their dumb little picket signs hung at their sides now, and they glanced at each other confused. Now that their theories were proven real, it seemed like they lost a reason to fight at all. Like they lost their cause, the ability to point their fingers accusingly.

I guess that’s why, when Dad and Dr. Sims turned back around to resume the march, the Lifeline idiots gave them a wide berth, moving to the sidewalk and pushing as close to the building as possible. Dad took his place beside Eugene Sims at the helm of the Second Age Movement, only one other person missing from the original trio.

I’m pretty sure I failed my Earth Science exam when we were shepherded back to that computer room, if I’m being honest. There was just so much distractive chatter in my mind that wouldn’t shut the hell up as I tried to remember if oceanic crust is thinner or denser than continental. Brent finished his exam a whole hour and a half later, and we left to find Betty waiting for us with her little Beetle, beaming at the fact that she gets to take us to Seattle — and immediately deflating when she figured out it wasn’t the first time we’ve been there. “We went with Dad to a gala two years ago,” Brent informed her. “Something for COLE’s charity donations,”

She just huffed in a comical way, telling us to get in.

Seattle’s skyscrapers reached higher than Portland’s, and there were so many more here too. It was strange being here with new context to our lives; this is where things changed for Dad. This is where he and Mom met. This is where Dad helped change things for Conduits. Not Delsin, Dad.

Yeah, still weird to think about.

But we got our phones, sitting in the cellular provider’s store and watching the television that streamed the end of the march as Dad, Dr. Sims and everyone else descended on Portland’s city hall. There were a few minutes of stagnant movement, the camera switched from aerial coverage to on scene as amps appeared and a mic was put up. It was normal for Dr. Sims to speak after events like this —he was their Martin Luther King Jr. after all —and sometimes when it was after a tragedy, he’d have survivors or family come up after to state their piece.

So it was surprising when Dad stepped up to the mic first.

Even now, in the throngs of a mall during last minute Christmas shopping, there was a tension to the air as people watched from food court televisions or the screens in here while Dad readjusted the mic a bit. There was feedback the news camera barely caught, and a weird staticky hum as Dr. Sims appeared beside Dad in a puff of pixels, a hand on his shoulder as he took a deep breath to steady himself, thinking hard on how to start.

“For nearly sixteen years,” he finally said into the mic, putting on his smooth and slightly-deeper-sounding lawyer voice, “I’ve gone by the name Damion Rowland, and for ten of those, I’ve worked as a head legal consultant for COLE. But…the rumors are true. I’m Delsin Rowe.”

There were immediate whispers, auditable in the crowd on the television and in the food court on our left. Dad inhaled deeply again, continuing with, “I hid after my fiancée, Abigail Walker, was killed, to protect our twins. The same fear-mongering rhetoric that took nineteen lives yesterday took my children’s mother, and I didn’t want them to be next. So I hid. That all changed last Wednesday when my daughter was kidnapped and my son was shot, all to bring me out of hiding. They…neither of them knew who I was, either. And I know most of you have seen the CCTV footage, so there’s no point in hiding it: they’re Conduits, too. I’ve spent the past few days helping them come to terms with the truth and their powers.

“But my absence shouldn’t have provoked something like this. Nineteen people are dead, and for what? Why?” He demanded, glancing over the crowd, knowing they wouldn’t have an answer either. “Everything I’ve ever feared, nineteen different families get to experience. Right behind me is a parent that lost her son because of this attack. A seven year old boy, Elliot Prue, who loved the Mariners and dinosaurs. She—” he pointed to the mom off behind him, who had the burnt stuffed toy held close to her chest, “—shouldn’t have to bury her son. Our sixteen year old resident, Amelia Soto, shouldn’t have had her life ended before it even began. My assistant should have been able to retire, Not a single person that lost their life yesterday should have.”

Dad paused to reel himself in a bit, visibly upset at the state of things. Eugene’s hand left his shoulder to go to the mother behind Dad, who began to sob, and Dad’s shoulder visibly sagged with the absence. “I have approval from the Portland Police department and the FBI to announce that we know the cause of yesterday’s attack. A dozen people were radicalized by something called Archangel, met through the networking of this group and began planning this attack almost seven months ago. Archangel was also behind the attack on my children, so we’re assuming that the attack yesterday…that it had something to do with me. Whether they thought I’d be here in Portland’s COLE chapter or if it would draw me out, I’m not sure.

“But I’m here now. And I can promise you all that I will do everything I can to help stop these attacks, not just violent shootings and bombs and whatever — but the words and legislation that’s causing all the fear. Conduits are here to stay, people are going to have to make peace with that. Cole MacGrath’s efforts to save those without the Conduit gene came at the price of having to live with us, and it’s time we begin searching for ways to live harmoniously, because it isn’t going to change. No more harassing your neighbors, no more stalking random people. I am going to return to my position at COLE to push back against the Conduit Registration Bill, as well as file suits against the various segregational legislations that’ve been passed recently. We’re looking to expand in fifteen more major cities in America, as well as starting chapters in Canada and Europe and expanding our services. I can only do so much for Conduits, though — it’s up to our government to find ways to bring peace to the nation without impeding on anyone’s rights.”

Dad’s eyes found the camera this news channel was streaming on, and his stare went entirely icy, so harsh that it felt like I was getting reprimanded a state away. “And as for this Archangel thing — I’m only giving a single warning to whoever is perpetrating these attacks. Using low-tier criminals and radicalized conspiracy theorists to do your bidding is weak, and it isn’t something I’m intimidated by. You wanted me out in the open? I’m here. I won’t let you use the lives of innocent people, of my children, to try and, what, scare me? It isn’t working. All you’ve done is piss me off. I’m only going to say it once: back off. Because if anything else happens, and I have to fight back? You’re going to regret ever challenging the one person with experience tearing down organizations like yours.”

That seemed to be where Dad wanted to stop, looking over his shoulder and waiting for Dr. Sims to look up, motioning towards the mic.

The quiet in the mall erupted into chatter, shock and disbelief at the actual Delsin Rowe being back. “How didn’t anyone know? That looks like him,” I heard someone say as they entered a Bath and Body Works, rolling her eyes like there weren't eight layers of complication to the lie. Another person walked past saying, “Rowe’s kids deserved it after all the bullshit he did,” and I had to physically grip Brent by his wrist and drag him away. Thank god he was wearing the beanie so no one would realize his hair changed color.

“Do you two need anything?” Betty asked, spinning to face us. “I know you left home with next to nothing, and I have fifteen Christmases to make up for.” She didn’t even wait for us to answer, just spun back on her heel and said, “C’mon, let’s get you two some new clothes.”

We started to object, but the glare she shot over her shoulder shut us up. She may have been old, but I had no doubt we’d get in deep shit if we continued to go against what she said. She was little, but kinda scary. Like a rabid cat.

She took us to as many discount department stores as possible, trying her best to get as much as she could for us out of some invisible limit she set in her mind. At first it was awkward, and Brent and I fished for the most minimal, low-priced items we could; but the way Betty’s face lit up when Brent found a nice jacket with some soft sherpa lining, and with how she insisted on him getting it…I don’t know, it was sort of sweet. It activated that deep want within me to have a grandmother, someone who’s entire job description was to love and spoil and care about me. Seems Brent got the same impression, because soon it became a sort of family bonding day, Betty learning more about us than we offered in the past five days and taking time to actually ask questions and become interested in everything we did, everything we were.

“Oh, you do art?” Betty smiled when she caught me in the discount art section of a Ross, casually browsing all the upended supplies. “You’re so much like your father. I still have so many of his drawings from his school years, they’re hiding somewhere in storage–”

“You’ve got to show me those,” I laughed.

Looking at the art supplies was a bit of a mistake, because we were both suddenly harassed into getting things we wanted, not just needed. Betty didn’t let me leave that aisle until I had a new sketchbook in hand and a pack of watercolor paints Brent handed to me as a joke, Betty missing the tease entirely and grabbing the set when I chucked it back at his chest, insisting I get it. “Yeah, c’mon Jean, think about how easy it’ll be to use those now.” He smirked, knowing good and well the last time I used watercolors it looked less Van Gogh and more God, no.

“I hope you rust over one day, Tin Man,”

All that teasing dissipated, though, when Brent discovered there was an official LEGO shop on the other end of the mall. I mean, it did from him — I sure didn’t spare him from a few comments of my own.

Everything ended at the same food court we were by when we got our phones, Betty having us put her number in our phones and message her our favorite Panda Express orders so she’d have ours. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” she gasped out, “Your father wanted you to call as soon as you could, I have his number—”

“We’ve got it memorized,” Brent assured her. “We’ll call while you grab food.”

Brent was dialing in the number before she’d left, saying as it rang, “Maybe I should have messaged him first, I dunno if he’s gonna answer some unknown nu—”

“Hello?”

Dad sounded winded, a bit tired in a non-negative way. Like someone does after a footrace or swimming. “Hey, Dad,” Brent greeted, putting the phone on speaker and bringing it close to his ear, motioning for me to move closer so I could hear too. The mall was packed, and because of that, it was loud too.

“Hey, son,” I could hear the smile in his voice, “Guessing you got your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Your sister too? No issues?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, tacking on a, “How are you?”

“Oh, hey Jean!” Dad’s chuckle was breathless as he said, “It’s something, being back out here like this. Did you see any of it?”

“Yeah, we did. Saw your speech and saw you get there late—” Brent glanced at me and motioned forward. “See you right now, too.”

I looked where Brent was pointing, to a large flat screen television posted on the skylight’s support beam; the news’ camera feed was still, not exactly grounded but definitely not in a helicopter, pointed to Dad as he paced a bit in place in an alleyway, phone to his ear.

But he froze immediately when Brent said that, glancing around. “What do you mean you see me now? You’re not here, right?”

I chuckled, “No, you’re still on camera.”

Dad’s eyebrows furrowed, and he kept looking around, suspicious. “Well that’s great,” He scoffed, annoyed. “Where?”

“Okay so, turn right.” Dad did, Brent immediately becoming confused when Dad’s back faced the camera. “Wait that’s — are cameras inverted?” he asked me.

“No, you’re just an idiot, that’s Dad’s left. Dad, turn around.”

“Wait are they — are they left or behind?”

“Around, do a 180.”

Dad turned in place, and I caught the tail end of an eye roll. “Okay, now what?”

“Whatever’s in front of you, it’s on that, but higher. Start looking up.”

“What, on this building?” Dad asked, eyes trailing up and shooting around. It only took a few glances before his eyes settled on screen, looking directly in the camera’s lens. “Oh, there it is.”

And with that, he raised a hand, pink and blue beginning to swirl around his arm in a bright pulse, and shot the camera, killing the feed. “Can you still see me?”

“No, you’re good now.”

“Good, okay.” Dad sighed. “I don’t want anyone recording our conversation.”

“But there wasn’t audio—” I started, Dad immediately cutting me off as if he knew that was what I was going to bring up.

“Even if there isn’t, they can still get someone to read my lips,” He tacked on, the camera switching to helicopter view, trying to focus in on him in the alley. With a camera so much farther away, his features became grainy as it zoomed in. “It’s — we’ve gotta be safe, now.”

