#Me looking at the gradebook: Wait a minute. Wait a minute wait a minute

[chronomally]

Highest exam grade in the class god is real

[shadow-and-purgatory]

Petrification of the Mind, Ch. 1

Read it here on AO3!

Word Count: 2018

so, this is my first lego monkie kid fic, I saw that there was a lack of Tang content, so. I made my own. this is a "tang gets possessed by lbd" AU :) enjoy!

-------

It all starts out innocently enough. Tang gets an email from one of his students.

“Hello Professor. I hope this email finds you well. I’m emailing you to ask if you’re already booked for your late afternoon office hours, and if not, I’d like to schedule an appointment for that time. There are some things I need to ask you about. They’re of a personal nature, and easier to explain in person than via email. Please let me know whether that’s amenable. I’ll see you at 4.”

Tang writes a response saying that yes, 4 should work just fine, as well as expressing his concern, and is everything okay? This concern follows him through the day. Towards the end of the day, he sends Pigsy a text to let him know that he has an appointment with a student at 4, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take, but at the absolute latest, he’ll be at the shop around 5. ‘Can I expect a big bowl of noodles all ready and waiting for your favorite customer when I get to the shop?’ he tacks on with a fond smile. 

‘dont push your luck, freeloader’ is Pigsy’s quick response, which Tang takes to mean yes. 

Finally, it’s the end of the day. Tang is in his office doing some last minute tidying up, and making sure that any files he thinks might be relevant are already pulled up on his computer. It’s rare for any of his students to ask to meet with him outside of class, and he struggles to remember if there are any special procedures that he might be forgetting. Should he take notes? He grabs a notebook and pencil just in case.

At the exact moment that his clock changes to 4, there is a knock on his door, polite and practiced. Punctual. “Come on in,” he calls out, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The door opens and his student walks in. She smiles, and though there is nothing off about the smile that he can discern, Tang has to suppress a shiver. There’s a faint click, almost inaudible.

He smiles warmly, shaking off the sudden bout of unease. He gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Please, feel free to have a seat.” 

“Thank you, Professor.” She pulls the chair out, sits down, and scoots it back in. Tang winces at the slight screech as the legs of the chair scrape against the floor. Apparently noticing this, the girl’s eyebrows furrow, and then her eyes widen. “Oh, no, I’m really sorry,” she apologizes, looking at the table sheepishly.

Tang waves it off. “Don’t sweat it, it happens all the time,” he says dismissively, and she instantly returns to form. 

Tang studies her, looking for any sign of what might be going on. Between her rigid, almost formal posture and her serene facial expression, nothing about her betrays any clues as to what she wanted to ask him about. He waits for her to say something, but she just stares at him, silent and still and unblinking (has she blinked once this entire time?), a placid little smile on her face, and an almost expectant look in her eyes, as though she were the one waiting on him, instead of the other way around.

He glances at his computer. “I’m looking at the gradebook now, and it looks like your grades are consistently good in my class, if that was what you were worried about?”

“It’s not.”

“Oh. Well, was there something we covered in class that you didn’t under–”

“No.” 

“O-oh, then is there… you said that what you wanted to talk about was of a personal nature? Are you having any problems at–”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She’s still smiling that same little smile, now tinged with just a hint of amusement.

Tang huffs out a sigh of annoyance, trying to keep himself composed and patient. He’s getting the creeps, he’s hungry, and he’s getting sick of this guessing game. “Well, alright then. I’m no mind reader, so… what can I do for you?”

Her face lights up with triumph, as though he’d said some magic words. Tang shivers, and not just because it feels like the temperature in his little office has plummeted ten degrees in a matter of seconds. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked.” 

The overhead lights flicker. 

Once. 

Twice. 

And then the two of them are plunged into darkness, save for an eerie blue glow, casting strange, twisting shadows. 

“Wh–what’s going on?” Tang stands up, suddenly aware that he’s in a very bad situation. He needs to get out of here, who, or what is sitting across the table from him, but it’s definitely not his student, what’s the fastest way out of the building.

“You know, I think that you can do a great deal to help me.”

Tang quickly weighs his options, and bolts for the door, knocking over his chair in the process. If he can just get to the stairwell… There’s a twinge in his ankle, which he ignores. His hand closes around the doorknob and the door doesn’t open because it’s been locked. His hands shaking, he fumbles with the lock that he always has to fiddle with a little bit because it always gets just a little bit stuck, and theresahandonhisshoulder. Slowly, he looks up. The thing that is most definitely not his student stands beside him, smiling. He hadn’t heard her get up, hadn’t seen any movement in his periphery. 

“Leaving so soon?” She tilts her head to the side, a mockery of earnest curiosity. “You know, try as we might, none of us can escape destiny.”

Tang stares at her, searching for any sign of kindness or mercy. He meets her gaze, and he has the sudden sense that he is face to face with something that is absolutely ancient. And there is no warmth behind her eyes. 

He finally feels the fiddly, jammed lock click give with a little click. 

“We all have our parts to play.” Her smile widens, and although he knows he heard her say it, Tang suddenly isn’t sure whether she opened her mouth to speak. “I must thank you for playing yours, Professor.”

And then everything goes cold.

--------

“-and against my better judgement, I went and made sure there was a bowl of noodles waiting for him, just like he asked! And then he doesn’t even show! He’s already a freeloader, but wastin’ food is–” Pigsy doesn’t finish the thought, instead slamming his cutting board down on the counter a little harder than is strictly necessary.

MK shrugs. “Maybe something came up,” he suggests, eyeing the kitchen implements. 

“Did his phone explode? He could’ve said somethin’!” Pigsy begins chopping the vegetables angrily. “Ooh, just wait ‘til the next time I see him, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind!”

“Speaking of,” MK begins, looking around, “where is Mr. Tang, anyways? I thought he didn’t teach any classes on Wednesdays, and he’s normally here before I am in the mornings.”

Pigsy blinks, briefly putting his violence against the carrots that are in front of him on hold. “Hey, you’re right,” he says, frowning. “It’s not like him to miss a meal.” 

It’s at this moment that Tang walks in. He takes a seat at his usual stool, and any trace of concern Pigsy might’ve had evaporates.

“TANG!” he shouts, attacking the carrots with renowned vigor. “You got a lotta nerve showin’ up here like everything’s normal after you were a total no-show last night! I oughta cut you off, I oughta blacklist your name, I oughta– ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?”

This entire time, Tang hasn’t reacted, just staring off into space. At this, though, he blinks and shakes his head as if to clear it. “Er. Sorry, what was that last thing you said?” He smiles earnestly at the pig-man.

“I SAID–” Pigsy starts to give his tirade again. Then he pauses as he looks at Tang, and fully takes in his friend’s demeanor for the first time since he walked in. It’s clear that something is amiss.

In all the time that Pigsy has known him, Tang has never been much of a stickler for the way he looks. Nearly all of his clothes are simple, putting comfort and sensibility first, and fashionability last. Despite Mei and MK’s (but mostly Mei) infrequent efforts to diversify Tang’s wardrobe, he always wound up picking the same colors, patterns, materials, and styles that already occupy the majority of his closet. His looks have just never been all that big of a deal for him, that much is undeniable. 

All that being said though, it is also undeniable that Tang takes a certain amount of pride in his appearance. His outfits and features might not be all that much of a factor to him, but he always looks put together, simply because Tang likes feeling put together.

“Whoa Mr. Tang, is everything okay? You look like shit.”

“MK!”

“What?” MK puts his hands up defensively. “If I looked the way that he looks right now, that’s totally what he’d say to me and you know it.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes, sighing. And yet, as he looks his friend up and down, he can’t help but agree with the kid. Tang does look like shit.

His hair is an absolute mess, going in every which way and sticking straight out to one side in a bedhead so impressive that Pigsy wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he somehow rolled out of bed and straight into the noodle shop. His clothes are wrinkled, like he’d slept in them, or possibly like he put them on after they’d been crumpled up on the floor for a week. The frames of his glasses don’t quite hide the dark circles under his eyes.

“...hey, you okay?” Pigsy asks softly, worry creeping into his voice. “You aren’t lookin’ so hot.”

Tang waves him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures. “I just… I slept like absolute garbage last night.” As if to prove his point, he yawns. 

“You sure?” Pigsy says skeptically.

“Oh, sure I’m sure.” Tang smiles. “Don’t you worry about me! I’ll be up and at ‘em in no time at all!” He says it with noticeably more pep, though Pigsy isn’t convinced that Tang didn’t inject it into the statement as a way of reassuring himself and MK. Still, he lets it go for the time being.

True to his word, though, for the rest of the morning, Tang is significantly more present. He engages in conversation, cracks jokes, and generally seems to be more himself. 

In the early afternoon, there’s something of a lull while MK is out making a delivery.

“Say, Tang,” Pigsy begins as he packs the next round of delivery orders.

“Yes, Pigsy?”

“What did happen last night?” 

“Last night…?” It seemingly takes a moment for the question to parse, but when it does, Tang’s eyes widen and he claps a hand to his mouth. “Last night! Oh, no, I completely forgot! I’m really sorry, Pigsy.” He looks distraught. 

Pigsy sighs. “It’s- fine, but what happened, Tang?”

“Well, I told you I had that student appointment yesterday–”

“You also said it wouldn’t go any later than 5,” Pigsy reminds him.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Tang says with a frown. After Pigsy gestures for him to go on, he continues. “It wasn't supposed to. Really, 5 was the absolute latest it would go. But then it– it ended up being…” He hesitates, pulling his scarf tighter, like he’s cold. “Not what I assumed it’d be. I had to stay later, so I could deal with it.” He mumbles the last bit. 

“Well you could’ve said something.”

“I didn’t think of it.”

“...alright,” Pigsy says after a long moment. “Just… let me know next time, yeah?”

“You got it!” Tang smiles at him before going back to slurping his noodles. 

Pigsy returns the smile, trying to shake the brief chill he feels.

[firstelevens]

#42, sambucky!

42. "Hollow in the Ferns" by Craig Armstrong, from Far from the Madding Crowd

The siren of a passing firetruck jolts Sam out of what definitely wasn’t a power nap behind his desk. He shakes his head and blinks a few times until his vision clears, waiting until he can focus on the title at the top of Kamala’s essay. It’s fully dark outside now, and the fluorescents feel particularly bright in contrast.

The last thing he can remember clearly is marking a mistake in her introduction, but the paper in his hands is almost fully graded, comments in the margins and proofreading marks dotted throughout. He’s probably graded hundreds of these essays over the past few years, but it’s still mildly concerning that he could get through one on autopilot and not remember a thing.

He puts Kamala’s paper on the graded stack, scrawling her score into his gradebook before he turns back to the ungraded essays. He could swear that the pile has actually gotten bigger since he started, but before he has time to think too hard about that, his classroom door swings open and he almost jumps out of his chair.

With a scowl, Sam turns to the doorway to find an entirely-too-entertained Bucky Barnes looking back at him.

“How’s that grading going, Sammy?” he drawls, and the only reason Sam hasn’t hucked a rubber band ball at him yet is that he’s carrying two coffee cups and one of them might be for Sam.

“It’s going fine,” says Sam, as breezily as he can. “But if you’re in here keeping me from my work, one of those drinks had better be mine.”

Bucky holds out the bigger cup, and Sam takes it with an automatic thank-you. It warms his hands as he takes the first sip, and then it takes nearly all his restraint not to spit it out.

“What is this?” he rasps, holding the cup away from him and wrinkling his nose at it.

“Mint tea,” says Bucky. “You don’t need any more caffeine in you, Sam; you’re twitching.”

A week ago, Sam might have received this gesture with a sheepish smile and butterflies in his stomach. Today, it feels a little like an act of war: this motherfucker walked in with decaf one hour before the deadline for end of quarter grades.

Sam’s gaze moves to the cup in Bucky’s hand–black coffee, medium roast, like always–and for half a second, he contemplates snatching it.

