#I hate maths almost as much as I hate h. Chem

[signed-sapphire]

Little doodle of my Star and Asha I did last night instead of studying 👍

Designs for my Wish rewrite originally from @mythartist21!

Closeups bc idk what else to add ⬆️

The left is Star’s “celestial” form, with the glowy hair and cape and sick ass eyes and stuff (+ something for Asha I will explain in my in-depth rewrite)

The right is Star’s human form— regular cape, hair, eye color. I still wanted his eyes to be lighter, like an amber color, not sure if that came across

[aph-2p-headcanons]

HELLO

I love your blog s o mu c h anyways, what type of teachers would the 2ps be? Like English teacher, Spanish teacher etc..?

woah this is really weird, is this what it looks like when you edit a submission??? I also feel like I’ve done this before but who knows lol new results

2P!Italy: ummm??? the art teacher??? like, there are different types of art teachers, but he is always described as THE art teacher. he is very picky about his students' work but definitely helps them improve through resilience and discipline. subs as the drama teacher sometimes. probably teaches drawing and design or painting 2P!Romano: the textiles teacher everyone is a little intimidated by because nO DONT PUSH THE NEEDLE LIKE THAT IT'S V E R Y F R A G I L E. drama teacher other half of day. tries to grade harshly during textiles but feels bad about kids who just suck and gives them at least a low B. contrary to popular belief, drama is his fave part of the day. always excited for monologues 2P!Germany: GYM TECAHER GYM TECCAHER G YM T EAc. he fuckihng loves his class so much. kids who hate p.e. love his class because he can tell if someone is uncomfortable with being there/upset/embarrassed and will let them just walk laps or do something less athletically challenging. that doesn't mean he doesn't try tho, but if they seem super uncomfy then he's like "awh ur good dude u can sit this one out". usually tries to play the games with the kids. always passes his kids. when there are those big grading blocks like mile runs or *shudder* the pacer test, he runs with the kids who aren't keeping up or races the ones that can. wears super short gym shorts all the time, a whistle, and a sweatband like a dork. (if anyone watches spn just think of dean as the gym sub in that one episode, that outfit) 2P!Prussia: literature and creative writing teacher. he always has his semester tests be a big series of poems connected to each other/developing. the angsty kids have a crush on him. grades super easily because he loves writing so much and thinks all pieces hold meaning in some way. his lit class he grades tougher because you have to do more with things that have correct answers u kno?? 2P!Japan: technology and some type of advanced math class he only teaches for one period. he hates it and every kid in that fuc ki ng class. his tech kids are into it so he likes them a lot more and grades them easier. helps out with tech kids in the drama department but usually tries to quit his job during tech week. a really really good math teacher but vvvv hard on u. 2P!Spain: he's the,, fuckig,n spanish teacher that doesn't want to be thereeee. everyone hates getting him as their teacher because his class is really hard but he's also very attractive and thye just kinda,, complain under their breath. refuses to teach latin Spanish 2P!America: CHEM TEACHER. he is also the baseball coach. sometimes he's the sub? for classes? like he definitely has his own classes but u kno how some teachers just sub for other ones???? has the hots for the astronomy teacher. he does really fun experiments that definitely get him in trouble and usually have the fire department called, but all of the upperclassmen hope the sophomores get him because he's the coolest teacher. is very fair with grading but he doesn't just give out A's. he's a very strict baseball coach and wants his players to do a good job. usually goes to state comps (is that a thing with baseball?? yikes) 2P!England: home ec bab! he loves working with the students so much?? also maybe a kindergarten teach? he is very sweet but he's the kind of teacher that will completely do a 180 if you get on his bad side. is v nice to the kids that can't cook v well and quickly becomes the teacher u can kinda just go to? the school wants him as the counselor 2P!France: uhmmm,,, the hot history teacher??? yes?? yes. he often visits gilen in his literature class to see what their reading. sometimes fills in as the creative writing teacher when gilen is sick or somethin. despises the school french teacher. he's pretty lazy while teaching but grades strictly. 2P!Russia: he's the humanities teacher everyone kinda has a crush on but is simultaneously intimidated by and sorta makes it obvious?? he doesn't know tho poor bab. is rly nice to the students but can get scary when trying to control the freshmen. grades on a curve, his class is really easy to pass 2P!China: fuckink,,, sub. he's the cool sub everyone likes but definitely a pushover. eventually gets hired as the law and business teacher??? he?? is really good at it?? got teacher of the year and cried. tries to control his classes that he's subbing for but sucks ass. his law/business classes are v good but he forgets that it gets aggressive and regrets being the debate team's sponsor. 2P!Canada: biology and woodshop teacher. he has woodshop for his first and fourth period and hates it because the tired kids almost always saw off their fingers. everyone has a crush on him. EVERYONE. he grades fairly but will give a one-on-one talk with the kids who are struggling. almost makes them want to continue so that he watches out fo r, them, ,, god he s a dad d y

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

Yay, another one

Whoopee, another late night tear fest! Not as late night, I suppose, since this was more of an evening storm. But I journaled about it again :) I rather enjoy this journaling thing—it’s a good way to get my feelings out. Even if I’m not consistent about it, I kinda like having my most emotional days chronicled somewhere.