“Yeah,” Brent hummed. I started nodding, taking a moment to remember he wouldn’t be able to see me before throwing in some sound of agreement.

“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you two about. Have either of you logged into anything online, or talked to anyone yet?”

“We haven’t had the chance,” I shook my head, “Betty’s made this into a whole field trip, this is the first time we’ve actually sat and gotten on them.”

Brent inhaled, “I did. I got on my discord while you were trying on something.”

“Trying on—” Dad sighed, the camera feed catching him bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Betty took you two shopping, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I shoulda known.” Dad shook his head, laughing. But the sound quickly died in his throat. “If you saw the speech, you heard about Archangel. They’re behind yesterday’s attack, and I — we need to be careful for a bit longer, at least until Eugene and I find out more about them. I know I said you could talk to people and such, but until we know more about these guys, I want you to keep quiet. Don’t log into anything that can track your location, don’t tell anyone where you are.”

“Do you know why they did it?” I asked, admittedly throwing a glance over my shoulder; was it even safe to be out right now?

Dad shrugged on camera, shaking his head. “Not really. I know I made them sound incompetent in my speech but these guys know what they’re doing. And the attackers won’t talk — they brought me in as a last resort to talk to who they think was in charge of everything, and he said something about it. That’s all we’ve gotten out of them so far,”

“But you think it has something to do with you?” Brent asked.

“When the FBI sent me into the interrogation room, we had this whole thing planned where I’d pose as his counsel, see if I could get him to slip up. Guy knew I was Delsin Rowe, even without the vest,” Dad scoffed. “Called me out and said something about how Archangel was going to be happy to know I was returning. I know it has something to do with me.”

I began absentmindedly playing with the aglet on the end of my hoodie’s drawstring. “That’s not good,” I muttered, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“It isn’t,” Dad agreed, “And until Eugene and I can learn more about them, I want you two to stay safe. So far we know none are Conduits, and they’re all lackeys to something bigger — but what is that bigger, y’know?”

“They’re probably just some sort of Lifeline wanna-be,” Brent scoffed, “Bunch of crazies that got too ahead of themselves,”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Dad leaned against a wall on camera, glancing up at the helicopter, “But either way, they had the organizational skills to kill nineteen people. To find me and track Jean in the mall. Crazies or not, I don’t like that they can plan,”

“Makes them stronger.” I threw in.

“Exactly.”

“Dr. Sims — what’s his power, technology?” I asked.

Dad chuckled a bit. “Close — video.”

Right, video. What the hell did video powers entail? Either way, I continued with, “Can he use it to follow any like, online footprints? I don’t really know how the power works but they had to coordinate somehow,”

Dad hummed. “That’s a good point. I know Eugene can manipulate technology to an extent, I’ll see what he can do. Maybe I’ll work with the FBI to see if we can get access to their things under the Patriot Act and look over them tomorrow.”

Brent seemed to catch on to something, the thought in the back of his mind forcing its way out of his mouth as he asked, “Are you still gonna come back tomorrow?”

I could see Dad’s hand come up, making some sort of motion that I only realized a few seconds later was snapping. “I wanted to bring that up, too. I was thinking about swinging by the house and grabbing some things, since we’re going to be staying in Salmon Bay for now. Get all your clothes, grab some other stuff until we decide what happens next. But that’d mean I definitely wouldn’t be back till Christmas Eve.”

Brent glanced at me, and I could see the discomfort in his eyes; there've been times on his work trips before where extra days were added to it, and we weren’t really phased. But now? I really wanted nothing more than to know he was going to be back as soon as possible. But on the other hand, having some of my actual possessions, clothes that fit right and my makeup and the chest that held my art supplies — it didn’t sound too bad.

“Sure, if you want,” I eventually said, watching Dad nod on screen.

“Okay. I won’t be able to bring everything, but I’ll pack all your clothes, and you can send me messages about what you want me to grab.”

A Christmas miracle — we get some of our identity back. “Sounds good,” Brent agreed, fiddling mindlessly with the silicone of his phone case.

“What else are you going to do today?” I asked the receiver, watching Dad kick away at some slushed snow by his feet.

“Gonna go to the hospital, visit the survivors. I have a lot of apologies I gotta give. Margie’s wake starts at five, and I want to be there for Antonio, plus we’re covering funeral costs for all the victims so I’m gonna get together with COLE and hunt down relatives, find out if there’s any next of kin that want things done a certain way.”

Jeez, this conversation suddenly turned bleak. And on top of that, Dad was going to try and crack the domestic terrorists that blew up COLE — was there even enough time in the day to do everything? “But you’ll be back Christmas Eve?” I nearly begged for confirmation.

“Yeah. Promise.”

Next came the goodbyes, promises we’ll check in with him every now and then and a repeated assurance that we’d be together for Christmas. It was such a stupid thing to worry about, but it was the only bit of normalcy I was aching for; our movie marathon full of tales that didn’t really count as Christmas movies if you thought about it, the Christmas Eve taquitos meal tradition that started after Dad nearly burnt down the house trying to make turkey and we had to visit a taco truck. Maybe I could even convince them to bring back Tent City and make a pillow fort out of Ruth’s blankets and the stale bed sheets we found when unpacking. Sure, Brent and I weren’t waiting for the second we could open our presents anymore, but it had to be fun, right?

The time leading up to Christmas Eve felt awkwardly stagnant, kinda like waiting for a doctor appointment planned just after noon; like we couldn’t concentrate too hard on something out of fear that we’d miss our appointment. Like we were waiting for change. I regularly pulled up live news streams to see if Dad would make an appearance just to make sure everything was fine, and when I wasn’t, Brent was browsing the internet to see what everyone was saying. At some point I snuck a peek over his shoulder to see him on Mei’s profile, staring at a post that simply said I just hope you’re safe posted the same day we were ambushed at the mall, and didn’t do much more than squeeze his shoulder when he realized I was looking.

I understood; I found myself on Reese’s profile a few times, thumb immediately jumping to the ‘message’ icon out of reflex before I pulled it back. It was this, the torturous in between, that made the hours pass at a snail's pace, waiting for further instruction. Waiting to see what bits of normalcy we could reclaim.

Dad called regularly, which was a nice reprieve from it all despite how depressing what he was doing was; Margie was cremated, and her funeral was due to be hosted on the second. The young boy, Elliot, got a beautiful burial plot with a headstone in the shape of a t-rex, his favorite dinosaur, all thanks to some charity. He called when in the house to finalize what all he should grab, and only after we hung up did Brent’s face pale as he said, “Oh, fuck, he’s going to pack our clothes,”

“Yeah?” I watched as he laid his head in his hands, confused. Brent already knew this, why was he freaking out? “What’s so bad about that?”

Brent’s hands left his face to rest of the sides of his head as he muttered, “My dab pen is in my bottom drawer,”

“Your—“ I snorted, earning a dirty look from him. “You hid your weed in your underwear drawer? What are you, five?”

“He’s gonna kill me,” Brent said with a resigned finality. “I’m actually going to die.”

“Will me your LEGO collection before you do so I can sell it on eBay,”

Later that day as Brent grappled with his impending death, I stared at the watercolors Betty got me before finally giving in and opening them, turning to the first page of the new sketchbook and staring at it. Watercolor. Watercolor. I could totally do this, right? And if not, I’d just throw it away and act like it never happened.

My inspiration came from those few minutes of peace as I floated in the Puget Sound, staring up at the rippling sunlight refracting off of the water’s surface. I could see the picture almost perfectly in my mind, so much so that when I summoned my water gauntlets, I was able to pull and mix the shades I needed, slowly beginning to layer them on the canvas.

Bleeding art into the page with my powers was something else entirely. Making art felt vulnerable in a soft way, like exposing pieces of myself in flashes; but using water to spread the blue and shade it deeper the further down the page it went, to highlight ripples in the surface of the water and create shining rays of sunlight…it felt sincere. Forthright. Like I was screaming through the canvas here I am, the water Conduit, and I have something I need you to understand! The end product actually looked like what I meant it to this time, no doubt because I had way more control over the display. Kinda hard to fuck up your brush strokes if you’re literally using some form of hydrokinesis on a water based product. Next came the ink, something I added way too early and caused it to bleed a bit, ink blots escaping from the solid black silhouette of what was supposed to be my body and trying to unsuccessfully slip away before sinking into the page. Honestly, though? I liked how it looked. Something about the contrast between the soft watercolor and the harsh ink struck me, even if this picture was technically a failure. I let the page dry and closed the book, vowing to try and do more after the holidays as the clock hit ten at night. I had to get started on Brent’s gift, anyways.

#infamous erosion #infamous second son #infamous #delsin rowe #sucker punch productions #Eugene Sims #fanfiction #infamous oc #infamous 2 #I finally get to mention Cole MacGrath holy fuck #Fetch Walker

11 notes · View notes

rudeflower · 9 months

Note

heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyy it's the guy who wrote about last winter break for class! i'm proud to say that i passes the ap literature exam with a three, and i just graduated high school a month ago!

just wanted to thank you for getting me through high school along with david and spot as they went through college. Pulitzer University will forever be MY alma mater. #pulitzer2023!

(also i did my college schedule and it turns out i ALSO have a latin american history class just like david his first semester of college. maybe "last winter break" was a sign? or an omen? idk we'll see what happens.)

Hi guy! So great to hear from you. That is FANTASTIC AP lit is so hard and it sounds like you killed it! I'm honored that my silly little fic was part of that journey.

YES you can be the first graduate of Pulitzer University (since SOMEONE never finished the graduation fic but now maybe I'll have to...) #pulitzer2023 all the way.

David took that class because I did in college as well, it was one of my favorite classes! The political landscape of Argentina in the past 150 years is beyond fascinating, definitely one of my favorite things I learned about.

My professional life is actually dedicated to getting high school students through the door to college, and it is wild and makes me so happy to hear that my work was part of that for you in this round about way

I hope your first year gets off to a good start!

My biggest tip as a professional and former college disaster: you are learning to be an adult as much as you are learning to be a student. Sometimes that means buckling down and studying, but someones that also means seeing a double feature with your classmates, or learning how to cook a potato in the microwave when your dining balance runs low. Get to know the community you are learning in, even if you grew up there. And ask for help! Ask for so much help! You won't go through this alone.

And most importantly: drink lots of water. Half my students only drink coffee and diet coke then they are tired and furious and it's like bbs I know why drink water drink water drink water

I'd love to hear from you again!