Like he can read Sam’s mind, Bucky clutches the cup a little closer to his chest, which has the side effect of drawing the eye to his regrettably impressive pecs, and- and Sam does not need this kind of distraction right now.

“Thanks for this, Buck,” he says, because his mother raised him to be polite. “I should probably get back to these essays, though, so-”

“You can take five minutes, Sam,” Bucky says, and pulls up a chair in front of Sam’s desk like he’s planning to stay a while. “The essays will wait.”

Sam opens his mouth to tell Bucky that no, they very much will not, but his jaw drops a little bit as he watches Bucky pull the stack of essays towards himself and pluck a red pen from the mug in front of him.

“I- what are you doing?” asks Sam, eyes wide.

“Grading papers,” says Bucky. He only glances up from the essay for a moment. “Drink your tea before it goes cold.”

“Bucky.”

“Sam.”

“Barnes, put the papers down.”

Bucky sighs, but sets the stack of essays on the desk and looks up at him. “Sam, there’s an hour until your deadline and there are like, fifty papers here. What are you going to do, grade an essay a minute?”

Sam scrubs a hand down his face. He’s bone tired, running on caffeine and fumes, and he’d be lying if there wasn’t a part of him silently raging over the fact that all the teachers who pulled him away from his grading and planning periods are nowhere to be found when he needs help.

“Don’t you have your own grades to turn in?” he asks.

“I copped out and gave them a multiple choice test for this unit.” Bucky shrugs. “Took all of half an hour to grade. So can I help or not?”

“How do I know your grading will be up to my standards?” asks Sam, but he’s fighting the beginnings of a smile as he says it. “Have you even read the book?”

“Junior year, Industrial England in the Literary Imagination. We did Oliver Twist, too, but I’m pretty sure I just watched the movie for that one,” Bucky says, grinning. “And don’t pretend you don’t have a ridiculously detailed rubric tailored to this exact assignment; I don’t think I could mess it up if I tried.”

Sam takes a moment to wonder whether he’s really become that predictable, then hands over some blank rubrics. “No editorializing in the margins,” he says, “and highlight at least one area of strength in every paper, even if it’s got a failing grade.”

“Yes, sir,” says Bucky, saluting him with the pen, and if Sam spends the rest of the hour stealing glances at him between grading essays, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

[blush-and-books]

13, 15, and 19 queen

The way that the ones I write for you are always longer :)

13, 15 and 19: Forehead kisses, big warm hugs, and peppering kisses all over someone’s face.

High school AU because I like. Was written while listening to TSwifts new album. Look out for my Juke x Willow analysis tomorrow. 

It’s a stressful morning. A big morning. A meaningful morning. 

Julie’s calculus final. 

Her semester grade may or may not have been riding on this single exam, and her ability to play in the band may or may not have been riding on her semester grade.

The deal she had struck with her father and Victoria was that she would get above a C+ in the class, nothing equivalent or less. While Julie was smart, her gifted kid burnout really smoldered in calculus, and her C+ laughed at her every time she checked her grades. She had a B a couple of weeks ago, but a C- on a quiz and a B- on the last test before the final set her up to fail.

If she can ace this test -- which all the guys had been helping her study for all week -- then her grade could go up, because the final is worth double a regular test grade. And all she needs is a little B- or B to keep doing what she loves to do. 

Even though he shows up three minutes before final bell every day, Luke makes the effort to show up with five minutes to spare this morning so that he can bring Julie the coffee he bought her. 

(He actually had a good reason to almost be late this morning.)

He finds her wringing her hands together next to his locker, which is luckily in the same hall as her math class. She’s so caught in her world of stress that it takes him standing right in front of her for her to see him. 

“Jules?”

The sound of his voice startles her. 

“Luke! Sorry, I was just-”

“Reviewing in your head? I expect nothing less from you.” His right hand extends out to her, holding the gift of a large coffee cup, still warm. “Lavender black tea latte with vanilla syrup. For the girl who is going to kill her test today.”

She looks at the cup like it’s about to ruin her day, but takes it anyways.

“A bit of a premature celebration, isn’t it? I feel jinxed now.”

Luke’s face falls. But, being the tough guy he is, he makes a considerable attempt to shield his disappointment. 

“I’m not jinxing you. It’s a good luck coffee. You’ll get another one when you-” She glares daggers at him, not wanting him to superstitiously ruin her grade. “Sorry! When you… Forget everything and bomb the test.”

When her face wrinkles up with concern, Luke is internally punching himself in the face. He’s been Julie’s best friend for three years and somehow still fucks up every time he wants to comfort her. 

(Probably because he has a massive crush on her and is worried that when he supports her, he’ll expose himself and make things awkward and-)

He throws his arms around her instead. One around her waist and the other tugging her shoulders close to him; and he kisses her forehead once, twice, three times. 

(Exposed crush be damned.)

“I’m sorry I’m so shitty at this,” he whispers. He feels her right hand, the one without the coffee in it, curl into his shirt. Her sigh blows lightly against his ear.

“You’re okay. I’m just freaking out.”

“You are,” he begins, right in her ear, “so smart, so talented, and the biggest badass this school has ever seen. In one minute, you’re going to make this test your bitch. Does that sound good?”

She pulls away, which normally he would complain about, but this time he won’t. Her smile keeps him as warm as her arms do. 

“Probably the best pep talk you’ve ever given me, Patterson. You’re getting better.”

His brain short-circuits while contemplating if that was any attempt at flirting, but then the school bell rings, and she’s yelling a thank-you at him from down the hall as she makes her way to calculus. 

His heart swells as he watches her bounce into the classroom, and hopes that if anyone in the universe is listening to his thoughts, that they also have the power to help her pass the test.

--

That weekend, Julie is too focused on reloading the online gradebook on her laptop than writing with Luke. He knows she’s anxious to see the results, but he was more hoping that songwriting with him could distract her from her anxieties. 

“Anything yet?” 

(He can’t nag her about it, because that’s just rude. All he can do is support her.)

He watches in anticipation as she hits reload, again, but a familiar red dot lingers next to the listing of her calc class: The red dot meaning that something has been added to the gradebook. 

“It’s there!” She essentially screams, temporarily leaping up from the piano bench before sitting back down, and automatically setting her fingernails up in her mouth to bite them. “Oh my God, what if I failed? What if I still have a C+, or a C-, or a D, oh my God-”

“Jules, you passed.”

“But what if I didn’t?”

“I know you. You passed.”

Julie doesn’t say anything -- only stares at the computer in contempt. Luke, boldly, slides the computer over to himself and angles it away from her. 

“I’m going to check, okay?”

She doesn’t say no. He opens the link where all of her graded assignments in her calculus class are, and there it is:

98/100

“Oh my God,” he mutters, clearly in awe. 

Well, maybe not so clearly, because panic flashes in Julie’s eyes. 

“Oh my God?! Is that bad?”

“Jules… You got a 98. Out of 100. You got an A. An A+. Your grade is a B.”

The way that her jaw drops and her hands dart up to pull the computer back in her direction is priceless. Luke is only grinning at her, because he knew she could do it -- if anyone could, it’s her. 

“I did it,” she whispers to herself. “Holy shit, I did it!”

There she goes again, bouncing off of the piano bench, and jumping around on the cold floor of her garage in fuzzy socks and making Luke wonder how much love and sunshine and energy can go in one little body. He doesn’t hesitate to join her, standing up himself. 

“Yes you did! I knew you could do it, Julie. I never doubted-”

He’s cut off by the impact of her body throwing itself against him in a tight, energized hug. Pride swells in his heart. 

He lets himself lift his arms around her waist, indulging in the feeling of holding her so close. She’s this beautiful, magnetic force of nature that he had surrendered to long ago. 

“You’re amazing, Jules.”

The feeling of her lips against his cheek sends him practically spiraling. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she grins at him. “You studied with me day and night even though you aren’t in calculus and didn’t know a thing, but you quizzed me and worked with me and-”

He kisses her. Like, on the lips. 

(Yeah. He’s surprised too.)

It was just watching her glow, like the star she is, and she gets so animated when she talks and even though she single-handedly saved the future of their band she’s praising him for holding flashcards in front of her face and he loves her. She’s too much and at the same time she wasn’t enough; so he kissed her. 

And she doesn’t pull away. 

It’s… Charged. That’s his way to describe it. There’s so much excitement in their embrace that the kiss is strong and determined and God it’s been a long time coming. 

When they pull away, she isn’t yelling at him for violating her or coming onto her, so he keeps himself close by letting his lips brush along her jaw, and then her cheek; followed by her nose, eyelids, forehead, and really anywhere. It was like there was all of this love was pouring out of him but it was only meant to be put on her.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers into her skin, thrilled by the goosebumps he sees as a result. 

“I love you,” she sighs, and he desperately wants to know if she means that in the best friend way she’s always used it or if she’s finally joining him on the flip side, where he’s been waiting for her. But he doesn’t want to pry. 

So he settles with repeating her words back to her, and she’s able to feel his lips form every word against her neck, and he lets her pull him back in for another kiss. 

They can figure out anything else later.

[smartguyreviewed]

2x6 - Trial and Error

Original air date: Oct 15, 1997

Okay, so we begin this infuriating episode with Floyd coming home and calling out for his biological children. None of them are home. Except for Mo. Mo broke into the house. No, seriously. He broke into the house and started eating somebody’s leftovers. Now in any other case, this would warrant a passionate ass whooping and a call to the parents of this child because what the fuck are you doing so wrong to have your son breaking into houses and not stealing anything except for food? However, this is sitcom world and Floyd just seems more annoyed than anything since Mo is always there anyway.

Mo tells Floyd he needs to be more careful about locking the windows. So linebacker ass Mo really needed to eat and somehow oozed through a window just to get food? Ok, I take back what I said about him needing his ass kicked. Mo is clearly malnourished even though he’s huge. His parents must be poor and therefore can’t afford to feed him. Holy shit was that dark. Moving on. 

Food and TJ’s brain are the reasons for his crime. His parents are going to kill him if he brings home another D. This is really helping me build a theory that Mo’s parents are abusive, so let’s assume his parents are literal this time about the kill thing. Floyd then realizes that Mo’s punishment would equal him not being over again to eat up their food and casually break in so he tells Mo that TJ joined the Marines. Nice, Floyd.

Just then, the rest of Floyd’s flock comes in babbling about who got what part in a play. TJ is naturally upset because he wanted a bigger role, still not getting used to the idea that he’s a 10 year old and unless he’s playing the role of a character with dwarfism, it wouldn’t make sense for him to have a huge part. TJ storms off in a huff. Typical TJ things.

The next day, everyone is atwitter over a test from their more over it than Lisa Simpson teacher. This man wants all of his students to fail. He hates his students. He’s a teacher and yet he hates teaching. Maybe this is the wrong profession for you, bruh? And it’s evident his ‘over it’ level is on a million from the way he comes in and tells his class to “get ready to hate me.” The deadpan, dry delivery was funny though. 

His first task is to give his students an assignment so hard that even he doesn’t know all the answers. Um, why? If you don’t know the answers, how are you gonna grade the tests? Isn’t this just creating more work for you, someone who already hates his job? Why the fuck does Piedmont hire such bad teachers and faculty, dammit?

Even TJ is intimidated by this test! Mo asks Mr. Bringleman why stuff from another chapter he previously said wouldn’t be on the test is on the test. He simply says he lied. This man is evil. I hated teachers who did that bitch ass shit. Yes, I only studied for what you said was going to be on the test because I have other classes too, ya know. I’m a teenager, not a machine!

I’m just gonna call him Mr. B for the rest of this review because fuck this most likely racist white man. His ass was listening to the boys talking about how hard the test was and then Mo says he wishes he could do to Mr. B what he does to all of them. Mr. B asks if he’s threatening him and Mo stammers. Then Mr. B insults his intelligence by asking if he ever has a complete thought. Before he can even fix his mouth to call him the N word, not Linda Ellerbee shows up to see what’s going on. Oh yeah, and she’s the new principal. She’s the third one so far and this is only the first half of the second season.