This note is a whole lot longer than the last one, and sort of turned into a letter to my dad near the end. I’ll post it under a keep reading, but be warned—it’s emotional.

I want to just leave. Is that too much to ask? I just want to…I want to get out of this house. I want not really independence, but independence from my family. My parents. Dad, mostly, but also mom. I want to be away from Didi’s phone calls (to have an excuse even if she calls). I want…space? Or…not…exactly space, because mom and dad go to work and I’m alone a lot, but…it’s never enough. Is that selfish? Greedy? Me rationalizing wasting my life? (Just dramatic.) But I am wasting my life. It’s not even…I don’t see the judgement in other people’s eyes anymore, but is that because it’s not there or because I don’t care anymore (I have enough of my own)? The words are almost rehearsed: I’m taking a few classes, mostly relaxing, enjoying. While [new college friend] gets certified, while others do internships, while the juniors apply to college (and I want them to get into good schools, I do, I just don’t want to deal with the…judgements? Thoughts of my own? The attention, again, on how I failed). That again. I failed, but also…people didn’t expect it. I’ve always done so well at acting like another gifted child. I’ve always done so well at hiding bad grades and sadness behind a smile and a veneer of cheerfulness. Everyone…everyone thinks I’m smart. That I have top grades, that it’s easy. Even now, when I’ve so obviously failed—the juniors (mostly) take it as the college process being hard, or me not displaying myself perfectly, or something else, but there isn’t a doubt about my stats (are they doubting now, though? My honesty has started to shine though, I’ve stopped holding myself back so much—are they starting to see the cracks?). In the chem class for goodness sake! Ainjell thinks I’m so smart, and so do some of the others (even if they haven’t said it, I recognize those looks. …that’s funny…). I’m not though. Dad is hoping again and I hate it because I’m going to fail again and he’s going to be disappointed again and and and I want to leave already. I want to just go to college. I’ve been waiting for this since middle school, since everything started falling apart and didi and bhaiya came home with stories of how wonderful college was. Since I was alone in 6th grade and making mistakes in 7th grade, and distraught at the beginning of 8th grade (remember that party? Remember [old best friend K]’s almost angry look, remember how hurt I was when none of them showed up, remember how much I missed [old town]?). Since [high school classmate J] and [high school classmate H] became besties and I was left on the side, since I looked around and realized that the day students had their own little cliche—and that I wasn’t in it. Since I joined the “Breakfast Club” but was never really part of it (and why is that haunting me, even now? Especially now, why is that what I turn to for the sad dreams, the catalyst for pity and loneliness?). And then, realizing that [high school] wasn’t a new chapter, but a continuation of the same old story, when I started pulling away from my family and letting go around friends and joining Discord and giving up. And then junior year and work and dying inside but also being offered hope again because I could start over in college. Because by then I didn’t want to make things work with mom and dad. Because I had given up on them understanding me (and yeah, I hoped later. I tried. Maybe not as hard as I should have, but can you blame me? Maybe it’s me rationalizing again, too many days and nights of imagining and twisting, but something inside me holds onto the thought that you never gave me reason to trust you. You never proved that you would support me, would understand, would even try to understand. Because had you, in the past? Had you actually tried to understand? Or was it the same questions, over and over again—what happened?—with the same stupidly condescending and disappointed and superior and infuriating but so, so hurtful tone? The number of days I came home to the tired wave-off, the “stop asking useless questions,” the barely answering about your day until I only did it as habit or to delay you asking me about mine, the snide remarks about sitting down all the time when I goddamn walked more than you did at my freaking boarding school that’s constantly compared to a college campus and then returned home after freaking dark so you can just shut the hell up). Because by junior year, I was more than ready to leave. Because if my spark was reignited at all that year (and the next), it was because I found friends (not best friends, but good friends) that I trusted and let my guard down around, and because I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Because I could almost reach it—because I had a countdown, and maybe I didn’t acknowledge it right away, but a large part of that countdown was getting away from you. Because I’m not didi and bhaiya, and they still got space growing up. Because maybe I’m more broken (and what does it say that I’m okay admitting that? That I believe that without a doubt?), but I needed validation and support and friends who I could trust (because I goddamn couldn’t trust all of you with the truth, not without a hell of a lot more heartbreak and tears. And maybe it was weak of me to give up. But I did, and nothing can change that). And say what you want about my “evil” high school—wax poetic about how it changed me and hurt me and whatever else—but I found friends there. I might have also found Bs and Cs and even Ds, and left a much less confident person, but for the first time in my whole life, I found people that I could just be with. I found space to grow (maybe in the wrong direction) and space to keep secrets (maybe from you) and space to try things (and maybe fail miserably) but I never had that before. And maybe you think of