#my fic #what a great thing to receive on a saturday afternoon

2 notes · View notes

whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Wed[nesday] 26 October 1836

7 3/4

12 1/2

No kiss fine morn[in]g and F[ahrenheit] 49° and out at 8 40/.. – Rob[er]t Mann + 4 low[erin]g in front of the h[ou]se and mak[in]g

(sink[in]g for) hall-cellar drain – Ingh[a]m + 2 men and a boy h[a]s tonight g[o]t the walls of the cross

arch up to the spring of the arch – Rob[er]t Schof[iel]d finish[e]d wall for the new court pillars to rest on –

his man Jos[e]ph w[i]th the gard[ene]r mov[in]g soil etc. in the gard[e]n - 2 masons as yest[erday] at the west tow[e]r and 2

(Ja[me]s and Ab[raha]m) flagg[in]g und[e]r the serv[an]ts hall wind[ow]s and Ja[me]s cut one of the large ragst[one] n[ea]r the rock-bridge

in 2 - Mark Hepw[or]th levell[in]g aft[e]r the N[orth]g[a]te carts in front of the h[ou]se – h[a]d Mr. Husb[an]d

ab[ou]t the cross arch wind[ow]s etc br[eak]f[a]st at 9 1/2 - A- [Ann] d[i]d h[e]r Fr[en]ch - then h[a]d Mr. Husb[an]d ag[ai]n ab[ou]t the new gr[ea]t

r[oo]m and stabl[in]g at Mawson’s (Stump x Inn) - I propos[e]d an alterat[io]n in his plan that w[oul]d

ma[ke] the gr[ea]t r[oo]m m[u]ch bet[ter] proport[ione]d and handsomer - and to be wall[e]d a bricks’ length in thickness

249

1836

Oct[obe]r

inst[ea]d of being ceiled off ag[ain]st the adjoin[in]g new r[oo]ms – propos[e]d carry[in]g the wall ov[e]r the stab[le]s and

c[oa]ch h[ou]se on arches - all this took till aft[e]r 11 - then off w[i]th Booth to Hilltop – Fletch[e]r the ten[an]t

there – exam[ine]d Mrs. Carter’s adjoin[in]g tenant[e]d by civil persons Mrs. Baxendale and her husb[an]d –

Mrs. B- [Baxendale] w[oul]d be gl[a]d to ha[ve] her out-door chang[e]d and then my new barn-wall might be set in

a line w[i]th Mrs. C-‘s [Carter] cot[tage] - set Mrs. B- [Baxendale] to Mrs. C- [Carter] to ask if she had any object[io]n - in

the meanwhi[le] Booth and Fletcher and I look[e]d r[ou]nd the new fence-wall[in]g well done by Ingham –

saw Mrs. Carter walk[in]g in h[e]r f[iel]d – spo[ke] to h[e]r – shew[e]d the fence part[l]y hedge part[l]y wall

that I [?] up and ta[ke] d[o]wn and replace w[i]th a good new wall, like the walls just done,

if Mrs. C- [Carter] h[a]d no object[io]n to my sett[in]g the wall 2ft. fr[om] the centre of the hedge, and if she w[oul]d

sell me wh[a]t mo[re] gr[ou]nd I might want a ft. or 2 farth[e]r int[o] her f[iel]d at a reasonab[le] price

then took to Hilltop – shew[e]d her the 2 propos[e]d lines of new barn-wall[in]g to the r[oa]d - in a line

w[i]th h[e]r cot[tage] or a lit[tle] farth[e]r b[a]ck - Mrs. C- [Carter] h[a]d no object[io]n to the form[e]r line, or to my

propos[e]d new fence wall and w[oul]d sell me the gr[ou]nd I want[e]d (perh[aps] 1000 y[ar]ds) b[u]t w[oul]d consult

her son Dan[ie]l - this ver[y] prop[e]r - I sh[oul]d be gl[a]d to ha[ve] his ans[we]r tomor[row] and wh[a]tev[e]r it might

be, it w[oul]d be right - all this took so long that I d[i]d n[o]t get away fr[om] Hilltop

till 3 40/.. - I h[a]d stop in go[in]g w[i]th Jos[e]ph Mann at the Trav[elle]rs’ Inn wat[e]r-drift whi[le] Booth

look[e]d ab[ou]t at Hipp[erholme] quarry – stopp[e]d ag[ai]n in ret[urnin]g, w[i]th Jos[e]ph M- [Mann] - and told h[i]m wh[a]t

I th[ou]ght w[oul]d be bet[ter] than the way ord[ere]d by Mr. Husb[an]d ab[ou]t convey[in]g the wat[e]r - the diff[eren]ce in exp[ense]

w[oul]d n[o]t be mo[re] than 40/. and A- [Ann] w[oul]d be secure ag[ain]st the waste of wat[e]r or anyone’s gett[in]g it

b[u]t her own peop[le] - the trough to supply the cot[tage]s being pit in the comb-tub place in front of

them alt[ere]d (enlarg[e]d) for the purp[ose] and made a sort of lock-up cellar - I h[a]d gone int[o] the

drift as I w[e]nt to Hilltop and ca[me] out a dirty fig[ure] b[u]t no matt[e]r - there will be 50 y[ar]ds

l[en]gth of drift that will stand full of wat[e]r damm[e]d up by the trough (20 y[ar]ds fr[om] the h[ou]se end)

in w[hi]ch the pipe is to be set - 50 y[ar]ds long x 2fr. 6in. high x 3ft.+ wide = say 50

cub[i]c y[ar]ds of wat[e]r to draw up[on] – en[ou]gh for the Inn and all A-‘s [Ann] adjoin[in]g cot[tage]s – ho[me] ab[ou]t

5 1/2 – loit[ere]d ab[ou]t - in the stab[le]s and in front of the h[ou]se and ca[me] in at 6 5/..- dress[e]d – din[ner] at 6 1/2 –

A- [Ann] r[ea]d Fr[en]ch – coff[ee] – h[a]d Oddy up - to go on Mon[day] and ret[ur]n to cook for us if we want her

on the go[in]g away of our pres[en]t temp[orar]y cook recomm[ende]d by Mr. Jubb – 1/2 asleep for 1/4 h[ou]r on

the sofa – Let[ter] 3 p[ages] and one end fr[om] M- [Mariana] Lawton she will co[me] for a week on the

2[n]d or 3[r]d of next m[on]th - her neph[ew] Duncan Milne to be marr[ie]d the 1st week in M[ar]ch

and sail the 1st week in June b[a]ck to India – no[te] by the post fr[om] Dr. Kenny H[alifa]x

1835 Dr. Kenny’s adv[an]ce to the late Mrs. Lister in Oct[obe]r one guinea w[i]th Dr. Kenny’s

respects and condol[en]ce Wards end Oct[obe]r 25 1836’ !!! h[a]d just writ[ten] all the ab[ov]e of

today at 11 p.m. at w[hi]ch h[ou]r F[ahrenheit] 47 1/2° fine day

Hilltop.

Mrs. Carter

Trav[elle]rs’ Inn wat[e]r drift etc.

vid[e] A-‘s [Ann] Journ[a]l

4 notes · View notes

discatded · 2 years

Text

oh also the ap lit exam wasnt nearly as bad as i thought it would be. thats probably just cuz of the anxiety tho. also the free response section was awesome cuz the last one was perfect for the One (1) book i read this year. if it was anything else i probably wouldntve been able to use that book but with that one its kinda the main theme. so i very well could have filled up two or three pages. didnt tho cuz my hand hurt and also i always always always try and finish way ahead of the time limit cuz i dont wanna get caught offguard yknow. still didnt get any work done after tho

#my post

2 notes · View notes

fallen2003 · 3 years

Text

society if kingdom hearts was a work of comparable literary merit

#i just finished my ap lit exam.#or crisis c0re im literally obsessed w that game #the allusions the symbolism so on and so forth etc etc #💬

0 notes

lucidtobio · 3 years

Text

through the months !

w. tobio kageyama

[ fluff , gn!reader ]

january is for ice skating

“come on, tobio! it’ll be fine i promise,” you coaxed him. holding both of his hands in yours, you slowly pulled him onto the ice. kageyama’s legs shook slightly on his blades but he managed to stay upright. “don’t let me go, (y/n),” he breathed out, clutching your hands tighter.

february is for valentines

pink and red hearts littered the room around you. the surprise box hinata told tobio to buy had exploded in your face, decorating the room with valentines decorations. “...surprise?” he muttered sheepishly. you gave him a deadpan look before shaking your head in amusement. “you’re lucky i love you.”

march is for picnics

with the weather finally starting to warm up, you decided to take kageyama on a picnic. together, you agreed that kageyama would provide entertainment while you would make the food. a woven picnic basket filled with sandwiches, crackers, and an assortment of fruit sat between you two. meanwhile, the only thing he brought was a volleyball. “if you toss that into my face, you’re not getting any food.” “not fair!”

april is for biking

pedaling desperately along the bike trail, you and tobio raced to the largest tree in sight. the bet was that if you won, he would give you a kiss. if he won, you would buy him milk for a week (-_-). pushing your legs just a little faster, you barely beat him to the tree. only slightly disappointed, kageyama dismounted his bike before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

may is for cuddling

the lukewarm spring air leaked into the room from the window that was cracked open. you and tobio were loosely tangled on his bed, simply enjoying each other’s company. he laid flat on his back, arm wrapped around your torso as you laid on halfway on top of him. kageyama let you trace figures on his arms, gently pressing kisses to the top of your head every so often.

june is for libraries

it took a miracle and a lot of begging to get kageyama to go to the library with you. the goal of this mini-trip was to help him study before exams the following month. he insisted he didn’t need your assistance, but you stubbornly refused to leave tobio to his own devices. “so after you find the tangent, you just have to plug it into the formula,” you gently explained, pointing at the numbers sprawled across the paper. the gears were definitely turning in his head, you thought as you hid a laugh. “oi, don’t laugh at me, dumbass!” kageyama shouted with burning cheeks. In result, the old librarian quickly shushed him. “and I’m the dumbass?” you jived, poking his cheek. “shut up.”

july is for the beach

the volleyball team had decided to take everyone to the beach to celebrate the end of the term. you, along with the managers, were also invited. you laid on a towel next to kiyoko, eyes lazily following kageyama's quick figure. him and hinata were passing a ball back and forth, kageyama occasionally shouting insults at the red head. however you didn’t miss tobio’s hungry eyes taking in your swimsuit clad body. this resulted in hinata hitting him in the head with the ball and kageyama’s furious blush blooming. “boke, hinata, boke!”

august is for carnivals

walking along the boardwalk with hands intertwined, you and tobio were lit by the bright, neon lights from the many attractions. the sky was painted an inky black, a stark difference from the bright blue it was earlier. as you passed the many carnival games, one in particular caught your eye. "hey, tobio! look at that one," you nudged him, pointing to a hoop tossing booth. a competitive gleam sparked in his eyes as he immediately started pulling you towards it. "i'll win you every prize there is." needless to say, he did (you only took one though).

september is for maple trees

the cool autumn breeze brushed past your bodies as you walked along the paved sidewalk. multiple maple trees lined the road, it’s leaves starting to take on warmer shades. said leaves would occasionally flutter away from the branch and nestle in kageyama’s hair. only kageyama’s hair. “do you have a leaf magnet in your hair or something?” you teased as you pulled the sixth leaf out of his dark hair. the tips of his ears tinged red as he stubbornly batted your hand away. “it’s not my fault they like me,” tobio mumbled. you let out a cheerful laugh before grabbing his hand. “you’re too cute tobio.”