Anyways, she needs someone to cover a class and outright forces him to do it. Ha-ha. When the boys laugh at him, Mr. B says he’s going to grade Mo’s test. Nice, I just love seeing teachers bully students.

At the play rehearsal, TJ is still campaigning for a lead role. Mackey has to be the one to humble him, asking for duct tape. Marcus’s play related arc in this episode is pursuing acting seriously in case music doesn’t work out. His part has no lines so he’s trying to act with his face. He can just feel the SAG membership card in his hands.

Just then, Yvette bursts in wearing a Prince-inspired outfit and lets everyone know there was a fire in the chem lab. Dun du--pause. Why the fuck is she telling everyone? Wouldn’t they have had a fire drill? Are there no fire alarms in this blasted school? How the fuck did nobody know about it or smell smoke and why is Yvette bursting in like the town crier in this Purple Rain ass outfit???

All the students are happy until Linda Ellerbee hands Mo his charred playbook and asks him to come into her office. Dun dun dun. Later we find out that Mo was expelled. Because he is an abused child who only feels safe at the Hendersons, Mo has once again broke into their house and begun working out in their garage. Floyd is over it.

TJ comes home and talks to Mo. He is sad to learn that nobody thinks he’s innocent but says that TJ has to believe him because he has the “wide-eyed innocence of a child.” He follows this up with shitty examples of kids trusting adults who end up being assholes. Once they finally get on a good example, TJ is able to see that Mo is innocent and decides to help Mo get back into school.

The next day, TJ is in the principal’s office waiting for Linda Ellerbee. She has mice in her office because Piedmont is the worst public school ever and is resorting to playing the Spice Girls to get them out. Is that supposed to be a diss to the Spice Girls? Fuck anyone who disses the Spice Girls.

Sis is not budging when it comes to letting Mo back in the school. Sounds like a job for TJ’s cuteness and persistence! He gets her to agree to a mock trial where Mo would have to come back to the school. I...whatever. Order in the courtroom!

TJ is Mo’s defense. The opposinjg side calls Marcus to the stand so we already know this will end in disaster. It takes less than a minute for Marcus to admit that Mo threatened Mr. B. Ugh! Stupid Marcus. But he doesn’t even do the worst on the stand. Mo actually manages to fuck it all up! Marcus and TJ are trying to paint Mo out to be, what the kids today would call it, a “punk ass bitch.” Rather than play along and accept it, dumb ass Mo puts his stupid, fragile masculinity ahead of his chance to get back into school and says that he follows through on all threats. Once he realizes his gaffe, he immediately sits his ass down. Yvette is annoyed.

Vice principal Millitch, who will later replace Linda Ellerbee in one of the only sensical things I’ve seen regarding Piedmont, qualifies that Mo’s playbook was found at the scene next to Mr. B’s burnt gradebook. It was nice knowing ya, Mo. We know how the legal system works.

So then the loser teacher gets on the stand and tries to make it seem like he doesn’t intentionally make his students suffer by giving them ridiculously hard tests and lying about what’s even going to be on the test. To him, Mo is just a stupid, violent nigger so of course he’d want to commit a crime instead of studying harder. And then he lays it on thicker by insulting his intelligence again, explaining what the word combust means in the most smug ass, irritating way. It’s fucked up upon re-watch but at least it’s super realistic how predominately black public schools get racist white teachers often. They’re usually there for the tuition reimbursement.

TJ is now realizing that he may not be able to help Mo out of this jam. While eating dinner, Yvette comes in and apologizes for her lateness, saying the trial is over and now the school can continue with the play rehearsals. She tells an adamant TJ that Mr. B, also assuming the trial’s conclusion, was chain smoking cigarettes and humming “Don’t Worry Be Happy.” Floyd is appalled at the latter. TJ’s gears begin shifting. Side note but doesn’t Mr. B just look like a miserable ass teacher who smokes in the classroom?

TJ and Mo break into the school. Geez, so much trespassing in this episode! Mo isn’t even worried about being caught because what are they gonna do, “expel him from college?” Slapstick ensues while TJ collects samples from the gradebook. Mo, on the other hand, is battling a mouse trap. I was super high when I watched this last night but this scene had me in stitches. Omar Gooding is really good with physical comedy. Look, even TJ gets stuck to him when they’re leaving! Priceless!

At court the next morning, TJ calls Mr. B to the stand. He brilliantly examines him and exposes him for smoking in the classroom, which was the actual cause for the fire. This man is fucking evil! He was actually about to get away with very possibly ruining a teenager’s life until a fucking 10 year old stepped in and dug deeper. He could have seriously gotten him disowned by his parents, making him homeless, forcing him to turn to the streets for survival. All because he’s an asshole and didn’t have the heart to own up to what he did. Hell, it’s fucking Piedmont! I’m sure they would have kept him!

Seeing as he just gets sent to Linda’s office, he’s most likely getting a slap on the wrist and paid vacation leave. Oh well. Also frustratingly realistic. At least Mo isn’t expelled anymore. Too bad Mo’s unwashed hands are still sticky when he shakes the principal’s hand and the joke continues.

At the end, Marcus gets bumped up to the illustrious Juror #2. Gotta love a true thespian! Case dismissed. Bring out the dancing lobsters.

Things I noticed:

- Stinky Steve is Mr. B’s defense.

- Piedmont has no respect for their students’ time. The mock trial began at 8am. Assuming that their school day begins at 9am, I bet the play participants probably hate TJ for forcing them to get up an hour earlier than normal, on top of having to do the play after school.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Footie 7

previously on Footie

By the time the the skies cleared, the world warmed and shook off the rust that accumulated during the long, wet winter. Gone were the obscenely heavy and low clouds, and in their place, puffy white things lazily drifted along while the chill in the air lessened with new sunlight streaming through fresh leaf growth on winter-blown branches. 

The streets were fresh, the people alive and streaming out into them with new vigor to chase the first hints of warmth and yellow sunshine on their cheeks and faces, an entire city with their eyes tilted upwards, sighing happily and distracted from real life with moments of humanity peppered back from the dismal sorrow of the autumn months. 

It was a beautiful spring. It was going to be one for the books, with flowers filling sidewalks and spilling out from cracks in sidewalk. 

There wasn’t a set schedule, or at least one that kept for very long. But there was a rhythm to the day, even without a harmony. It was impossible to keep up with everything, but Clarke realized she was just going to have to live her life a week at a time. 

Lexa had her own routine, made even more difficult by travel. While Clarke found herself making her way to Lexa’s place between games and training and her own school assignments and workdays. 

But it worked. The timing of it all, of the season and the year and the life-- it all just seemed to completely work. And for reasons not completely explored, Clarke realized she appreciated the timing of it all because it meant that Lexa wasn’t around and she could take it slow, something her mind just didn’t think about near her. 

“She looks good out there today,” Jake nodded as he reclined, coming over a cold that left him mildly irritated by almost anything. 

If anyone was not built to grow old, it was Jacob Griffin, head coach and Hall-of-Famer. Surly and annoyed by the inconvenience of illness, he grunted and watched the game with the same vigor as someone who was still coaching. 

“She always looks good,” Clarke smiled slightly as she continued to balance her gradebook for the semester so far. 

“I mean she’s really putting work in. The team’s at the top of the board and I think they have a good enough chance of staying there to win.”

“Lexa’s so precise and focused. It’s oddly contagious.” 

“I have some good news for the Olympics.” 

“What’s that? You’re going to get the permission to come?” 

“Better. That’s the way!” he cheered as Lexa took a shot from deep, burying it deep in the net for the first goal of the scoreless half. “Hell of a shot.” 

“It’s me. I’m lucky in this jersey.” 

“That must be it.” Clarke watched her father chuckle at the notion before shaking his head and leaning forward to watch the replay a little better. Gone was the deep wheat-color of his hair and now it was replaced with a little more salt. He was still fit, perhaps more gaunt than before because of the treatment. Deep beneath it all, a bit of life still existed despite all else. 

“So what else was it? You’re coming to Tokyo?” 

“I was invited to commentate.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, seriously,” he rolled his eyes, his good mood coming around despite how he felt. “Some people still like to listen to me.” 

“I can’t relate.” 

“I can’t believe they’re going to let me commentate. I have to practice being impartial. How am I going to root for Lexa and the home team but not actually root for anyone?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed. “Any chance for you to talk about soccer nonstop, and you won’t be able to shut up let alone root for anyone.”

“That’s true,” he nodded. 

“Are you going to be good to go?” 

“I think so. Other than this cold, I’ve been doing well. Plus, after the clips of me and Lexa went viral-- is that the word?” he waited until his daugher nodded. “Once that happened, I got a lot of emails with different offers.” 

“Mom’s okay with it?” 

“She encouraged it.” 

“Must be sick of you just laying around the house.” 

“Or she really wants to go to Japan.” 

Clarke found herself smiling, happy that her father sounded happy despite his annoyances. She was grateful to have a new appreciation for his love of the sport. They sat on the couch together, and Clarke leaned against her father’s side. He put an arm around her and started to couch coach well into the second half. 

In a completely different city, Lexa sprinted across the field, her footwork weaving the ball through three defenders before she got the shot off to the top right corner. With a punch to the air, she slid on the grass and was adored by teammates and cheered by the stadium. 

There was something poetic about watching someone do something that brought joy to the universe. Lexa was often the first person to diminish what she did, but she couldn’t see this part, the part that Clarke saw when she watched her father disect a play, or when the player on the field disappeared and floated, not one ounce of focus to be spared for anything else other than breathing and scoring, and even then the brainpower reserved for breathing was minimal. An entire brain worked to score, to move, to be precise and exact. 

Clarke smiled as she watched, proud of her girlfriend, proud of the girl who bashfully asked her out and now, who she was finding was awfully silly and very smart and quiet. If she wasn’t mistaken, sh might have even guessed that she loved the soccer player. 

“I’m going to meet Lexa’s sister,” Clarke muttered. “And her niece.” 

“When are they coming?” 

“Next week, for finals.” 

“Well, you’ve been dating for nearly a year now. Might as well as get it over with, right?” 

“I’ve never met anyone’s family.” 

“It’s not that bad. You’re a good person. Anyone would be lucky to have you date their sister or daughter or aunt or granddaughter or neighbor.” 

“You have to say that.” 

“I do,” he agreed, squeezing her shoulder. “But I also mean it.”

“I like her a lot.” 

“I figured.” 

“I don’t know if we’ve self-determined things, but I thought it was a joke, when we said it was fate, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think it is.” 

“Everything is a bit of fate, Clarke. At least the big things in life,” Jake explained, as if it was something he remembered he should have taught his daughter long ago. “Good or bad or indifferent. You and Lexa orbited each other, and then BAM, you can barely remember life without her.” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“It’s not a bad thing, to spend your life with someone else.” 

“You just really want me to date her because she’s a soccer goddess.” 

“It doesn’t hurt.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes and clapped as Lexa got a foul, righting herself quickly and preparing to take her kick, all business, hair stuck to her forehead and neck, body drenched with sweat. It wasn’t even a game she had to win, but still demanded to play. 

“They’re going to love you, darling,” the coach promised again after the shot went wide by a few inches and the camera flashed back to Lexa’s tight jaw and groan of complaint for failing to score again. 

“Thanks.” 

“Now tell me I’m going to do a good job as an announcer.” 

“You can’t ask for reassurance like that. You’re Jake fucking Griffin.” 

“You’re right.” 

“But you’re going to do great. I already know it. I can’t wait to watch you and Lexa.” 

“I have to start preparing, watching older footage, scouting players-- there’s a whole slew of things to make sure I know the most.” 

“I’m not going to help you study. I get my fill of soccer with that one,” Clarke decided as she nudged her chin at the screen. 

“Speaking of, is she going to offer me tickets to the championship or do I have to outright ask?” 