it as mostly negatives. Maybe you see my more frequent tears and more frequent stubbornness and huffs and sarcastic one-liners and blame [high school] and yearn for the little girl I once was. But I don’t care. Well. I mean, I do care, because I want a time machine too, but I don’t care as much as I used to. And okay, maybe that’s because failure is like an old friend to me and my heart hurts a little less every time I see it, but maybe it’s because I’ve learned that failure isn’t…life-ending. Maybe I’m not didi or bhaiya or you or mom. Maybe I haven’t skipped grades or gotten in the newspaper at 13 or gotten into Harvard. Maybe I’m not a genius. Maybe I’m not as smart as you (as we) thought. But I am smart. I am doing better than some people. I’m not at the bottom. I’m getting 90s and 100s. I skipped a whole semester because of APs (I got actual awards because I did well on my APs). I’m going to a good college, even if it isn’t an Ivy. I’ve found stable ground (even if it shakes sometimes)—and the fact that you guys aren’t automatically part of it anymore? The fact that your pride and genuine interest in my rambles are extra instead of expected? Well, maybe you think that’s a negative. But me? My heart, my sense of self, my slowly-rebuilding confidence? I think it’s a positive. I think there’s no question about it. Because I know you care. I know you love me, I know you expect the world because you honestly believe I can do it, I know that you wouldn’t care at the end of the day if I become a doctor or a dropout. And yeah, maybe that is part of my foundation because I don’t question it. But the fact is, I’m a teenage girl. I’m a teenage girl who has two, shining older siblings and parents who did amazing for themselves. I’m a teenage girl who went to five different schools in five years—maybe the most important five years of her life—and was expected to stay afloat while also skipping ahead in math almost every year and doing extracurriculars. I’m a teenage girl who has always had a tight friend group and has always seen her family have tight friend groups and who expected a lot from middle and high school but never expected that she would struggle to make friends. I’m a teenage girl who never dealt with proper failure until it slammed me in the face and then came back to kick my butt once I could see clearly again—and then did it again, and again, and again. And I’m a teenage girl who yeah, didn’t reach out for help in the perfect way, who was scared of disappointment and hid her mistakes until it was too late, but you’re the dad that didn’t realize what was happening. You’re the dad that was so excited with his new job(s) that he didn’t pay attention to home. Who relaxed after sending his oldest kids to the top college in the country and assumed that his part was mostly done. You’re the dad that casually expected but barely questioned, that worked hard during the day and came back exhausted, that didn’t realize (and hardly does now) that his kids weren’t mirror images of himself, that relied on luck when he should have known better. And maybe I used to have that potential. Maybe, if things had gone perfectly, I would also be going to Harvard—or maybe I would have gotten into one of the BS/MD programs. Maybe I would be the queen bee of my school, and already be acing my classes, and would be hella confident and kind and cheerful and pretty and thin and the perfect daughter. The best of didi and bhaiya, of mom and you. But that’s not me anymore. That cloud has drifted away—and you need to accept that. I have (or, I’m trying at least). You need to stop hoping. You need to stop mentioning how smart I am in that wistful voice. You need to stop expecting me to suddenly become this straight-A daughter who tells you everything because that’s not me anymore. That’s not going to happen anymore, and definitely not with the ease you seem to expect. Sure, I’m gonna (try to) work my butt off in college because I do want to be a doctor. Sure, I’m gonna try to be more open and honest with you guys. But I’ve also learned how to keep secrets. I’ve learned how to hide my tears. I’ve learned that trusting non-family members doesn’t always end in betrayal and heartbreak (although it sometimes does, and I’ve learned that lesson too). I’ve learned that you aren’t Superman, and you can’t fix every hurt, and you aren’t going to be the most kind or sensitive or even caring enough all of the time. I’ve learned that you’ve grown old and weary, and don’t always want to tangle with my emotions and problems all the time. And that’s okay; really, it is. Because now I don’t expect it. There might be times when I look at how you treated didi and bhaiya with bitterness—I’m not perfect, and I know that I’ll resent them many more times in the future—but now there’s a part of me that’s said goodbye to that version of you. This version of you leaves before I wake up (or is on the computer until he leaves) and returns in the evening, only to be on the phone with his boss or puttering with his fascinating Tesla. This version of you eats dinner (with a computer or phone most of the time) and lively chat, but then goes to his spot on the couch and stays on his chosen device for a while before he inevitably falls asleep. Or watches a movie. But this version of you barely has time to talk unless it’s urgent (and even then is sleepy or grumpy half the time) or we’re in the car (and he’s driving). This version of you complains at prodding and snaps at stubbornness and scoffs at “useless” curiosity. This version of you refuses to change. (Okay, maybe I’ve accepted it, but it clearly still bothers me. A lot. And maybe I should have known that, since that is what prompted this whole…mind dump in the first place. But hey, a girl can dream.) But anyway. You wanted me to journal my excitement for college didi? Well here it is. My true motivations for wanting to go to college. Too bad none of you will ever read it.