october is for face-painting

“hold still!” you exclaimed, keeping one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping a brush. you were currently applying black face paint on tobio to complete his cat costume. he already had the black clothes and cat ears, but his face was bare. the moment the cold paint touched his nose, kageyama flinched and pulled backwards. “it’s too cold (y/n),” he complained, blue eyes meeting yours. “if you stay still, i’ll do whatever you want,” you compromised. tobio excitedly nodded before closing his eyes and moving closer to you. quickly swiping the paint across his cheeks, you finally finished. “see? wasn’t so ha-” you were cut off by his lips meeting yours. “thanks (y/n).”

november is for hot chocolate

with the weather growing colder, hot drinks were becoming more necessary. that’s why kageyama pulled out two packets of hot cocoa mix with a (kinda creepy) grin on his face. he even brought his favorite brand of milk to heat up. after boiling the milk and mixing in the powder, you sat next to each other on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket. nestled together with little proximity, you quietly sipped on the hot drink. resting your head on his shoulder, you muttered a simple, “love you, tobio.” “mmh. love you too.”

december is for chicken

it was christmas eve and you had finally gotten your hands on a bucket of chicken from KFC. walking over to kageyama’s house, you knocked on the door while shivering in your shoes. when he opened the door and took in your freezing figure, he immediately brought you inside. “what are you doing out there, dummy?” he asked, words harsh but tone soft. “i got us some chicken!” you beamed, presenting the bucket. moments later you were seated at the dining table. “itadakimasu.” kageyama shoved the chicken into his mouth eagerly while you watched with amusement. “what am i going to do with you?”

a/n: i wrote this in spanish class + my ap geo teacher helped me w december (i love her)

⤿ written 5.6.2021

⤿ masterlist

#mars' works 🍃#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #kageyama fluff #tobio kageyama fluff #kageyama scenarios #tobio kageyama scenarios #kageyama imagines #kageyama headcanons #tobio kageyama headcanons

112 notes · View notes

everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

chemistry

isaac lahey x reader

isaac needs help in chemistry and you need help in english - the beginning

this is for isaac anon and the few people that wanted this. i’m just dabbling here, so let me know if you guys want more! (i did quite a bit of Research for this and i have ideas)

also let me know, i left it vague, but if i expand i’m probably going to add in scott, stiles, allison, and lydia. would you guys like to keep it supernatural or do full au where they’re just normal college students?

You noticed the boy in your Intro to Academic Writing course, but you didn’t really focus on him, mostly due to freshman year stress, until he sat down next to you in General Chemistry. Stepping into the classroom you’d felt at ease, science was your jam, but the really cute boy put you back on edge. You felt hyperaware of him, his scent, kind of cinnamon-y, fall-esque.

He tapped his fingers on his notebook, and you couldn’t help but notice he wrote in green pen. You glanced every so often to see him doodling in the corner of the page instead of taking notes on the intro lesson on the scientific method that your professor was doing.

The boy rested his chin on his hand and his fingers went from tapping on the notebook to his jaw and you shook your head, trying to focus back on the professor who was talking about your lab groups.

“The people at your table are in your group. Lab is on Wednesday nights, I won’t be the instructor, you’ll have a TA, but you can email me or come to my office hours if you have any questions about what’s going on. I’ll see you all on Thursday.”

You started to pack your stuff and the boy turned to you with a crooked grin, “I’m Isaac.”

Shaking his hand, you introduced yourself and he stood, waiting for you to finish packing your stuff. You zipped your booksack, “You’re in my English class, right?” you asked, faking as if you didn’t notice him as soon as you stepped into the door.

He nodded, “Yeah, with Dr. Terranova.”

“He seems,” you trailed off, looking for the right word, “interesting.”

Isaac grinned, “You mean overwhelmingly picky for an English 101 professor?”

“That’s a great way to put it,” you told him, laughing.

The two of you walked out the door and down the hall together. Isaac shifted his booksack on his shoulders a little and asked, “Do you have any more classes today?”

“Calculus,” you told him and he grimaced.

“Fuck that.”

“You?”

He nodded, “Spanish.”

Unfortunately for you, the buildings were on opposite ends of campus, so you paused just outside the door to the chemistry building. Isaac paused too and smiled, “See you tomorrow night?”

“See you tomorrow, Isaac.”

Your lab group was made up of two boys and two girls. Isaac, Andrew, Abigail, and you. Out of the group, you were the only STEM major, and the only one who actually liked chemistry. Isaac patted your shoulder, “Well, that officially makes you team captain then.”

“Thank god,” Abigail added, “I’m an advertising major, my brain noped out of the sciences years ago.”

The other guy, Andrew, said, “I took Chem 2 in high school and didn’t pass the AP exam, chemistry and I have beef.”

You snorted and said, “Cool, well, I’ll try and lead us to the promised land.” They seemed to like that.

Your group was really smart, everyone was picking up the labs really easily and you were thrilled, especially when the teacher stood in front of the class after the first test review. She clapped her hands once, “Okay, the lab group with the highest combined test average gets five bonus points added to their test scores. This is me trying to get you guys familiar with study groups, especially if you’re going to be in STEM, which I know some of you are. Study groups got me through school.”

Unfortunately, everyone in your lab group already had stuff going on, so you couldn’t study with them. Fortunately, the test was on intro stuff like the scientific method, conversions, and balancing equations, and your group hadn’t had any issues in any of the lab work, so you weren’t worried.

But when you got the test back, you realized, maybe you should’ve been. Isaac got his handed back first and actually laughed when he looked at the grade. Before you could ask, the professor set yours down on the desk and you started flipping through it, frowning at the little points you’d had taken off for careless mistakes.

“Fuck,” you muttered, “should’ve gotten at least a 97.”

“Wow, can’t believe you fucked it up for the whole group,” Isaac sarcastically responded, nudging you with his elbow, before sliding his test on top of yours. He nudged you again, “As you can see, I’m carrying the team,” and he motioned toward the D written in bright red at the top of his paper.

Your mouth dropped open and you picked the test up, flipping through to see what he’d missed. Eyebrows furrowed, you looked over at him, “You should tell her you accidentally skipped the back page.”

“Oh, it wasn’t an accident, I just didn’t know how to do it.”

“Well,” you stuttered, “it was the same stuff we did in the last lab activity.”

Isaac nodded, “Yes it is, and I didn��t understand it then either.”

“I thought,” you paused, mind racing, “I thought we all did?”

He grinned at you, “Some of us aren’t science brains, my friend.”

“What are you?” you asked as the class started to pack up.

With a soft smile, he threw his booksack over his shoulder, “I’m a literature major.”

You didn’t mean to think about it as much as you did, but when 2 a.m. rolled around and you were at your most impulsive you couldn’t stop yourself from sending out a text.

Hey, do you maybe want to meet up and study sometime?

After hitting send you could’ve slammed your head into a wall. You locked your phone and put your head in your hands, “God damnit.” And then your phone dinged.

I’d love that, love to have a STEM genius in my corner.

Your cheeks heated as you read it and your mind raced with your heart. It was beating harder and part of you couldn’t even believe he’d said yes. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you responded.

Idk about genius but I’m not half bad at chem

He responded, even faster than the first time and you grinned, unable to stop it from overtaking your face.

I may not know much about the scientific method or whatever, but all evidence suggests otherwise, genius

The next test wasn’t for a few weeks, but Isaac wanted to start studying earlier. He suggested meeting at a coffee shop called The Beanery. Coffee shops weren’t really your jam, you liked the silence of the fourth floor of the library. Go early, get a table, put in head phones, and go to work. But, you were open to try Isaac’s suggestion.

It was brightly lit when you walked in, and he was already there, at a table in the corner, laptop out. Books were spread across the tabletop, and he already had two empty mugs on the table in front of him, leg bouncing as he aimlessly chewed on a pen.

Shaking yourself out of staring, you walked to the counter to order. Isaac smiled up at you when you made it to the table with your coffee.

“Welcome,” he told you, moving some of his books out of the way. Sitting up straighter, Isaac glanced around, “What do you think about this place?”

“It’s nice, definitely a change of pace from my norm.”

“Where’s that then?”

“Library, fourth floor.”

“Quiet up there, huh?”

“Yeah, but I listen to some music for background.”

“I like coffee shops,” Isaac said, closing his laptop, “the vibes are nice and my clothes always smell like coffee afterward which is a fun bonus.”

At his comment, you looked down at his clothes. You were a little surprised to see that he was dressed just like during the week: jeans, a nicer t-shirt, and a cardigan. You’d wondered, deep down, if he dressed nicer for class, but it didn’t seem the case. Isaac cleared his throat and your eyes snapped to his face, ears burning when you saw him staring at you in amusement.

Coughing quietly, you reached for your booksack, “So, chemistry. Do you understand what we’ve been going over?”

“I know they’re called Bohr models but I don’t know anything else about them.”

“Right, so,” you paused a minute, trying to figure out where to start, “it’s a way to draw an atom and it’s kind of like a planet.”

Isaac leaned forward through your explanation, resting most of his weight on his elbows, and tapped the green pen against his lower lip. Every so often he’d ask a question, shift a little and write something down in his notebook by whatever he’d scribbled in class. His questions were shockingly insightful, and you eagerly answered them all.

By the time you’d gotten through the basics of thermodynamics, he’d added a whole page of notes, and you could tell he was starting to lose interest. Shutting your notebook, you told him, earnestly, “I hope this helped a little.”

“I promise,” he looked you straight in the eye, “it makes sense. This all looked like a foreign language before we met up.”

“Good,” you nodded, “this is my jam.”

“Keep on spreading it,” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” you admitted, “you may not be good at chem but you’d kick my ass into next week in English.”

“How’s your paper going?” Isaac asked, leaning back and crossing his arms, looking genuinely interested.

“It’s…going.”

He snorted, “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“Yeah neither does my thesis.”

“Do you have your laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me have a look,” he suggested.

Pulling up the word doc, you passed your laptop over, staring down at your hands, twiddling your thumbs, a little nervously, as he read through your rough draft.

“What did Dr. Terranova have to say in your conference?” he asked, pushing your laptop away.

You sighed, “He was less than complimentary.”

Isaac laughed, “It’s not that bad, but it could use some polishing. I can help of course.”

Relief washed over you and you felt a weight off your shoulders, “That would be incredible actually.”

“There, now we’re even. You tutor me in chemistry and I’ll make sure you pass English, starting with this rough, and emphasis on rough, draft.”

Reaching across the table, you shoved at his hand, “Be gentle.”

“I’m going to get another chai,” he said, standing to stretch a bit, “and you pick out what sentence exactly you think is your thesis. We’ll start there.”

Biting your lip to conceal a grin, you nodded, waking your laptop back up.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #college isaac

140 notes · View notes

since0202 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6: Study-hard

It had been a couple of weeks since the tribal gathering, but Grace had been slammed with finals prep before the winter break. There was at least one downside to stacking all of those AP classes and that was the massive amount of work it took to pass her finals and finish her term papers in time.