“Dad, seriously?” 

Jake just shrugged and took a sip of his secret beer, grinning to himself. In moments like this he found himself almost tolerant of cancer. Almost. Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever spent so much time with his daughter, and here they were, watching a game and talking about things of substance, of fears and frustrations and goals and victories. It was moments like that, in which he could almost respect fate. Almost. 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so happy you’re here. It’s not even funny,” Lexa grinned, silly and happy in the beautiful day. 

There was a kid on her shoulders, hands beneath her chin, surveying the world from the perch. Her sister walked beside her, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling of her sister showing her around a city she’d never been to before. 

“Not because you just won the championship three days ago or because you’re set to fly back with us for training camp?” 

“Or because of the ice cream?” Mia added helpfully. 

“Maybe a little the ice cream,” she nodded and took another lick of her cone. 

It’d been a whirlwind of two weeks, and for the first time, Lexa felt as if she could finally breathe. Gone were the nerves of playing on such a large stage. Gone was the unsettled feeling that came from traveling so much. Gone was the weight of an entire city on her shoulders and it allowed her to inhale and hold it before slowly exhaling, savoring the warmth of the day and the aura of the street. 

“She’s absolutely in love with this place,” Anya observed as she watched her daughter taking in all of the sights. 

“You’ll have to come visit me more, how does that sound, Mia-Girl?” 

“I’m not allowed to fly on a plane alone.” 

“I guess your mom can come too.” 

“Are we going to watch more soccer?” 

The sun began to set behind the buildings, while a few people recognized the athlete, interrupting to ask her questions an utterly gush. It was something her sister and niece got used to being around. 

“No more soccer. You didn’t like my game? There was all the confetti and balloons.” 

“But it is so long. It takes so many minutes to play, and I get very tired and bored when you don’t have the ball or score points.” 

“You make a good point.” 

“I like it better when we go to see the castle and that fun science museum and stuff.” 

“I liked that stuff too.” 

“We miss you at home,” Anya explained as they made their way to her sister’s place, oddly proud of the beautiful place she found for herself, and more relieved with the circle of friends she made. 

“I miss you sometimes.” 

“Just sometimes?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa grunted as she pulled the kid from her shoulders as they made their way to the elevator. “But forget that. You guys can help me pack.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Even from the hallway, Clarke could hear the noises of a family laughing from behind Lexa’s door. It was a sound she almost got used to experiencing over the past two weeks, with Lexa’s sister and niece in town. It was a much more welcomed sound that the roar of the crowd at the championship, or the people calling her name in the street when she was out with her girlfriend ever since. It was certainly better than the multiple phone calls she got from her mother fretting about her father’s deal to commentate in Tokyo. 

Naturally, Clarke was worried about her father, but seeing him come back to what he loved, even just at the game the one time, was more than enough to prove to her that he needed it more than anything else. 

Even after spending a whole game and a few trips around town together, Clarke was still slightly nervous about spending time with Lexa’s sister, as if every time she did, she waited for the inevitable call from Lexa that said she’d considered it and it wasn't going to work. Anya was stoic and tough to read. It was almost comical for Clarke to think of how Lexa seemed practically animated beside her poker-faced sibling. 

But the call never came, and Clarke had to remind herself to not be so ridiculous. It was absolutely silly to think Anya had any reason not to like her. 

And so she knocked. 

“Hey,” Lexa greeted, easy and happy and with a dish towel on her shoulder as she dried her hands. 

The thoughts were gone and Clarke remembered the girl who walked around town in the middle of the night just to talk to her and prolong a date. 

“It smells really good.” 

Clarke leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend at the door. She pushed her hand against her chest, laying it flat there while she tasted her for a moment, the wine still tart on her tongue, soft and sweet before going further into the house.

“You smell really good,” Lexa retorted with a floppy smile. “How was your day?” 

“Long, but okay. The sun is out so the kids are itching to burn off the winter energy.” 

“I can barely keep up with one, let alone a whole herd like you do every day. I don’t know how you do it, Griffin.” 

“Well, when a mediocre salary and lackluster benefits package rolls up to your door with the promise of weekends off and a pack of thirty primary-aged kids, any sane person would jump at that kind of career opportunity.” 

“When you put it like that…” 

“It was a good day, just long,” Clarke chuckled. “What’d you guys get into?” 

“Mia made me take her to the park, and we watched a puppet show, and played on the late.” 

“Don’t forget the ice cream and the shopping,” Anya supplied, sitting at the counter with her glass of wine as Clarke followed the soccer star into the kitchen. “Lexa hates shopping, unless it’s for toys to spoil a kid with.” 

Slightly guilty, she just shrugged and picked up her spoon to stir something on the stove. 

“We may have done a little shopping,” she agreed. “Nothing too crazy.” 

“We’ll see when the packages start to arrive at home.” 

They bickered in a way that Clarke didn’t understand-- sisters. It was a concept she understood inherently, but in practice was beginning to see how inept she’d been at truly learning the full notion of having someone like that. She had close friends, friends she’d give a kidney to, friends she’d die for, friends she couldn’t live without, but there was a bit of a shared history between the sisters, a legend and lore, that transcended some of what Clarke considered to be her dearest confidants. 

“Grab a glass, join us. Anya picked out a nice red on her own excursion today.” 

“A girl after my own heart,” Clarke nodded approvingly as she reached for a glass to pour a much deserved drink. “If those two were left unsupervised, what did you get up to today?” 

“Just a little bookkeeping,” Anya murmured over her glass as she flipped through a stack of papers. “My sister is hopeless at any of this stuff and refuses to listen to anything her agent suggests unless I read it first, like I have some kind of law degree or something--”

“You could and should,” Lexa interrupted. “She has better instincts than I do. I love Indra, but at the end of the day I’m a collection of numbers and commas and dollar signs. I trust Anya to give me her hoenst opinion.” 

“Because you don’t pay me.” 

“Exactly. If I paid you, then the integrity of the process would be ruined.”

“Can’t have that,” the oldest sighed and flipped and drank.  

“She acts like she gets annoyed, but the moment I make a decision without asking her, and all hell breaks--”

“Don’t you start! You signed a deal to move across the entire world. That warranted a bit of a freak out--”

“That was one time and it turned out okay. It truly is a great opportunity, and you even admitted it--”

“You got lucky and I still don’t like it. Someone breaks your heart and you key their car, not impulse trade yourself--”

“It wasn’t impulse. You knew it was an option for months.” 

Like a ref at a tennis match, Clarke looked at each of them lobbing facts and histories at the other. None was bitter, and in fact most seemed almost comical to them as they argue the finer points of indignation. Clarke took a large gulp of her wine. 

“As I was saying,” Anya ignored the rebuttal and explained it to Clarke as her little sister went back to the stove. “We have a system in place for a reason.”

“If you could not trade yourself to another continent, I would appreciate it,” Clarke muttered, earning a grin. 

“I don’t know, this offer to come back home doesn’t look so bad.” 

“I just won a damn championship and unpacked the last box. I think I’m set,” Lexa shook her head and held a spoonful for her girlfriend to taste. “Plus, what do I need money for? My sister works for free.” 

“I’m going to bill Indra my hours as a freelancer.”

The squabbling remained at the same level, but Clarke began to hear the love woven throughout, and as much as Lexa couldn’t admit it, sparring with her sister was her love language, and Clarke was almost certain it was the same for Anya. The only question now, was how did she survive it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’ll clean up in the morning,” Lexa offered as her sister began to pile plates in the kitchen.

“Oh, I know you will,” her sister grinned, her cheeks slightly tinted with the drink they’d gone through during dinner. “It was nice to see you again, Clarke.” 

“Good to see you, too.” 

“I’m going to check on the ki and head to bed. Tomorrow we’re going to the art museum and I need to start to taking naps to keep up with a first grader.” 

“And I’m taking them to that diner we like by the station.” 

“Get the potatoes. You’ll love them.” 

“I’m going to gain seventy pounds visiting this damn country,” the oldest complained as she made her way down the hall with a wave over her shoulder. 

The dining room seemed a little more empty all of a sudden, slightly quieter now that the third of the dinner party was gone in search of sleep. Lexa smiled and sipped her wine before looking at her girlfriend, the first time they’d been alone in what felt like months. 

The eyes never changed, Clarke realized, as she adjusted slightly in her chair, pulling a leg up and balancing her cheek on her knee. Quietly, they looked at each other. Neither speaking with words. 

“You look beautiful,” Lexa offered, cocking her head slightly as she played with her glass. 

“You look like a champion.” Clarke earned a chuckle and slight blush. “Your sister was so proud. And Mia was screaming. I wish I had it on video. They’re very proud of you.” 

“Anya loves you, by the way.” 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“She does. She was worried about me falling for you. I think she might be ready to beat you up if you break my heart, but she likes you.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

Lexa nodded, dreamy and mildly intoxicated from the food and the wine and her beautiful girlfriend and her wonderful family and the fact that she had a championship ring on the way and the fact that she was going to represent her country. 

“I should head home,” Clarke sighed after looking at her phone and sliding it on the table. 

With monumental effort she pushed herself up and stood while Lexa refused to move except to take another sip. She made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her wrist. 

“You should stay.” 

“Your family is here.” 

“I miss you.” 

Puppy dog eyes followed and Clarke allowed herself to be pulled down into a lap. She missed her girlfriend’s smell, she realized. She missed how she felt and looked at her, and as much as they’d seen each other, it felt almost new again, a comfortable kind of same that was just renewed. 

“You’re a busy lady.” 

“You’re my favorite way to spend time,” Lexa promised. “You’re just so… so… I like you.” 

“They leave in a few days, and then you’ll be gone.” 

“I’ll see you in Tokyo,” she promised. 

“I know.” 

It was a little bit of a lie. Clarke was aware of the schedule after getting her hopes up to see her dad when he was in tournaments as a kid. But she knew Lexa would be busy for most of it, and it wasn’t about her. It was about support, as much as it killed her to not scream for more. She’d never dated an actually talented soccer player before, but she knew the role. 

“Stay tonight,” Lexa whispered again, kissing her shoulder. 

“You have plans tomorrow morning.”

“Come with us. I need you tonight.” 

“You’re just tipsy and needy right now.” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged, her lips half pulling up in a mischievous grin. “I need you tonight.” 

Clarke moved her hands, rubbing them up her girlfriends chest, over her shoulders and to her neck. She ran her thumbs along the corner of the soccer players jaw, staring at her lips before meeting her eyes, debating what to do. There really wasn’t much to think about because they both knew what she was going to do. 

“I need you to take a week off so we can celebrate all of your accomplishments.” 

“There’s never enough time. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I’d like--”

“I knew what I was getting into, somewhat.” 

“Once you realized who I was.” 

“Yeah, after that.” 

Clarke sighed and leaned forward, tenderly kissing her girlfriend, savoring the feeling of the quiet and the night and the world when they were allowed to exist together. She hadn’t thought about anything else on the planet except for them, together.

“You going to make it worth my while if I stay tonight?” 

There wasn’t much of a word uttered, but Clarke got her answer.

NEXT

[kooksbliss]

– the bet (m) || myg

→ pairing: yoongi x reader

→ genre: friends to lovers / smut / kind of fluffy / college au!

→ word count: 3.0k

→ summary: it’s just a harmless bet between two friends, nothing will go wrong, right?

→ warnings: yoongi and oc are dumbasses / explicit language / mutual feelings for one another / surprise boner / oc lowkey (highkey) has a size kink and also a thing for yoongi’s hands but who doesn’t / pet names / teasing foreplay / dirty talk / begging, lots of begging / oral sex (male) / face fucking / unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it kids / yoongi’s dick rocked oc’s world / slight aftercare / basically oc is whipped for yoongi and his pretty dick.

a/n: hi! this is my first fanfic so pls be nice hehe, look forward to more stories in the future! <3 leave me suggestions or any ideas you would like me to write in my ask box! i’m down to do drabbles anytime but i have two stories in the works that will be released before i take story requests! that’s all, hope you enjoy!

— posted 04.3.2020 

— new masterlists

You’ve been in class listening to your professor drag on and on about - well whatever he was lecturing about, you couldn’t be bothered to listen. You had been wondering where Yoongi had been, you two always sat next to each other in class - maybe he wanted to keep the tension for the bet you two had. Your dumb ass best friend thought that it would be fun to make a bet, and of course you, being a dumb ass yourself and highly competitive, never back down from a bet. So, his “genius” idea was to make a bet that whoever had the highest score on the math exam would pick the movie for saturday night. So obviously you had been on edge all of friday’s class waiting for the results.

You then got a text from yoongi saying that he was going to be late. You rolled your eyes thinking how it was already 40 minutes into lecture, he might as well just have skipped. 20 minutes later you got another message from yoongi saying that he could see you. You chuckled but didn't turn around, you were in one of the front rows and who knows how many eyes would be on you if you did.

“Okay students-”

You tuned back into what your professor was talking about,

“Your exam scores have been graded and posted in the gradebook online, let me know if you have any questions over your grade. That concludes class, hope you all have a wonderful weekend.” Once the professor ended his sentence the sounds of rustling filled the room.

“Hey I told you to save me a seat!”

Yoongi whined as he caught up with you leaving the lecture hall.

“Well, if someone wasn’t so late to class I would have! Anyways - have you checked your grade yet?”

You asked as you both reached an outdoor table.

“I have, have you?”

He asked while sitting down and drinking his three hour old coffee.

“I haven’t yet - what did you get?”

You said as you unzipped your backpack to take out your laptop and check the gradebook. You heard him chuckle and so you looked up confused.

“Oh no no no, if I tell you what I got you can just say another score higher than mine.”

You scoffed.

“Wow you’re really confident that you'll win huh? But I wont say another score just tell me, you can even look at the score if you don't believe me.”

Yoongi seemed to think about it but it was obvious he was just trying to mess with you.

“Fine, fine okay. I got a 83.”

Okay - 83 that’s not too bad, you were sure you got a higher score than that. As you pulled up the page of your grades for that class your stomach fell.

“80.”

You said unconsciously. Yoongi perked up at the response.

“Oh would you look at that, looks like I won.”

He said with a smirk plastered on his face. You groaned,

“Can I back out of the bet?”

Closing your laptop and putting it back into your backpack - you knew that yoongi wasn’t going to let you off so easily.

“Sorry babygirl,” You now knew he wasn't going to let the bet go.

“A bet is a bet.”

You’re dreading tomorrow night.

It’s saturday night. You were laying on the couch while yoongi was scrolling through netflix on the tv seeing what movie to put on until he stopped and clicked on a movie.

“Yoongiiiii, you know I don’t like scary movies! I can’t believe you picked the Conjuring out of all movies.”

You said wailing your arms up in the air.

“I’m sorry babygirl, but you know that you lost the bet.”

He looked over to you amused by how you act so badass yet chicken out with scary things. “Hpmh.” You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. He lightly smiled at your child-like response, “come on, don’t be like that y/n.”

He says moving closer to you on the couch. “You can cuddle with me, will that make you feel better?”

You quickly nodded. You would never miss an opportunity to cuddle especially if that person was yoongi. He gladly opened his arms as you leaned against his chest, between his legs as he wrapped his arms around you. Yes, you and yoongi are friends, but you’ve always felt some sort of tension, maybe it was just you that felt it? Yoongi was very attractive and it’s hard enough not to fall for his cold-like demeanor when you know that in reality, he’s just a sweetheart. Truth be told, you have a slight crush on him; you would never tell him of course. Your friendship is too important for that and you wouldn’t risk anything for it. You moved your hips back to find a comfortable position, when you heard yoongi groan.

“Yoongi? Are you okay? I’m not too heavy, am I?” You felt embarrassment wash over you, did he regret having you cuddle with him?

“No, that’s not it.” He mumbled.

About 30 minutes into the movie it started to get scarier. Suddenly, a jump scare scene came on and you, being surprised, moved back into yoongi. He then groaned again and grabbed your hips. Not understanding what was happening, you turned around to look at him.

“Are you oka-”

That sentence trailed off as you felt something poking from under you and your eyes went wide. “Y-yoongi?” You almost whispered, you could not believe that your best friend had a boner while you were basically sitting on his lap, your mouth went dry, you feel him. Gosh he’s so hard, you could actually feel him throbbing.

He bit his lip looking at you. “Yes, y/n?”

You became putty in his arms, what the fuck are you supposed to say? You felt your cheeks getting warm as you stuttered “Uh-um d-do you have um-”

“A boner?” He cut in - a deep chuckle escaped his lips seeing you clearly, not knowing how to handle the situation. “Yes, I do actually.” He places you off his lap and beside him on the couch. “I should probably go take care of that, huh?” He says pausing the movie. He’s actually been turned on since he got into your apartment, seeing you in those short-shorts just made him almost lose himself and having you sitting right on his crotch and moving everytime you would get scared just aggravated his dick even more. He always had some sort of attraction to you though, he would never admit it.

He slowly got up and made his way to the bathroom, before he could go any further you got up and grabbed his arm.

“I could- uh” not knowing what to say you held his arm feeling so small near him, but you wanted this - you wanted him.

“Help you…” you whispered lowly but still loud enough for him to hear you.

Yoongi was surprised to say the least, he’s always wanted something more with you but was too afraid to act on his feelings. You were so precious in his eyes, and now you were below him asking permission to help him with his dick made him not only made him feel butterflies in his stomach but also made his dick throb even more. “What?” Was all he could formulate while his mind was trying to keep up with what was happening right in front of him.

“I-I mean i-if you want… you know what - nevermind.”

You release your hand off his arm, feeling embarrassed. You felt so dumb - of course he didn’t want to. He sees you as a friend and now you've made things super awkward, all you could think about is how everytime you see him you’ll just think about the fact you were drooling over his dick and he rejected you.

“Y/n, could you… help me?”

He said, an octave deeper than usual. Wait what? Did you just hear that correctly? Did he just ask you to- before you could think anymore, yoongi grabbed your hand snapping you out of your daze and led you to your room - luckily he’s been here so many times that he knows where it is.

“Yoongi?” You asked in a small voice, closing the door to your room. “um ar- are you sure?” Yoongi answered almost immediately. “Yes, y/n. If I’m being honest this is something I’ve wanted for a while.” What? Is he being serious? He actually wanted this with you?

“Well, I’m glad that the feeling is mutual.” You said, never in a million years would you think the yoongi would feel the same way. Yoongi chuckled at your confession as well. Looking into your eyes his large hands find your waist.

“Oh, is it now?” He asked rhetorically while slowly sliding his hands up and down.

“Well actuall-”

Suddenly you were cut off.

Finally.

Finally, you felt his lips on yours. Oh how you’ve dreamt of this day, you can’t believe it’s actually happening.

His hands slid down your waist to pull you closer as you felt his tongue licking your bottom lip wanting more, but you refused wanting to tease him.

Big mistake.

He made a growl-like sound and nipped harshly at your lips, making you spill a light moan into his mouth, giving him access to what he wanted. Grabbing your waist he pushed you onto the wall as he made his hips be flush against yours. Now being flush against each other you can feel his suffocating cock pulsating against your core. Breaking the kiss you look up at him.

“Yoongi please, can we just-” He ignored you, dipping down to kiss down the side of your neck until reaching the juncture of your neck and collarbone and sucking harshly getting a whimper out of you, he then started licking the area of the bruise. “Fuck, yoongi just - please!” Yoongi started kissing back up your neck until reaching the shell of your ear.

“Just what hm? You want me to take you that fast after you've been teasing me all these years? Oh no babygirl. You’re going to have to wait, I want to take my time with you.”

You groaned out, “What? Yoongi, come on.” His hands reached under your shirt gripping the skin exposed.

“What is it? This pretty girl - my pretty girl is so eager for my cock, hm? Is that it?” You bucked your hips into his wanting to feel some pressure on your clit. “Please, please yoongi. I want you, I want to feel you please.” Yoongi groaned out at your begging and signaled you to put your arms up so that he could slip the shirt off you.

“You are so beautiful, y/n.” He said in the sincerest way as he traced his fingers up your stomach and stopped at your chest. “Can I?” He looked deep into your eyes as if you were the most fragile thing to him. “Yes yoongi, make me yours.” His eyes seemed to darken as he turned you around making you face the wall. He unclasped your bra as it hit the floor with a thud, immediately his hands found your breasts fondling them in the process causing you to gasp and lean your head back to his shoulder, arching against him.

He hummed, “does that feel good princess?” It felt better than good. His hands were so large and you felt so small compared to him, you loved it. He then pinched your left nipple causing you to cry out and grind against him. Yoongi suddenly stopped and spoke up,

“Look at my pretty girl grinding herself on my cock, you love this big cock don’t you baby?” He said moving his hands to your hips. “I bet you're dripping just thinking about me squeezing my cock into that small pussy of yours.” He said as he tapped your clothed clit.

“Yes, fuck please - c-can I suck you?” Yoongi felt himself throb just thinking about the sight of you, on your knees sucking him off.

“Babygirl wants to suck me off huh?”

Yoongi chuckled. “Turn around and get on your knees then.”

You quickly turn around, sinking your knees down on the floorboards, your hand reaches out to unbutton his pants and pull them to his ankles. You could already see how hard he was, you grab the top of his boxers and slowly pull them down. And oh was the sight absolutely blissful, you felt yourself drip being on your knees as he towers over you. Grabbing his shaft you slowly move your hand up and down, his precum already coating his dick. You place a kiss on his tip resulting in yoongi hissing. You finally stop with the teasing and take about him halfway when he bucks his hips making you choke.

“Oh I love that sound baby, can I do it again? Fuck myself in your mouth?”

You just nod trying to hollow your cheeks out to try and accommodate his girth. He held your head steady with his two large hands as he began moving his hips back and forth at a fast pace. This went on until you couldn't really breathe and your eyes became teary. His grunts got louder and you knew that he was getting close. Blinking your tears away you took him in further down your throat, sucking harder.

“Y-yes baby keep doing that, oh fuck you're gonna make me cum.”

He sight above was sinful, yoongi was above you with his head dipped back, sounds pouring out of his lips.

Yoongi was absolutely sinful.

And soon enough he pulled out of your throat cumming all over your chest. “Fuck babygirl what was-”

“Yoongi, please fuck me.” You say with a pout, rosey cheeks, and teary eyes, still kneeled on the floor.

“Well since my baby did such a good job-”

He picks you up bringing you to the bed, setting you down on the edge he makes his way to the middle of the bed removing his t-shirt in the process, leaning against the headboard he asks: “pretty girl, now what are you waiting for?”

You got the message: he wanted you to ride him.

You got up pulling your shorts down you went to straddle his waist, pulling your panties to the side you sink down on him. Oh did he fill you up deliciously.

“F-fuck” you murmured out, he felt so big inside you. It’s been a while since you have fucked anyone and the fact you didn’t prep yourself made you feel even tighter around him. Once you were used to his size you slowly got up about halfway and sunk back down, moaning out his name. “Shit babygirl, you’re fucking tight. Who fills up my pretty girl so good?” You began feeling your stomach twist and turn, “you yoongi, just you.” You gasp, moving faster on top of him feeling yourself gush around him. Yoongi hums, “that’s right baby. Hm? What pretty tits you have here baby.” Taking in one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard around it.” You moaned out, your legs began to burn making your pace slow down.

Yoongi noticing your change of pace, released your nipple and grabbed your shoulders pulling you towards him, his arms holding you as he lifted up his hips to pistol in and out of you. You were taken aback by his pace, you moaned loud, louder than you should have, you knew you were going to get a sound complaint but you could care less at this point. “Yoongi - oh my god.” You gasped in a high pitched voice, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “T-that feels so g-good, mm.” Your mouth hung open as you sat limp on top of him, you moved your hand to where your two bodies connect and rubbed circles around your clit almost falling over the edge.