Jacob had tried to call her a few times over the first week, but she had been so swamped that she had had to decline the calls that Charlie had answered while she was hunkered down in her bedroom sifting through notes and furiously typing on the desktop.

Bella was making her way through a load of work she hadn’t gotten to since the incident, but she was by no means rushing. All of the air had gone out from her, and in her deflated state, school work was the last of her worries. She’d been putting in more hours at Newton’s store lately, probably to stay out of the house and out from under Charlie’s worried stare.

Grace pulled Bella into her study circle so they could bounce productively off one another and they spent most days after school in the library or upstairs in their room together.

Two weeks after the tribal council meeting, Charlie knocked on their partially opened bedroom door, holding the cordless phone in his hand with a sigh. It was Sunday night and Grace was in the study zone. She glanced up quickly before turning her eyes back to the computer. Her hair was held up by a single pencil in a loose, curled bun. She was wearing wide black framed glasses and a dark green Westmoore High sweatshirt and thick white sweatpants. She had layered the necklace elder Ti’hal had given her the night of the tribal council meeting so that it ringed three strands around her neck and held the black stone just at her collarbone. Jacob’s bracelet was wrapped firmly around her wrist and she played with the loose ends every now and then.

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” she said softly, pouring over a textbook next to her. Charlie held the receiver to his ear.

“Jake, she-” he paused for a minute, “Alright, hold on.” he turned back to Grace, “He says you said that last time and the time before that and the time before that. He’s not taking no for an answer.”

Grace sighed, irritated and held her hand out. Charlie stepped forward and handed it over with a sigh of relief.

“No.” Grace said into the receiver. Charlie did a double take and turned to look at her. She held the phone back out to Charlie. She could hear loud protesting from Jake and stifled a giggle. She wasn’t trying to make him mad or stress him out, but at this moment, school came first.

Grace shook the receiver at Charlie who grabbed it back with a grumble and held the phone to his ear. In the background, Bella let out a chuckle. Charlie’s eyes lit up with surprise at the tinkling sound coming from Bella. She shook her head smiling and turned back to her work.

“Yeah, Jake, no. She’ll have to call you back.” Charlie said over the protest. “It’s finals Jake, they’ll be done in a week. Okay, okay. Yeah, okay.” Charlie trailed off down the hallway trying to talk Jake down and Grace fell back into her work. She could hear a muffled conversation going on downstairs for the next couple of minutes but paid no mind.

The next few days it was quiet from Jacob. Maybe he had gotten the message finally. She was enjoying spending some time with Bella. While she wasn’t her normal self by any means, her quiet company was comforting to Grace and allowed her to focus.

On Wednesday, Bella skipped out early on their study session for her shift at Newton’s, leaving Grace on her own to study under the warm glow of her desk lamp. She put her over ear headphones on and listened to her tried and true study playlist, making headway. She lost all track of time but the early descending darkness was deceiving. It must have been no later than 7pm, but the sky made it look like it was midnight.

It was then that Grace was startled and let out a gasp as she saw a hoodie-clad Jake climbing clumsily through her window and knocking over the huge stack of books on her nightstand. He was already through the window and standing up when Grace hurriedly whispered “Jake what the hell!”

“Grace?” Charlie called from downstairs. Always the in-tune police chief.

“I’m fine! Just knocked over some books.” She called out her door before quietly shutting it. While this was still just Jacob, she was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be climbing through her window on a school night in the pitch black.

“Sorry,” Jake whispered with a jerking shrug of his shoulders. He bent to scoop up the books with his broad hands and placed them haphazardly back on her nightstand. He turned to look at her and her face was still one of shock, mouth hanging open, speechless.

“What was I supposed to do?! You haven’t been returning my calls, you haven’t been down to the rez-” Jacob said hurriedly above a whisper.

“SHHH!” Grace’s eyes widened as she rushed up to him and clamped a small hand over his mouth. His skin was extraordinarily warm. Had he gotten taller? He was a good half a foot taller than her at her admirable 5’8”, but still. Even the cut of his jaw felt stronger. She blushed ever so slightly.

“Do you want me to get in trouble? I’m like 1000% sure you’re not supposed to be in here right now.” She looked at him expectantly to answer, but realized after he raised his eyebrows and pointed at his still covered mouth that he couldn’t. She lowered her hand but had it at the ready.

“I’m sorry, I was just worried and it’s Charlie. He’s not going to care.” Jacob whispered.

“Okay, there’s a big difference between Jacob, downstairs, in the light of day, and a boy with mysterious motives in my bedroom at night behind a closed door,” Grace hissed.

“To be fair, you closed the door,” Jacob countered. Grace groaned.

“Jacob!”

“What does he think we’re going to do!?” Jacob shot back. A tense, awkward silence fell between them and all at once Grace didn’t want to answer that question. She blushed profusely and saw a little color rise to Jacob’s face as well. She took a step back from him and returned to her chair.

“Jacob, you should go. I really am studying. I have two term papers due this Friday, an exam tomorrow, and three more next week. Then I’m done and we can hang out over winter break. I promise.” She pulled her leg up under her and propped herself up over her books. Jacob sunk to her bed and leaned back against it, discarding his shoes. “Okay, that’s the opposite of leaving.”

“We can hang out now, I won’t bother you, I’ll just read one of these intensely thick books and stay quiet and you can just...do your thing.” He shrugged and grabbed “A Picture of Dorian Gray” from the stack and cracked it open. Grace let out a huff and turned back to her work.

He kept his word. For the next hour as Grace meticulously wrote out additional flash cards and flipped through notes and highlighted extra snippets of information, he stayed quiet. His soft breathing became her background and she relied on it’s even, steady rhythm to guide her. She felt warm. She felt happy.

After the hour, she gathered her flashcards up and climbed out of her chair and onto the end of the bed pushing Jake’s legs aside.

“Okay, quiz me.” she set the flash cards before him and he sat up eager to please, pulling the cards toward him and discarding the book.

“Okay, Grace Study-hard Alo-”

“Not my middle name, but okay,” she interjected.

“Let’s see what you got.” He cleared his throat and Grace laughed. “What was the Enlightenment?” His voice took on the lilt of poorly practiced game show host.

“The rebirth of intellectual thought and philosophy and it complemented the Scientific Revolution that focused on the hard sciences.”

“Very good, extra credit.”

“That’s not-”

“Next question! How were the works of Ancient Greece and Rome preserved?”

“Monks made dedicated copies that they created by hand. However, in hand copying, there could be altering of ideas, thoughts, and practices.”

“That would suck to have to write that all by hand.”

“Jake,” Grace protested.

“Okay okay!” he cleared his throat again.

As they worked through the entirety of her flashcards, Jake cracked jokes that made Grace peal with laughter despite her best efforts to stay serious. She got most of them right and once they finished, Jacob gave out an exaggerated breath of exhaustion and flopped back onto the bed. Grace sat up next to him at the top of her bed, while he relaxed on her pillows, one arm up under his head. He peered up at her as she worked her way through the cards she didn’t remember and made some edits.

“How do you remember all this stuff?” Jacob asked curiously. At this point Charlie had probably gone to bed and Bella would be home soon. Grace wasn’t worried about speaking in a whisper now.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just weird information that gets stuck there. It’s on a need to know basis, I guess. And I need to know this stuff right now, so it just stays there.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Jacob said, yawning some and letting his eyes close. Grace yawned in return and slumped down a little on her bed next to him so that she was half sitting, half laying down.

Grace spoke under breath, quizzing herself as Jacob’s even breath slowed. Grace hadn’t realized that she too fell asleep until low light creeped through her window in the early morning hours. She stirred some and realized her desk lamp had been turned off. She looked over at Bella’s bed and saw her sleeping there peacefully, for once. When Grace turned over, she softly gasped as she came face to face with Jacob’s sleeping form.

He was facing her, an arm draped over her waist and a slice of black hair fell over his sleeping face. As he exhaled softly, she could see his lips parted ever so slightly. She felt a squeeze in her heart as she brushed the swath of hair away from his face. Grace let herself stare at him peaceful like this for just a moment longer before she sat up and gently shook his shoulder.

“Jake...Jake wake up,” he groaned softly and pulled at her waist trying to bring her back down and press her to him but she pried his hand off from around her and shook him harder. “Jake wake up. We fell asleep, Billy’s probably worried sick about you.”

Jacob’s dark eyes opened, and Grace didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful before in her life. “Grace?” he yawned. “What time is it?”

“It’s like 5:30 in the morning. You should go.” She shot a look over to Bella’s stirring form.

“Okay.” he whispered back and slowly hauled himself from her bed and put on his boots.

“You’re not climbing back out the window, come on.” Once he was upright, she crawled out of her bed, took his hand and guided him to the door. She cracked it open and peered out and around to check that the coast was clear. Jacob stood half awake behind her, but was seemingly awake enough to interlace his fingers with her, a way of bringing her closer. She gently pulled him out into hall once she was satisfied with the silence and padded softly down the stairs and to the front the door. When she pulled it open, the cold air rushed over her and Jacob quickly perked up, he crossed the threshold still holding her hand and let it go only at the last moment when he said,

“Good luck on your test today. I’ll see you soon?” He gave her a soft, teasing smile.

“Yes, very soon, I promise. But Jacob, you can’t sleep over like that again, we’re gonna get in trouble.” Grace warned, crossing her arms tightly in front of her to keep warm.

Jake let out a guffaw nodded, and stepped toward her, taking her off guard before quickly kissing the top of her head. Before she realized what had happened, he was jogging down the front steps and off toward the Rabbit. Grace stood planted in place, glued to the spot by the effortless affection bestowed upon her. What was that? Jacob was her best friend, but did this mean something different?

Suddenly, she was overcome with exhaustion and closed the door quietly before bolting quietly up to her room and under the covers. The sheets still held onto his soft, warm, scent that was a mix of fir trees, spice, and crisp sea air. She fell asleep, crushing the pillow he had slept on to her and woke up an hour later to bright sunshine. When she sat up and felt the bed around her, it dawned on her that she had had a boy in her bed. Not just any boy, but Jacob Black. She put her face in her hands and shook her head back and forth, not sure how to feel.

Bella was up, but hadn’t crawled out of bed and was peering out at the sun with eyes clouded in gloom. Sunny days were two parts hard, one part easy for Bella. It was the most realistic day that she would have spent without Edward normally and that brought her comfort. But on the other hand it only accentuated his absence.

“Bella?” Grace called from her bed. Bella slowly turned to her and gave her a smile.

“Was Jake here last night?” she asked nonchalantly as if she had a boy in her room at night all the time like it was no big deal.

“Uh, yeah.” Grace squirmed, “He barged in and then stayed to help me study and we kind of fell asleep.” Bella just nodded her head appreciatively and got up to go to the bathroom. Before she left the room, Grace said hurriedly:

“Don’t tell Charlie.”

“Of course.” Bella confirmed as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

#twilight #twilightfanfic #fanfiction #jacobxoc #the cullens #edward cullen #new moon #bella swan #jacob black #the pack #a monster lives here

20 notes · View notes

carry-on-my-wayward-butt · 4 years

Note

I'm not even slightly American what is AP chem? I googled it and it sounds like the same as how you described honours?