“Aw, look at my baby using my cock to get off, are you going to cum pretty girl?” Yoongi asked in a teasing manner.

“Yes, fuck, fuck, I’m almost-” you were so close, he suddenly hit a spot inside you that made you cry out and clench around him. He groaned out as he felt you get tight around him, “I know baby just wait I’m almost there, hold it.” He kept hitting that soft spot inside you and you couldn't hold it anymore.

“Yoongi, yoongi! I c-can’t hold anymore - can I-I cum please.” Yoongi let go of your shoulders and grabbed your hips instead as he snapped his hips up into you, he used your hips to move down onto him.

“Yes, baby fuck-” He rang out as you clenched and unclenched around him, “you can cum, babygirl.” After a few more thrusts you came clenching hard, your head falling into the crook of his neck as you moaned into his ear. He kept going trying to find his climax, as you whined due to the oversensitivity.

He pulled out of you and came on the sheets and your lower half. You rolled off of him completely drained.

“Wow,” you breathe out, “I can't believe we just did that.”

There was silence before his voice was heard, “do you… regret it?” He says, sounding disappointed.

Your eyes nearly popped out.

“What? N-no I just- it wasn't what I expected for my Saturday night.” 

Where does that leave us? Friends with benefits? Friends that had a one-night stand? Does he want us to be more than friends? 

“But yoongi I don't regret any of it.” You say as you start to close your eyes.

“Hm, I was good wasn't I?”

Although your eyes were closed you can just imagine the smirk on his face.

“Oh my gosh.” You say, turning around away from him.

“Hey it was a joke!” He says pulling you to him so his chest was against your back. “Let me take you out on a date next time?” His breath tickling the backside of your neck. “Mm.” You mumble as you slowly begin to drift into sleep. He smiles at your state, getting up to your bathroom to grab a damp towel to clean you and himself up. He got the unclean sheets and put them in your laundry basket as he grabs his t-shirt that was discarded on the floor pulling it unto you as he wears his boxers and snuggles back into your body.

“We need to make bets more often.”

© kooksbliss - all rights reserved

[blueluneacy]

Study Sessions

Okay folks, here it is, prime Jotaro. Let’s see if I am kicked off this site.

I wrote it basically as jotaro is your TA in a bio class since he got his doctorate so theoretically he had to be a TA for a while since they basically force you to do that bc free labor. Anyways, here it is

this is the gud shit, the horny shit, the not sfw shit

Also on AO3!

 You thought you weren’t doing half bad until you got that quiz back. You had studied fairly hard, went to all the review sessions, but still… You weren’t expecting to get what you did.

A C. It wasn’t failing, don’t get it wrong but… You could’ve sworn you were doing better. In the range of B, B+. It was a bit disappointing. You tried to focus on what your teacher was saying during discussion, but still it… Bugged you. Jotaro Kujo… He was a graduate student going for his doctorate in Marine Biology, forced to be a teacher’s assistant for this low grade biology course while he worked on his thesis. You didn’t really care, if he wasn’t such a dick. You just needed this course for your major, and then you could move on from it all. But, still. This just felt ridiculous to you. You sat, listening to some explanation about cellular respiration, and not really caring about it at all. 

“Ah, that’s time. Remember that lab got moved to tomorrow an hour later. If you can’t make it, see me.” Hearing him speak brought you out of your trance, and you slowly packed up your things, making a mental note to ask a friend about what he said in the last 15 minutes of his lecture. You waited for everyone to leave, and just… Looked at him. You weren’t sure how to even start the conversation. You just stared at him. Eventually, he caught on, not even looking up from some book he was reading.

“What is it? Do you have a scheduling conflict?” He asked, and you just swallowed.

“Um… No, I wanted to… To ask you about my quiz?” You mumbled, and he raised an eyebrow. “What about it?” His voice was so cold, you felt yourself recoil a bit.

“Um, well… I don’t understand why you graded my written answers the way you did. I went and answered them correctly, didn’t I?” You questioned, and he just sighed. 

“If you have a problem with how I graded it, you can see me during office hours and we can go over it together.” That line just made you mad. He was pushing you off, you know he was. You grit your teeth and crossed your arms.

“Just because you don’t want to do your job doesn’t mean I should have to suffer.” You said, and almost immediately regretted it. He just looked at you, shaking his head.

“Good grief… Fine then. But I can’t stay and go over this now. What time would you like to meet? If you want it today, then I’ll be in my office working around eight tonight. Is that fine?” He asked, and you paused for a second. Wait, you were actually getting what you wanted? First time for everything. You nodded and did your best to smile.

“Yeah that sounds great! Thank you so much, I’ll see you tonight!” You left the classroom, feeling proud of yourself. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

When the evening came, you showed up early just to show how dedicated to class you were. You smiled, waiting by the door of the TA offices, just hoping you weren’t looking like a fool. Jotaro didn’t open the door for you until 8:10. When you saw him, you nearly fell over.

“You’re not… Wearing your jacket.” You mentioned quietly. Jotaro tended to wear a long white jacket, so it was strange to even see his arms. You never noticed how muscular he was under it. He was certainly handsome, but you were sure pursuing any sort of relationship with your teacher would get you in loads of trouble. Not that you ever thought he would look at you in that way.

“I’m not. They just turned the heat on after 3 cold nights, and now it’s boiling in here.” He replied, turning and walking back in, expecting you to follow. You did, you had no other choice if you were to get what you wanted. He was right, it was hot in here. You regretted not wearing something lighter. 

You noticed how empty the room was. It was full of different desks where all the graduate students turned teachers did their work. But, he didn’t lead you to his own desk, instead to a small table in a corner.

“This will work fine. Have a seat and take out the quiz.” He told you, and you sat down, expecting Jotaro to sit across from you. You were mistaken. Instead, he sat right next to you, pulling his chair close. You squeaked and stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Good grief… I can’t read the damn paper upside down. Do you want me to look at this or not?” He said. You swallowed and nodded.

“Alright, so um, the multiple choice is no problem, after all, it was pretty straightforward and I think I did pretty well, but in the written questions,” You showed him the test and turned the page to your written responses. You felt Jotaro lean closer to take a look. You swallowed. You could feel his body heat emanating, and you were thankful you were in a sweater to try and keep from touching his skin. However, the price was that you were broiling, not sure if it was from the heat or from Jotaro.

“I, um, didn’t understand where I went wrong. I’m not saying you’re wrong or anything, I just don’t understand.” You told him, and he thought for a moment, reading over your response. 

“Hmm. I thought your elaboration was poor. Your explanations were basic, giving almost no detail.” He told you, pointing to a question.

“See, here, I asked you to talk about rRNA transcription and translation, and you just gave me the steps of it with no examples.” You grit your teeth, crossing your arms. “You didn’t ask for examples.” You told him.

“I told you to explain it.” 

“And I did.”

“Everyone else gave an example.” You were starting to lose your temper.

“Really? Everyone else, including the people that failed, gave you an example of a protein being translated and transcribed in the human body on their 5 lines that we had to write out the answer to this question. Is that what you’re telling me?” You asked, rolling your eyes and standing up.

“When you explain something, doesn’t it make the most sense to give an example?” He asked, and you just shook your head.

“You’re hopeless. This makes no sense at all.” You crossed your arms, and he just sighed.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this in the first place. You’re right on average with the rest of the class. This quiz is getting curved anyway, so you’ll have your B in the gradebook.” He told you, and you grit your teeth. You didn’t know that, since you were so upset you weren’t paying attention. But, you were angry, so you were gonna go off.

“It’s the principle of the matter. What if we aren’t curved next time, huh? How am I supposed to read your mind? I’m just supposed to guess what you want from me?” You asked, crossing your arms. He just sighed and waved you to sit back down.

“Good grief. Let’s just go through the rest of the questions then. You can vent all your concerns, if your haven’t overheated yet.” He said, and you froze. You didn’t realize how much your face had flushed. You knew that when you were angry, you ran hot, but still… 

“I… I’m fine. I don’t think we need to go over anything else. It is what it is.” You went to take your test, but Jotaro just pulled it away.

“So this was all just a waste of time?” He asked, looking you in the eye. His expression was still so cold, it sent a shiver down your spine. He noticed it.

“What was that?” He asked, and you immediately went into panic mode.

“Nothing! Yep, it was just silly me, not understanding something, and you explained it, so um, if you’ll just let me-” You tried to grab the quiz from his hand again, only for him to grab your wrist.

“You’re lying to me. What’s going on, you look awful.” He said, and you just swallowed, trying to pull away. He wouldn’t let go.

“I’m really fine. It’s just that you’re, I mean, it’s just hot in here. I must just not be feeling well because of it.” You told him.

“Then I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” He said, going for his jacket, but you squeaked out. God, this was getting embarrassing too quickly.

“N-No, it’s really fine, I should get going so you can-” 

“If you’re overheating, you could pass out on the way back. It’s dangerous.” He told you, and you just stammered a bit as you tried to pull away, but with a simple tug of your arm, he was able to pull you closer, keeping you from running. You stumbled right into him, knocking him back until both of you were on the ground. You squeaked, pulling yourself up and looking down on him. You didn’t realize how you were straddling him at the time, just the both of you staring at each other.

“O-Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I mean, I didn’t realize-” You tried to pull yourself off of him, when you felt him… Caress your cheek. You froze for a moment, looking right at him.

“You… don’t seem to have a fever. At least we can rule out any sort of illness.” He said, suddenly turning his head to look away from you. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. 

“God! Even now, you’re still so stoic. I shouldn’t be surprised.” You moved to pull yourself up once again, when you leg brushed up against it, and you flinched. You swallowed, and Jotaro just grit his teeth and looked away. Well then. You apparently had given Jotaro Kujo a hard on from all this. And you immediately turned pale. You pushed yourself up from him and grabbed your test, already running to make your exit.

“Um, well, thank you, and uh, I’ll see you at the la-” You were cut off when you felt him grab your wrist once again, trying to keep you from leaving. Before you could protest, not wanting to give yourself any more shame, he leaned forward and slammed his lips against yours. You gasped, and Jotaro took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, stealing your breath away. You stepped back, but every time you did, Jotaro simply stepped forward, until you were against a wall. When he finally pulled away, you were almost nervous, seeing an expression on Jotaro’s face you never could have imagined could exist. One of pure and unbridled lust.

“Jotaro, we… This has to be against some rule, we can’t…” You told him, and his just sighed, leaning into your neck.

“No one has to know… Do you really not want to?” He asked, taking a deep breath in, and you felt yourself shudder once again.

“It… It’s not that I don’t want to… Hell, I really want to, but it’s a matter of should we rather than could we. You know?” You told him, and he just sighed.

“We could make it our little secret.” He replied to you, and you just sighed, relenting a bit.

“You promise no one will know?” 

“I have no one to tell.” He replied with a shrug. Finally, after a moment of thought, you nodded. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on his face, but before you could really take true note of it, he was leaning back in to try and tear your clothing off. You gasped, trying to help take off his own, but he was too busy covering you with ravenous kisses to really let you. You let your hands finally feel up his waist, gripping him tightly whenever he nipped at your neck or found a sweet spot to tease. Whenever you did, however, it only seemed to encourage him to toy with that spot even more, until you suddenly let out a mewl. You gasped and let go of Jotaro to try and cover your mouth, but he just shook his head.

“Don’t. Let me hear it.” His voice was soft, but commanding, dominant. You didn’t hesitate to listen, letting yourself moan more freely.

“W-Will… Will anyone hear?” You asked as he started to travel lower, pulling at the hem of your pants.

“Everyone should be gone by now. I stay late so no one bothers me.” He told you, and you let out a sigh of relief. It was cut off by Jotaro reaching in your pants to see if you were ready. You most definitely were, and you let out a moan as he touched you, squirming against him.

“J-Jotaro, please…” You begged, and he actually… Laughed a little.

“What is it?” His voice was so smooth, you felt like you could just let yourself melt into it, completely relax into his presence.

“Stop fucking around with me and just fuck me already.” You told him, and he shook his head.

“Good grief… If that’s what you want.” He let you go from the wall, only to pull you over to the table again, leaning you onto your back. He pulled away and you watched as he undid his belt and pulled off his pants, revealing himself. You gasped as you saw how massive he was.

“I… Do you really think that’ll fit?” You asked, a bit nervous, but he just leaned closer, starting to grind against you.

“We’ll just have to test it out then.” He told you, burying his face into your neck once again as he began to inch himself inside of you. You cried out, both at the pain of the stretch and the pleasure it was bringing you. You felt Jotaro sigh as he inched himself inside of you until he was completely sheathed. He sat like that for a bit, giving you time for your body to adjust, for the painful throb to finally subside. And then, when he finally thought you were ready, he began to move.

You moaned as you felt Jotaro start to move, your arms wrapping around him as he thrust into you at a merciless pace. He groaned quietly into your neck, panting as he moved, occasionally biting into the same spot of your neck. You were certain you would have a bruise there tomorrow. And yet, you continued to moan, to the point where tears were streaming down your face.

“Is this good? Do you like this?” He asked, his husky voice enough to get you drooling. 

“Y-Yes, Jotaro! It feels so good!” You told him, and he grunted, giving a particularly hard thrust that made you squeal. “Fuck… Good. What a good student I have.” You could tell by his town that he was meant to be teasing you, but it caused you to squeeze against him a little tighter. You couldn’t help it, it was kind of hot to hear him praise you like that. Unfortunately, he seemed to catch on.

“You like when I say that? When I call you my good little student?” He asked, and you whined, trying to claw into his back at this point. You could feel your body start to teeter towards the edge at this point.

“Y-Yes, I like it! Please, Jotaro, I’m so close!” You cried out, and he just chuckled before beginning to slam into you even harder. He was going to make sure you couldn’t walk right for a week.

“Then cum. Show me how good I make you feel.” He commanded, and you couldn’t help but give in. You moaned his name loudly, his word making you fall over the edge. You felt your entire body spasm from the ordeal, waves of pleasure coming over you. You heard Jotaro let out a small curse from under his breath, and pull out just in time to cum on your chest. The two of you were just panting, still in euphoria from the bliss that the two of you had felt together. You sat up slowly, and Jotaro leaned in to give you a kiss. It was certainly mouthy, no doubt, but it felt much more meaningful than the one that started this whole mess. 

And then, he pulled away, refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Well… I guess I was wrong. You seem to be in good health.” He told you, and you nodded slowly. This was just a one time thing, after all. You both would probably never speak of it again. You began to clean yourself up, while Jotaro walked over to his desk and packed a few things up. You tried your best to look presentable, hoping that your roommate wouldn’t comment about how you probably reek of sex. 

And then, the both of you left the room, Jotaro locking the door behind the both of you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in lab then. Make sure to have the prelab assignment done.” He told you, and then he left. You walked in the opposite direction, hoping to go home and rest for a bit. Your body ached, surely no doubt protesting your decision to move so soon, but still, it was time to go home. To forget this all happened, and hope he forgot too. The true walk of shame was going to be in tomorrow’s lab, after all.

There was however, a small hope in your heart, that you tried to push down. To hope such a thing would only leave you sad, only hurt you. And yet, there it was. 

The hope that this could happen again.

[sugarchains]

im so tired the doe sent us an email like at 8 something about how we’re moving to microsoft classroom teams???

which doesnt exist at all they made it up for this specifically and theyre like “oh its good because it will just pull the names from stars, the official grading thing, you wont have to put any names in manually”

but like stars sometimes operates on like a delay of a couple of MONTHS? like weve had kids move, transfer, etc, and I still had to put a grade in for them because they hadnt been deactivated in my class yet

but this change doesnt happen for 2 weeks! but also! why would you do it NOW in OCTOBER after we’ve BEEN IN SCHOOL for almost a whole month why do you want me to die specifically

theyre like “oh it’ll make grading easier” like google classroom doesnt already have a gradebook. im already mad we using zoom and i have to log into zoom with my SUPER SPECIAL AND OFFICIAL WORK ACCOUNT because using fucking GOOGLE MEETS WAS NOT NICE ENOUGH

no we had to change everything in august at the last fucking minute because no one listens to the ppl who are actually teaching/using the stuff

tbh at this point im just waiting for them to shut us all down bc they already closed like 100 schools across brooklyn and queens and theyre looking at staten island so like

[poisxnyouth]

teacher!dave chapter 2. (d.d)

A/N: oops. enjoy. let me know what you think. -hailey

w.c.: 2.5k (sorry)

The next few weeks are slow and difficult: Mr. Dobrik loves to challenge you. He gives you the most demanding assignments you’ve ever had to complete, including weekly five thousand word dialectical essays analyzing the prose of whoever he assigns you, along with his regular AP work.

Every day during lunch, he pulls out your work and grades it right in front of your eyes.

Today, Mr. Dobrik scoots his office chair closer to the seat you always pull up, shuffling through papers on his desk and locating your weekly essay. You’d become quite adept at comprehending his messy handwriting, and since you’ve told him you can read it, he no longer attempts to make it neat and legible. He immediately leans over, paper on the edge of his desk as he reads it.

Both of you had also come to a consensus concerning rules, since you seemed to like defending yourself before he gave final comments on your grade. It was his way of essentially telling you he needed you to shut the hell up while he’s grading.

He had made a comment one day, something along the lines of, “Stop getting so defensive! I haven't even given you your grade yet. Just because I’m critiquing it doesn’t mean it’s bad, hun. You know I think it’s great.” The pet name wasn’t unheard of; many teachers call their students it and it’s not new, but hearing the word come out of his mouth as he flipped a page and met your eyes somehow changed the definition of it. He had started using it frequently when speaking with you.

Mr. Dobrik’s intently reading your essay dissecting Keats’ Endymion, scribbling his comments and circling areas. That was another rule: you weren’t allowed to look at his comments until he was finished. It was always a perfect time and gave you the perfect excuse to stare at him while he reads, scanning his features for reactions.

“‘Kay, hun, so I graded this at an 85. There’s nothing in here that’s wrong, but-.”

“Sir, it took me 6 hours to research and write this paper. I haven’t slept in two days and we have a football game tonight. It’s Friday.”

“That’s your own fault. You had all week. Manage your time better. And hun, I’m not asking you to analyze the whole damn book. It’s the first two stanzas! Anyway,” he says, “You analyzed it fine. You made sure to say all of the main points I would have. I know this is the poem you put on my desk a few weeks ago when we first started and I asked for your favorite, and I’m glad you analyzed its importance to you even deeper for me. I’ll be honest, I was expecting some Rupi Kaur bullshit. But yeah, I’m not kidding, you did great. Every essay gets better and better. I mean it. Really, the only things that’s getting you is your conjunctive adverbs and the flow of your sentences. Your conjunctive adverbs are terrible. That’s an easy fix, though.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Dobrik is leaning over, elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you, returning the essay.

“You’re very welcome. Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart next week, please. Anything else?” You shake your head no, eyes scanning through his comments.

“Then you’re free to leave, if you want.” He scoots back from you, returning to his laptop.

“Actually, can I stay in here? There’s not that much longer until the bell, anyway, like 15 minutes, and my next class is right across the hallway.” He looks surprised for a second, still not facing you as he nods his head.

“Yeah, always,” he says half heartedly, searching through his graded papers and entering them into the gradebook. “You’re going to the game, then? Since you talked about it, I mean.”

“Um, yeah. We go every week, since it’s our last year and all. Are you?” You fiddle with the edges of your essay, watching him as he works. Mr. Dobrik has one hand in his hair, tugging at the ends as his other hand continues going through his stack and entering numbers.

“I did the same thing senior year. It sucks realizing everything you’ve ever known is coming to an end. Enjoy it while you have it. I miss the hell out of high school. Why do you think I came back so quick? And yeah, I’m going.” He makes conversation, laughing lightly as you shrug.

“I dunno, to be friends with your students?” Mr. Dobrik looks at you at that, smile coming to his lips.

“That may have been part of it. I was close with my teachers. Makes sense for me to want to return it.” He keeps his eye contact, turning his seat towards you as he leans back, resting his chin against his hand.

He’d been playing a game with you since the first day, aware of how attractive you thought he was and wanting to push you in that aspect as well as academically. Even if you had been misreading his actions, wasn’t it only fair if you served it for once?

“How close?” You lean forward in response to his leaning back, elbows on your knees.

He bites his lips, still smiling as he breaks eye contact, rolling the pen through his fingertips. “Close. That’s all I’m going to say.”

You keep up the confidence, eyes flickering between his lips and eyes. “Sounds like bullshit to me,” you shrug, sitting up straight and crossing your legs. You watch as Mr. Dobrik’s eyes follow up the length of your bare legs slowly, faltering slightly before he meets your eyes.

“Language, miss. We were close. That’s all. I still talk to them.” He’s still twisting the pen in his hold, watching as you stare at his fingers.

“Sorry, sir. Close,” you repeat. “Like, platonically or…” His face twists, fingers quickly wiping at his mouth as he still flashes his smile, seemingly catching on to your game.

“Are you asking me if I’ve ever dated one of my teachers? Not that it’s any of your business, but no. That’s not what I meant. They’re my friends now, and I ask them for advice.” You throw your hands up in defense, shrugging slightly.

“It was just a question. You never know. Advice on?”

“Students,” he answers quickly, changing the subject, “What are you playing at here? What’s your angle?” You stand at that, his eyes following you up, lips parted.

“You ran out of questions. I’ll see you Monday morning.” Mr. Dobrik scrunches his eyebrows together at your words, grabbing your arm.

“No. Sit back down. We were having a conversation. Don’t be rude. If you walk away, I’m writing you a referral.” You obey, feeling giddy at his stern response and placing yourself back in the seat across from him, his hand releasing its hold.

“Let me rephrase: what do you want to get from this conversation? Because this isn’t academic, so there’s an ulterior motive to your questions. Tell me what it is.” He’s serious now, no fleeting smile spread across his face.

“Um,” you say, eyes moving to the ceiling.

“Look at me when you say it. Because I know what it is, I would just never say it,” he shrugs once more as your eyes return to him.

“It?” He nods.

“Well, you know-,”

“Wait. How old are you? Just asking. I can look it up, but you’re here, so…might as well just ask you.” His eyes are glued to yours, rolling the pen in his hands.

“18, but I’ll be 19 when I graduate.”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Okay, um, I mean, you’ve kind of like, been teasing me, I guess? And maybe - in hindsight - maybe I misread it, but like, you know, you’re cute and a really good teacher, and obviously I’m not the only thirsty one out of your students but I’m also a pretty hopeful person and-.”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough. You said what I was waiting for. By the way, it’s impossible to misread when I check you out, sweetheart.” You’re confused now, releasing your grip on your belongings and playing with your hands in your lap. You don’t know how to respond to his pet name. Mr. Dobrik’s maintaining eye contact, lacing his fingers together in his lap after placing the pen on his desk.

“So?” He asks, biting at his lips. “Let me ask you a few things. Okay?” You nod.

“You're 18. You're legal, but oh my God, I feel like such a creep for what I’m about to ask,” he plays with his hands in his lap, not looking at you. “Are you a virgin? I’m, like, legit just asking-.”

“No. I’m not.” You feel stupidly hopeful at the idea of Mr. Dobrik bending you over his desk and fucking the shit out of you, his fingers leaving dark blue marks along your hips. You shift visibly in your seat at the thought, and Mr. Dobrik notices.

You've piqued his interest now, looking at you again, “Who did? When?” His nervousness is dissolving and his normal cockiness is making its appearance again.