AP stands for Advanced Placement, they’re basically college level courses that you can take in high school, and if you do well enough in them you can transfer those credits to whatever college or university you go to. getting into these courses is largely dependent on teacher recommendation . the grades you got before have very little to do with getting into AP classes. i took English 1H freshman year and got low Cs. I failed English 2 and and passed English 3 with As. I took night school classes to be able to graduate. I still got into AP Lit senior year because i was a huge kiss ass to my English 3 teacher. in contrast, I passed my freshman and sophomore science classes with flying fucking colors and they still put me in regular chem because the honors classes were full, and every other honors student had better grades in their other classes than i had. they were more reliable and likely to succeed in honors than i was, so i was passed over. this happened all the time to pretty much everyone.

AP Classes provide college credit, so they introduce a college workload and forsake high school allowances. No forgiveness, no excuses, no breaks, no mercy. “My elective had a field trip this weekend” That’s your problem for choosing that elective, turn in the homework.

But anyway, these are just individual classes. You can still take normal classes alongside AP Classes.

This isnt the case for IB school.

The IB program stands for International Baccalaureate program. For many schools, it’s like going to a different school inside the normal school. When they say “international” they mean it, many english-language schools in non-english-language countries are IB schools. many are boarding schools, private, or gender-segregated. In the IB program, you dont have one or two AP classes. They’re all AP classes. (but they’re called IB not AP) There’s “Standard” and “Higher” level courses within the program. So imagine taking one 100 level class in high school and your friend across the lunch room is taking 2 100s and 5 300s. No wonder she’s got dark circles and developed a hunchback.

When you pass an AP exam (it fucking costs money by the way) you get credits attached to your student profile that you can use to tick off some university classes depending on the institution. When you finish IB program, you get an IB diploma, separate from a regular or honors diploma. There’s about 4200 universities in the US. about 1600 of them accept IB credits, with varying requirements on them.

The fact that you completed the program is what they care about, it shows them that you’re like.. a model student who will definitely make them look good in the future.

anyways thats what AP means, sorry bout the extra toppings you didnt ask for.

#Anonymous #op

77 notes · View notes

plantsandstudy-aaaaa · 13 hours

Text

Day 18/50

Things I accomplished

Completed more review frqs for calculus

Studied vocabulary flashcards for calculus

I made a boutineere in floral design! (And put in in my car)

Started re-reading and annotating Klara and the sun so I remember it for the ap lit exam

Stuff for tommorow

Pass calculus vocab/formula test!

Get above 90 on astronomy test

Finish computer science frqs

Other

I stayed up late studying for this calc test tomorrow, so I really hope I do well. I also listened to laufey's new songs while studying for calculus, since they had just released, and I am obsessed.

April 25, 2024

#days of productivity #productivity??#studyblr #studying #productivity #school #ap classes #study blog #productivity challenge

0 notes

sdottkrames · 3 years

Text

I Know My Sister Like I Know My Own Mind

@comfortember Prompt 5: Cuddles

Summary: Penny Parker is sick, and when she is sick, she needs cuddles

Notes: I have fallen in LOVE with Penny Parker, especially her as Peter’s twin. I always wanted a twin, so I definitely live vicariously through fanfics. Drop some Peter&Penny twin recs for me. I will love you forever if you do!

Read on AO3: Here

It was a bad day.

It had technically been a bad week, but Penny had been trying so hard to ignore it. It was her last group of exams before finals next month, and she couldn’t afford to get sick. She had an exam in Calculus, AP US History, and AP Lit, plus a huge project due in Chemistry, and two essays.

Her teachers were trying to kill her, obviously, and the worst part? It was working. Penny woke up that morning feeling like she was dying.

At least I got through this week from hell. Only one day left. She thought, and rolled out of bed, nearly crying as her feet hit the cold floor. Literally everything hurt, and she just wanted to get back in bed with her aunt to be snuggled and coddled by her until she fell asleep.

Penny was especially clingy when she was sick. Even without the spider powers, her ability to stick to anybody who was willing to cuddle could rival Peter’s. They’d definitely overwhelmed their aunt one winter after both getting sick. May hadn’t been able to leave the apartment for three days.

But, alas, the snuggling would have to wait. May had to work early that morning and would be back late, and Penny had one last test to take. Stupid AP Lit.

Penny forced her aching arms into her comfiest, warmest shirt, and headed to the kitchen to force some breakfast down her burning throat. Peter looked up from his bowl of cereal and concern immediately washed over his face.

“You’re wearing your ‘sick shirt,’” he said, and Penny looked down at the oversized, light pink shirt she was wearing. “You always wear that one when you’re not feeling good,” Peter explained. He abandoned his Lucky Charms to feel Penny’s forehead. “You’re definitely a little warm, Pen. You should stay home.”

Penny was shaking her head before he finished. “No. I’m fine. I have one last exam in AP Lit, and you know Mr. Gardner doesn’t do make ups.” Peter made a face. He did know. They both despised the man’s rigidity and often talked about it at length. “It’s Friday, anyway. I’ll take a nap after school.”

He looked at her skeptically before sighing. “Okay. But we’re coming right back home and watching a movie. No homework, no Spider-Man. Just cuddles and tv.”

“That sounds perfect.” It took all of Penny’s self control not to whimper. She wanted to ask him to snuggle with her right then, forget school. But she took a breath, forced back the tears threatening to fall (she was also very emotional when she was sick), and went to grab the instant oatmeal.

After breakfast, the twins made their way to school. Peter chatted the whole way, obviously trying to distract his miserable sister, and silently cheered when he was able to earn a few small smiles.

The promise of cuddles and an evening being taken care of by her brother carried Penny through the day. She nearly lost control of the dam holding her tears when Flash, who always extended his taunting to both Parkers, made some stupid comment.

But MJ came back with a snappy response and took Penny’s hand. Penny shot her a grateful smile, so glad that her brother’s girlfriend liked her so well, and was able to make it through the day. She was even fairly confident about the test, though she honestly didn’t care all that much about what she got on it at this point. She was just happy to be done.

Finally, finally the last bell rang, and Penny had to restrain herself from cheering. She and Peter walked home, and as soon as they opened the door, Penny was in her room, changing into her comfiest pajamas. Trailing a blanket behind her, she made her way to the couch, where Peter was already set up, his arm extended out for her to snuggle under.

The relief was instantaneous. She burrowed into his side, shivering in delight. Peter chuckled.

“What movie would you like, honorary spider?”

Penny giggled. The last time Peter and Penny had hung out with Black Widow, Nat had insisted they be the spider trio. When Penny had pointed out that she had no Spider qualities, the other two had brushed it off, saying she was an honorary spider. Very prestigious, indeed.

“Uh, I think I’m in the mood for Episode IV. I need a comfort movie.”

Peter pulled up A New Hope, and ran his hand through his sister’s hair, gently raking out each curl. Soon, Penny’s head was feeling exceptionally heavy, and she laid it down onto Peter’s shoulder. Her breathing evened out, and then she was blissfully asleep.

***

When Penny woke up, the first thing she was conscious of was the darkness. She’d obviously been asleep for a number of hours. The second thing was pain. Her head, her throat, her eyes. Everything was on fire. The last thing she realized was that she was alone.

“Peter,” she croaked out, her throat chafing. She tried again, putting some more volume into the word. “Peter!”

She was about to panic, but then she saw the note.

Penny,

You were completely out, and I got a S-M emergency alert. I’ll be back in just a few hours. If you wake up before I get home, I’m sorry. I’ll get back as soon as I can. There’s some Motrin and water on the table for you.

Love you.

Peter

Suddenly, Penny was crying. She couldn’t help it. She was sick, she was hurting, and she was alone. She didn’t blame Peter for leaving, but she just wanted him back. Needed him back. The tears wouldn’t stop, which just made her headache worse, which just made her cry more. It was a ridiculous, vicious cycle.

Her fevered, mushy brain tried to grasp hold of someone, anyone, who might be able to fulfill the need to be snuggled, cause her blanket and pillow weren’t cutting it. She grabbed her phone and clicked on the first number that came to mind. It rang twice before-

“Hey, sweetheart! How’re you doing?” Tony's voice rang out from the other end of the phone. Penny opened her mouth, but only a sob came out. “Penny. What’s wrong?” He asked sharply, and she heard him suiting up already.

“Don’t feel good,” she managed to get out, her chest continuing to heave. “P-Peter’s on patrol and May’s w-working.”

“Oh, piccina,” he said, sympathy replacing the panic in his voice. “You at home?”

“Yeah. It’s d-dark.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll stay on the line.”

Tony’s voice held the dark at bay until he was knocking on the door. Penny forced herself up to let him in, and Tony was out of his suit and hugging her to his chest as soon as the door was open. He scooped her up, brought her back to the couch, and held her as her sobs and shivers slowly subsided.

“Sorry. I just, I fell asleep snuggling with Peter and when I woke up he was, he was gone.”

“And let me guess. You’re just as clingy as he is when you’re sick?” Tony asked, chuckling slightly. Penny nodded, then smiled as he wrapped the blanket around her and pulled her into his side. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. I’m glad you called me, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Penny whispered, her body aching but the need for comfort and contact had finally subsided, making it manageable.

After a little while, Tony started to move, making Penny whine.

“You need food, piccina. I’m just going to go get you some toast and cocoa.” Penny pouted, but let go of the arm she’d held hostage to keep him there.

Tony returned shortly with the promised food and some medicine, and Penny gratefully took it all. Once her belly was slightly filled and the medicine took the edge off the ache in her body, she started dozing off again, snuggled tight into Tony’s side.

Penny was just starting to dream about swinging through New York when a noise jolted her awake and made both her and Tony jump three feet into the air.

“Peter,” she gasped, a hand tight to her chest.

“You nearly gave us a heart attack, kid,” Tony complained.

“Sorry,” Peter said, but his grin negated the apology and Penny rolled her eyes at him. “What are you doing here, Mr. Stark?”

“Well, Ms. Spider here woke up and you were gone, and apparently she’s just as sticky as you are when she’s sick. So I came to fill in.”

Peter tapped the spider emblem and his suit fell away. He threw it over a chair, and then squished himself onto the couch on the other side of Tony.

“I gotta get in on the cuddle action!”

“Geez, you two are a pair,” Tony griped playfully, and then yelped as Peter dug an elbow into his side in retaliation. “Watch it, underoos.”

“Oh, you love me,” Peter giggled, and Tony simply wrapped his arms around his kids in response, pulling them closer.

Eventually, they decided to order soup and watch Episode V, and soon Tony was trapped between two sleeping, snoring spider babies. (He’ll never admit that he took about 27 photos and texted both Pepper and Rhodey to gush about their cuteness.)

May came home just as the movie was ending, and he looked up, hopeful that she would help him get out of his predicament. As much as he loved being snuggled up with the Parker twins (gosh, he really was going soft) he couldn’t feel his arm and really needed to stretch his leg. But May took one look, snapped a picture, and laughed.

“Nope. Sorry. You won’t be leaving for another two days. Get comfortable,” she said, heading into the kitchen.

“That’s not funny, May,” he called. “MAY!”

All he got in response was a laugh.

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #mine #i freaking love Penny Parker #Peter and Penny Parker #i love my iron dad and spidey son

10 notes · View notes

utouchmycookie · 4 years

Text

Open Your Eyes

Chapter One: Flash

I (utouchmycookie) am the author of this piece. I don’t own the characters or locations, but the idea is mine. Also, I am ignoring my boring class by putting this here.

Flash walks into AcaDec expecting the heated glares of the girls, at the very least. Being verbally berated and kicked off the team by unanimous decision at the most likely. He doesn't even know what to think of at the most. Social death outside of the popular jocks (who have sway, but not nearly as much as they would at non-preppy need schools) seems like a possible outcome.

None of this happens. He does a double-take. Apparently there are no sides, which leaves the options that a) nobody gives a fuck (possible, but unlikely), or b) she said nothing (he'd figure this to be unlikely, but apparently it was entirely possible). She doesn't bother to look up at him entering the room, earbuds in and hair shielding the notebook she's scratching away in. Ned Leeds gives him the most dangerous look he's ever seen the happy go lucky President of the Computer Science, Ethical Hacking, Cybersecurity, IT, and Coding Clubs give; Michelle Jones manages to scare any sense of relief he'd mustered right off as she glances over the top of her book at him, and her glance says she knows, but the perfect expressionless deadpan and the way she almost immediately turns back to her book without giving him any further insight to what her thoughts are sends him into a horror and terror related trauma induced break down. Yes, he knows that's not a thing or the least bit grammatically correct but it's exactly what was headed for him.

He wishes she would do anything - scream at him in anger, sob in heartbreak, curse hysterically in hurt, even sigh in disappointment. She does none of these. She doesn't even bother to give him particularly serious cold shoulders and silence treatments and talk as if he isn't there and walk as if she doesn't even realize he's in the vicinity of her.

She's colder than she's ever been to him, including when he'd shoved Leeds into a locker, but she's no less polite than she's ever been. God, she's never been anything worse than curt with him, and he's such a dick and a douchebag and a tool and a piece of shit and a worthless waste of space. Even now, as he jostles to get her attention, she simply turns her eyes on him, listens to his cruel jests, and turns away when he's finished. God, here he was hoping for her to show him her heartbreak and here he was falling to pieces with his (and it was his own damn fault, his own stupid fucking choices).

Their (out of the know) teammates definitely recognize the difference in her behavior, but they chalk it up to her finally building an extra wall between them (something they've been trying to get her to do for literal years now. It was always, "Why are you so nice to him? He just shoves your books out of your hands to be a dick!" "I think he just needs some kindness in his life," "As if! I have all the kindness I could ever need, you psychotic whore!" "Sure seems like it." and god-fucking-damn her perceptiveness, her big heart, her endless kindness, her naïvety that she could help him; he would be forever indebted to her kindness and her gentleness and how much it had saved him and then he had ruined it with his stupid ass dumb fucking decisions and even now she couldn't be cruel to him, not even once.). Mr. Harrington pulls her aside after practice to double-check that he didn't hurt her, and the honesty and lack of attack in her response had made it hurt more (and how was that fucking possible anymore?!).

"He's Flash, Sir. He's always rude to me, and yes he did something nasty and it hurt, but it's not of the school's concern, it won't affect my performance in AcaDec, it's nothing I can't handle, and quite honestly, Mr. Harrington? I just don't want to stoop to his level."

"You are one of the most brilliant students I've had the honor of teaching, and are miles kinder and wiser than any other human being I've ever met. You're going to go far someday, and I cannot wait to see what you do someday."

"Thank you, Mr. Harrington. I couldn't do any of it if you didn't put your heart and soul into helping us even when it seems impossibly difficult." And then she smiled that innocent, sweet smile that let you know that she had no idea that she sounded like a brown-noser because she honest to God meant it.

So here's the thing: Peter Parker is an angel of a human being. The planet Earth 's disturbingly large number of vocal, disgusting humans didn't deserve her one bit. Flash among them.

But Peter Parker also suffered left and right.

She had been one of the few who had joined Midtown Tech's high school portion their freshman year, on one of the few scholarships offered. She'd started with an hour commute to school, and her high school career had started horribly. She was alone and friendless and new and definitely not in her socioeconomic class. What she had going for her was the school being an elitist nerd school. You had to be smart, and damn was she smart. That made her popular here. The geeky clubs made her cooler - Marching Band was perhaps not the straight dash to popularity choice, but one that gave her lots of social exposure. The International Club was a genius decision, because nobody at the school had less than Tier 1 universities in their future and everyone knew it was about being well-rounded. Acing Academic Decathlon had shot her right up to the top, earning her a spot in the likes of Liz Allen's favorite people to talk to. Peter hadn't intentionally done it, either, but she'd enchanted herself to the school by being utterly introverted and sweeter than a Pixie Stix without an ounce of dishonesty in her.

Then they'd gone to OsCorp. Norman Osborn and Dr. Curt Connors had revealed an open secret and it should have ruined her social life, but the students in the room had had nothing but sympathy for the horrible way of spilling her private life's facts - her parents were famous scientists, and dead.

The story hadn't gotten outside of their graduating class, at least, but the majority seemed to collectively decide she was their epitome of a Class Cinnamon Roll.

It helped their case that she was out sick for two weeks after OsCorp, and most people assumed that the stress of such horrible things being dragged up in such awful ways meant her mental health giving out and depleting her physical health. She'd come back and looked like shit for a week before she started looking healthier than she had before.

And then the hardest hit yet had slammed her, because Peter Parker never caught a single break.

Everyone in the school knew about Ben Parker's death. Peter's truancy was waived when she missed another week of school. Even the toughest teachers softened at the sight of her puffy, red eyes constantly wet with tears and ghost white face. Someone read the paper, and everyone doubled down on trying to soften up on Peter. Even Flash's buddies didn't have the heart to pick on her knowing she'd seen her uncle shot and held his hand as he died, helpless to do anything. She pulled herself together and two weeks later, and finally made her best friend out of Ned Leeds, generic friends with all the AcaDec girls, and at least acquaintances with the guys. Midtown decided she was not a cinnamon roll, but a gingersnap cookie from the Dollar Tree, like Seymour had once been dared to eat by a Brooklyn Visions' student back in middle school, when they had a kid from lower end Brooklyn who sold the cheap-ass things like damn drugs. Betty had told them they all needed to watch Ouran High School Host Club because they had the same energy as the Host Club drinking instant coffee, but everyone just took her word for it. Anyways, Peter. Dollar Tree gingersnaps. Tough as a Chips Ahoy cookie in light blue packaging, but not crumbly at all, and horribly sweet and spicy all at once.

Two years had been difficult, but survivable, until Thanos.

Plenty of people got fucked by the Decimation and the Blip. Half of the universe had died and returned five years later. A sixteenth of Earth's human occupants had been killed by factors associated with appearing and disappearing. An estimated fourth of all lives had been left in ruins with no way to restart. Not a single person went unaffected. Peter Parker though, she really could not catch a break.

No one outside of Flash's crew didn't believe Peter's having a Stark Internship. Therefore, learning that she had been at Stark's funeral due to being a close companion of his - and seemingly the girl out of the "girl and Spider-Man" who he had saved half the universe for, according to Ms. Potts-Stark directly, was a good sign as to the hurt she was feeling.

It was Thursday afternoon, and Mr. Mounts didn't care what they did this afternoon, because they had a paper due on Friday and half of a class in specialty Tech school that had an entrance exam who were taking AP Lit a year early had already turned in their papers. Mr. Mounts was a smart man, and a great teacher, but he was not technically inclined. He did not care though, so they all saw his YouTube views projected onto the Promethean Board with the noise up. That meant there was no stopping if the viewing of an ad — sort of.

A live news channel cut off the video with an announcement, the scene of a man who had lost it as a direct result of the Decimation and Blip completely ruining his old life during an appointment with the Maria Stark Foundation trying to help him get a new one on track. He'd gone absolutely psychotic, murdering the innocent charity worker, and setting himself loose on the streets. The news was warning of him being loose still and mourning the middle-aged woman now dead, by displaying a nice picture of her from the Maria Stark Foundation. Peter had announced, "I'm going to puke," and bolted out of the room. Ned and MJ had been on her heels, and the rest of the class was in shock.

"Oh Jesus Fuck," Sally finally said. And yeah, that was fair, because Flash knew that face as well as the rest of the AcaDec kids. It was the face of the sweet lady who once brought them Belgian Cream Pie straight from the German Bakery down the street from her apartment; she had got it at half-price because the owner's son was thoroughly charmed and the owner thought she would make an excellent daughter-in-law and that was deserving of half-priced pie even though he knew it was never going to happen.

There's a knock on the door, which opens to reveal Principal Morita looking very depressed and trying not to cry - "I need to borrow Miss Parker - oh fucking shit," he hisses.

"She went to the bathroom to puke, Sir. With Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds."

Somehow, the day only gets crazier. Everyone knows by the time Peter is safely tucked away in Mr. Morita's office, with the police officer who had to deliver the news, Mr. Morita, MJ, and Ned. The only people to go in or out is the secretary - who sends messages to the three students' teachers, as if they aren't tuned into the rumor mill - and a social worker.

MJ and Ned are sent to fetch lunch so the social worker can talk to Peter with only adults.

"Peter?... Do you have any other family you can contact? We... Uh, we tried the contact left in case of this type of horrible event, but given the nature of the contact, we couldn't get a call through -" the social worker pauses, "If not, we have options. Good homes that want a beautiful, brilliant girl like you."

"I'm sorry about that, Ma'am, but I'm sure you're aware that phone lines are a bit risky where my family is concerned. I can as soon as I heard," Pepper Potts-Stark announces as she brushes into the room. A mild-looking man follows her in, his red and white cane rattling as he swipes if in front of him. "And this is Miss Parker's lawyer, Matthew Murdock."

"I hate that we have to meet in such dismal circumstances."

"Oh, Honey," Pepper coos sadly to Peter, sinking down beside her and setting off another round of tears. "I know, Baby, let it all out, I know."

Chapters 2 and 3 up now!

#peter parker #peter parker/flash thompson #female peter parker #marvel #spider-man #pepper potts #team red #wade wilson #matt murdock #michelle jones #ned leeds #midtown #acadec #flash thompson

15 notes · View notes

wendystudies · 7 years

Note

Hiii, I was wondering how you achieved straight A's ?

discipline yourself and study smart.

for example, my ap gov teacher hands out 30 page readings on a weekly basis and homegirl does not have no time to do that with 5 other ap classes. I stopped doing the readings when I figured out that I could learn the content faster w/o reading out of a boring textbook. Last test: i scored a 95 just outlining a 5 page chapter out of a review book i bought and watching a youtube video over the chapter. i scored higher than my friends who stayed up until 4 am the previous night to read the textbook chapter twice.

also.. you don’t have to put 100% into everything. just do what’s necessary to learn the content well. overachieving ≠ A. devote your time to classes that you need the extra help in and accept the B on that work sheet for that other class you can afford to take a hit in.

if all else fails, go beg your teacher (nicely) lol if you’ve had a good work ethic and a good attitude in class all year, chances are, your teacher will be pretty forgiving. i know this girl who asked my physics teacher to bump her grade up a whole letter grade and my teacher agreed. teachers are people too and they want to see you succeed!!!!

#answered #i write this as i am procrastinating studying for my ap gov exam tomorrow #also just woke up from a nap #ap lit exam was draining :'))))))#i totally bullshitted that third essay #q.q #proctor yelled 10 minutes left and i had just finished figuring out whether it was mr pickle or godfrey that took the L in the duel

20 notes · View notes

mynameisliz00 · 4 years

Photo

I took my AP Lit exam this morning! ft. matcha tea with sea salt cream🍵 . It wasn't too bad of an exam, and it was nice that we were able to type it out. I still can't believe we're almost halfway through May though! Anyways, just writing out what I have to finish up for the week. Especially with everything winding down, I'm mostly just turning in assignments and prepping for summer classes. :-) . Let me know if you guys want the recipe for the sea salt cream. It's super easy though hehe 💝. Anyways, take care and stay healthy.

#heavy cream #milk #matcha #matcha latte #green tea #healthy #sea salt cream #ap test #study #reminders #studyblr #pens #aesthetic #cutest #pascoa #pastel

12 notes · View notes

despiteinspite · 3 years

Audio

On Shop Windows and Being

“I include the personal here to connect the social forces on a specific, particular family’s being in the wake to those of all Black people in the wake; to mourn and to illustrate the ways our individual lives are always swept up in the wake produced and determined, though not absolutely, by the afterlives of slavery.” (Sharpe 2016, 5)

----

In one of my classes, my peer, Joi, shared her experience as a black ballerina. Their practice space was in a closed-down shoe store. The floors were replaced. Big mirrors and balance bars were installed against the walls, and across from the door lined tall shop windows. On the first day of class, at ten years old, Joi and the rest of the dancers sat cross-legged as their instructor introduced themselves. After sharing their names, their instructor told them, "Now as black girls - as black ballerinas, there aren't too many of us. Remember, they can see you." Joi explained to us the importance and the pain of this message. In her practice space, in her learning space, she did not feel free to make a single mistake. Because if she did, she'd not only be disappointment to her own reflection in the practice mirror, but reflect failure to those behind the glass.

What does it mean to be black, to be girl and constantly balancing, expanding, stretching, and splitting yourself into perfection? What can that mean for this body? Claude M. Steele makes Brent Staples' experience whistling Vivaldi the title of his first book in his decades-long career. Steele's work is to examine stereotype and how it affects all of us in a way that prevents us from living without burden or stress. In understanding identity and stereotype's threat to identity formulation, Steele shares Staples' experience as an example of not only the cognition a person experiencing stereotype threat may have, but tactics to cope. For Staples, he deflects fear against him and within him by whistling classical music. In this way, Staples reads as safe to passersby on his walk. As Steele writes, "This caused him to be seen differently, as an educated, refined person, not as a violence-prone African American youth." (Steele 2010, 7) And as I read this in class, I immediately think of another boy marked by youth and dark skin. Emmett Till, 14 years old, was deemed unsafe - in fact, deemed lethal target - due to whistling.

And whether or not Till did whistle does not matter, for many reasons. What matters is that it was reason enough.

For Till, whistling was justification for torture. For Staples, whistling was the only safety net he could think of. It strikes me how truly precarious being black is. There is no singular trick that can be universalized to promise our survival. Be it whistling, walking home, driving with your kids, being President, being President's daughters. There is no safety in this black skin.

When I think back to what my past career plans were and how they and my current experiences have shaped my future goals, I think it was always rooted in attempted escape. For the ability to slip into an imaginary that hugged me, a world that embraced me. For a long time, I coveted for a reality that loved me. I decided to use this space to explore each previous career plan that I translated to an iteration of Me. Be it writer, President or policymaker- I chose these titles because I could feel it projecting a Me the world could love. I yearn(ed) so much for a world that would just love Me.

----

Vocabulary was never my strong suit. It still isn't. And, when we were made to take those spelling tests in elementary school, I drilled myself as much as possible. Before test day, I'd eat alphabet soup for good favor from the Letter Gods; Give me that S on my paper. Even then I knew after all the preparation, I was never going to find myself using the words. Humongous? Big would be fine enough. Be damned synonyms. Be damned precision. I knew enough words to say what was on my mind without needing to do all that studying. But, I wasn't gonna be caught slipping on something everyone else was excelling in.

In fact, that's how I knocked out my two front teeth. My siblings were losing their teeth left and right, purchasing freeze pops after the Toothfairy's fair bargain. So, I grabbed one of my wood blocks, and knocked any loose tooth I could find. Twisted them until my gums gave out and gave up. And now here I am, teeth at a slant and still craving those sweets.

This vocabulary test offered extra credit, something I knew someone in my state - bloody gums, sticky fingers, alphabet soup brain - would need. We were told to make a short story, 10 sentences max, using at least 5 of the vocabulary words. So I made Ten, a young girl aged 9 with too much time on her hands, trying to whack her teeth out. Only thing I remember is that she rode a humongous hot air balloon, tied a brick around her teeth and chucked it into the air. The tooth went with it. Poor Ten. She was a Junie B. Jones copy to be sure, but she got me my S. My teacher pulled me aside and told me I was a great writer. A writer. Suddenly, it felt fitting to call myself: Stephanie, the writer. The one day published author. I had a definition of Me that felt so much cooler, so suave compared to my peers. I was going to be a writer.

I wrote all through middle school. Finished the Saga of Ten, started writing collaboratively with my best friend through Google Docs. What a joy it was to share this fun with someone. We'd swap our names and faces with the leading starlight of our time (regretably and instructively for two girls of color, it was Bella of Twilight), switch the heartthrobs to our Middle School Day Dreams and giggle and shy away and praise and write and write. I really had so much fun then.

I was lonely for much of my time in High school. I knew no one. I knew nothing. It felt like everyone knew which clubs to join, which teachers to meet with, knew what it meant to have a counselor AND an adviser. One for high school troubles and the other for career services. I was 14. But, they were too. And yet, they knew.

I was still Stephanie, the writer though. I did well in my Presentation classes and got along really well with my 9th grade Lit Teacher. She was so sweet to me. I think she knew I was a fish out of water. To find someone who loved writing like I did, like my best friend who rushed along at a different high school that felt like it was in a different time zone, to find someone like that again was a joy. It seemed like no one else connected to All Quiet on the Western Front or the Edgar Allen Poe like we did. I was still cool, suave writer Stephanie in the face of the unknown.

Then, we read Huckleberry Finn. Then, everyone was attentive. Everyone wanted to read along.

Then I heard my classmates say Nigger more times than I could care to count. I remember shooting up. Looking and being reminded that this wasn't Middle School anymore. These faces didn't look like mine. Hair didn't look like mine. Speech wasn't like mine even if they tried to copy. I was black girl in a white room, admiring a white teacher who let these white kids say Nigger. I didn't finish reading Huckleberry Finn. I stopped writing.

I wanted to cry, but what will the people think watching me? What will I think of Me, crouching, hiding near squeaky-clean glass? How is it possible to be stare at and unseen? I think that's why I was so angry after reading Recitatif. I fell for it too. Just like they did. Saw something unseeable, assigned roles to hair smell, to motherhood, to two girls with lapsing memory. Had I really not learned from my own pain?

I think that Lit class was the first moment that I realized I was behind shop windows too. Before, I thought I was a fellow admirer, struck by the fabrics spinning amongst themselves, silks sliding down cheeks, cotton snuggling up to noses. I'm always watching in awe as a They walk freely, playing in such pretty dress-up. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to feel silk. I wanted cotton to be comfort, not a reminder.

In 11th grade, I enrolled in AP US History. I scored well enough on Social Studies SOLs and when that happens, the counselor or adviser (one of em) trains you to take 4 or 5 APs at a time. So, alongside AP Psych, AP Environmental Science, my Monday and Wednesday would feature US History. My professor was very honest about expectations, even getting us to start classes over the summer to cover all the material due to be on the exam. We started with the Reagan Era and it didn't take long for me to realize Republicans were not for me. Then we talked about Clinton's crime bill and I wasn't too sure about Democrats either. This was two years into Obama's second term and I knew support for him in my house was fading too. As simplistic as this sounds, I really thought: if the republicans didn't care about black people, and the democrats didn't seem to care either, who did? Mixing resentment, pride and a loud mouth didn't make for the most principled Stephanie, but it did allow me to vocalize my frustrations. With Reaganomics, with capitalism, with prisons, with black boy death. Be it my teacher knowing many of the sentiments shared here or simply my being black, he asked me to read the Black Panthers' Ten Point Program. And my, oh my, did I find home there.

These were policy makers. These were the people who had the guts to demand, the power to make some changes. Fred Hampton, Stokely Carmichael, Angela Davis and their inspirations in Fanon, DuBois - I found inspiration in them too. I was going to be whatever they were. Policy makers for their community. I was going to learn from them.

From there, I became incredibly elitist. But, I could also answer to the beauty of my blackness. Like many children decades before me, Black would be a political title - one of love and resistance, love in resistance. This elitism carried me into my first year of university. I glowered at anyone who admired the works of Jefferson in my Political Theory class (as if I had not done the same), I scuffed at Alexis de Tocqueville and every other white dude we were made to read. But, I wasn't acting in an antiracist framework. I was still resentful. I was still behind the glass. Now I was just shouted silently at the silk dresses and cotton scarves. But I still wanted to feel them.

Really, it wasn't until Beloved that I could begin a journey of understanding this embroiled joy of black womanhood. I realized how much I fought against my own happiness in the pursuit of a Me that I constantly tormented. As if this precariousness wasn't torment enough. Through Morrison, I was able to learn more about Angela Davis and the struggles her black womanhood had in the face of black men in her community. So many of my political thought leaders too were tormentors, liars, abusers. The men were wounded and bleeding, resented our zealous in the berries they picked. They said it was for us. We gave it to the community. They shame us for it. We bake our own pies, we feed our neighborhood and our neighborhood's resentment, our own deafening shame silences our collective ear, binds our collective feet. Once again, I tricked Me. You loved another abuser. Daydreamed of standing next to another tormentor. Admired another liar. How foolish to give your heart away again. Today, I begin to despair a bit when I think of my previous trajectory - so constantly struck by idol worship and never a Me that I had made for myself. But with Beloved - Oh my, to be so tenderly reminded that this body is mine. Just as it speaks to body(s) like mine, past and future. This heartbeat I feel expresses MY Joy, my sorrows, all mine. What a wonder it is to learn Me. She's waited so long to speak to me. I am so honored to hear her.

1 note · View note