“Nathaniel Rogers. Spring break, sophomore year.”

“Ew,” his face twists, “he’s not even - what? How? He got lucky. Ew, oh my God, I don't want that picture in my head. You can do better than that.” You laugh, trying to ignore his compliments, as he puts his face in his hands.

“Really, um, I’ll be honest, that's the only question I had.” He puts his hands back in his lap and makes eye contact again before his eyes drop, scanning over your thighs and skirt. He meets your eyes again before speaking, “I just wanted to know.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, Mr. Dobrik taking his bottom lip in between his teeth and looking around the room.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” You mull it over, quickly.

“Can we start over? From like, when we were going over my essay?”

He shrugs once more, assuming you want to forget about the conversation altogether. He scoots closer to you and takes the essay from your lap, leaning in closer than normal. You smell his cologne, and you can imagine him standing at the Macy’s perfume counter and smelling every option before dropping two hundred on a bottle.

“So, um,” his voice is low and quiet, “I like seeing this analytical side of you where you’re not just analyzing the author’s intent and how their life influenced their work. Like, we know Keats died of tuberculosis at 25, right? It’s really smart of you to connect it to the line where he says, ‘A bower quiet for us, and a sleep / Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.’ You point out how the times between his death and the publishing date don’t match up, but how it’s still morbid in its unintentional foreshadowing. Um, what I meant by not just analyzing the author’s intent is, you, a person who is around the same age as Keats was when he wrote this, considered the depth these two stanzas have and how they’ve influenced your life. Especially because it’s your favorite poem ever, and at least now I understand why. I feel like I know you better now. You explained it beautifully. This essay captures exactly what my goal is for the rest of my students, and I’m really proud of you, Y/N. I mean it. If I compared your first essay on this poem to this one, there’s a huge difference. You’ve grown exponentially even in this past month and a half. I won’t expect anything less from you, now, though.” As he spoke, you had leaned closer and looked over his shoulder, watching as his fingers point to what he was speaking about. He’s not looking at you but he feels your presence and how close in proximity you are to him; one wrong move and his lips would be on yours. Your fingers genuinely brush against his arm by accident, but the gentle touch seems to catch him off guard. He looks up at you, faces too close.

“God, I - shit. Are you sure?” There’s overwhelming hesitation in his voice, lazily blinking at you as you nod, murmuring a yes, please.

“Fuck,” he curses, “I really shouldn’t do this.” His eyes keep flickering between your eyes and mouth, his tongue darting out to lick across his lips.

“You can ask for advice later?” You offer, carefully reading Mr. Dobrik’s worried expressions.

“Yeah. I can. I just thought you didn't want to-,” you roll your eyes, taking initiative and leaning in because if you didn’t, he never would.

It’s a deep, timid kiss, your heads tilting as you pause briefly, your hands finding their home on his chest. For a second, you get an inkling Mr. Dobrik is going to lean out and act like it never happened, but he breathes in slowly (nervously, it seems) and leans in this time, one hand moving to your cheek.

Mr. Dobrik had been completely aware of your attraction to him from the first day, and although he hated the fact, it had been reciprocated. He never wanted his actions to reflect that, though, considering he actually liked his job for once. He had, in turn, resorted to light teasing, too much eye contact, and wandering eyes, feeling as though you always knew of his intent. He feels slightly guilty now, that you believed you were misreading everything he had done, but there's now no point in worrying about it. You know he’s attracted to you now as his tongue slides slowly against yours, one hand remaining on your cheek, the other on your waist. One of your hands have found its hold in his tie, tugging lightly on it to pull him closer. The other is on his cheek, fingers running over his stubble and down his neck, over his Adam’s apple and eventually gripping at the collar of his white dress shirt, undoing the top button before he gently pushes you away, standing.

Both of your cheeks are flushed as you look at each other, Mr. Dobrik clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

“Um. Can you come see me after school, sweetheart? Do you have something going on?”

“Umm, I was gonna take my friends home and get ready with them for the game, but-.”

“You don’t have to cancel your plans for me.”

“I’ll just tell them to hang around campus for a little bit, that I’m talking to another teacher?” Your voice is dripping with a strive for his approval, although you’re uneasy. He nods slowly.

“Okay. Sure. The bell’s about to ring, so, um, here’s your essay.” It’s awkward now, and you want to kiss him goodbye as his fingers move to button his shirt again, undoing your work.

“Thanks.” He nods, cursing himself under his breath before leaning in once more. He kisses you deeply, doing the work for you, before pulling away what feels like too quickly.

“I’ll see you later, hun.” You nod, not meeting his eyes as you grab your belongings and make your way out of his room, making sure he pays attention to the sway of your ass.

Mr. Dobrik’s pissed off at himself.

[dynamic-instability]

In one of my classes we have to write weekly personal narratives about an experience with illness. This week, mine turned into this. It’s probably too personal, and too... immediate?? to turn in to a professor without cutting out a lot of stuff, but not too personal to post online I guess lol

_____________________________

It’s November again.

In 2009 the lights were too bright. Mid-October one morning I woke up to my dad turning on my lights and it was like having to look into the sun while posing for a photo—my eyes wouldn’t stay open, if I forced them to, they couldn’t stay pointed in one direction, they spasmed and hurt. When the light was dimmed, I still saw double. That morning, I showered in the dark, and I remember being scared. They gave me eyedrops that paralyzed my accommodative muscles. In November my pupils were giant discs and I wore reading glasses over sunglasses to look at the computer, and when it was all said and done, the lights were still too bright, and I still saw double.

In 2011 I was tired. There’s fatigue and then there’s fatigue, I learned that Fall. In May of that year I had pulled two all-nighters in a week, and that was the only other time I’d felt this kind of tired, a sensation in about the 30th hour of the second time where it’s like my brain itched. I once saw someone else online describe it as “nausea, but in your head and eyes instead of in your throat and stomach” and that’s the closest anyone else has come to describing it. By November this was happening more and more often. I remember laying down in the corner of the room during a break of Citywide choir and thinking what the hell is wrong with me? I got a cold the next week, and I thought that maybe that was all it was. It wasn’t.

In 2013 I went to the ER for the fifth time in three months of college, and when I wanted to leave before waiting another couple of hours to eventually see a doctor who would tell me once again that they couldn’t do anything to help me, the woman from student life who was there to drive me back to campus made me call my parents on speaker phone and get their permission to leave before she would turn on the car. I had missed more chemistry labs than I could afford to miss without failing, passed out in a voice lesson, was asked by the director to drop out of choir because watching me was distraction when I looked like I was in pain, and if I passed out it would have ruined the concert for everyone. I remember leaving calculus in the mornings mid-class to go to the bathroom and lay on the floor and cry. I remember not being able to lift my hand off the mattress of my dorm room bed. I withdrew from half of my classes on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and took the Spring semester off.

In 2014 I had made a promise to myself that I would come back to college full time for that Fall semester just to see if I could do it, and then if I couldn’t I would drop out for good. There was one week where I thought that might be happening. Mid-November. The girls in my dorm had made a fort in the lounge out of sheets and blankets and colorful scarves and I remember laying on the couch through the green-filtered light and feeling the world spin and thinking oh god I still can’t do this. The door opened with a rush of cold air and my friends came in with food for me, since I’d been too sick to go to dinner. They sat with me and helped me with chemistry, offered to type up a paper if I dictated it, told jokes and made me laugh. I took an incomplete in one class, but I passed everything else, just barely scraped through, and came back in January.

In 2015 I just wanted to sleep. I passed out in an elevator and heard familiar voices, concerned voices, as I came to, and I stayed there laying motionless for another minute longer, because as long as I wasn’t awake I didn’t have to keep pushing. I wrote whole pages of completely unreadable ochem notes because my hand wasn’t working any better than my brain, and woke up on the floor and was wheeled out on a stretcher crying. It was dark all the time. My cane slipped on wet leaves and I felt my wrist crunch and there it was, one too many missed organic chemistry labs. I couldn’t stand for an entire choir rehearsal because breathing to sing made me lightheaded. I slept for 16 hours a day. The week before Thanksgiving, I called my mother to tell her I had decided to take another hardship withdrawal, and she sighed. I had applied to transfer schools during my much more optimistic Spring semester and Summer, and the week I left was also the week I found out I’d been accepted.

And so okay now it’s 2019, and it’s October and now November again, semester plan again, dark again. My reading is piling up again, feeling overwhelmed again, laying on my kitchen floor again. But here’s the thing—my health is… fine? Midterm week I didn’t sleep, and yes I passed out twice, but no ER. For the past 18 months, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I’ve been unable to get out of bed because of fatigue. My heart still pounds too hard but my head doesn’t swim every time I sit up. I walk the streets of New York City like mobility has never been a problem. I always take the stairs. My brain doesn’t itch until it’s been 30 hours no sleep.

I couldn’t go to class last week. I lay on the floor of my kitchen and stared up at the ceiling and tried to get up, tried to type out an email to my professors, and I couldn’t do it. I was not too tired. I was not too weak. I was not in pain. I could not move. I try to write and try to write and try to write and the words don’t come. I eat instant oatmeal at 9 PM because I haven’t been to the store in a month. I have lost nearly 15 pounds since moving to New York. I clean the stove for two and a half hours but can’t bring myself to take the dead spider off the side of the bathtub. I check the door lock one-two-three times, pace the floor, sit back down. I do not read Austerlitz. I write a Canvas post for Self and Other but it’s nonsense. I do not write a Canvas post for Accounts of Self. I do not write a Canvas post for Applied Writing. I write a Canvas post for Illness and Disability and somehow forget to post it, the one thing I’ve actually done, because I’m too busy feeling sick at everything I haven’t. I shadow a doctor for the clinical witnessing assignment and everything is fine but when I try to write it up I have a panic attack that leaves me sobbing on my couch and the assignment nine days late and counting. It takes me eight hours to write two pages. I watch 18 hours of YouTube video essays discussing drama about creators I don’t even watch and play a stupid game on my phone for an entire weekend until I’ve spent $25+ in a labyrinth of microtransations and every time I close my eyes I see the moving dots.

In November of 2015 I had three overdue essays for Global Literature, and two more due in the next two weeks. More than half were on books I had not read. My pre-lab wasn’t done for organic chemistry, and I wondered for a moment, if I pretended to pass out, if that would be easier. I stayed up until 4 AM laying on my floor and listening to Hamilton. I was sick, that much is true, but when I felt okay I still sat at my computer and could not bring myself to write.

In 2011 I had so many unfinished assignments for my college-level English class that I resigned myself to failing and I went to school the morning of the final class, but I hid in the stairwell by the choir room until I heard the bell, and I never went back to that class.

2009 was the year my dad stopped being able to yell at me for not doing my homework, because no one, including me, could tell whether it was actually my eyes stopping me.

In 2008 I wrote 6 essays in the 5 days of Thanksgiving break because I had not done any work for Intro to Lit all semester. I pulled it off, somehow, even aced the class because of an unusually lenient late work policy, but what I most remember is the sick feeling of dread as I lay on the floor in the living room staring up at the Christmas tree and feeling invisible sand slip through an invisible hourglass and a vice tightening in my chest.

In 2006 I stayed up almost all night writing a paper and crying my eyes out because I couldn’t find the words to explain to anyone why it had been so impossible for me to get the work done, that I wasn’t being lazy or distracted, I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t necessarily reading YA novels or watching TV or IMing my friends instead of working, I could sit and stare at a blank word document for 6 hours straight and still it would not get done. Everyone talked about potential, talked about how smart I was, but a gradebook that is half 100’s and half 0’s still averages out to an F. No one, including me, could explain the discrepancy. The logic of that simple math was not lost on me, the knowledge that turning in half-finished or not very good work was mathematically better than not doing it, but that didn’t mean I could do it. Words failed me when I tried to explain the illogic of my particular suffering.

I didn’t hear the term executive dysfunction until I was in my 20s. In retrospect I was tentatively told at 16 that I had “probably some ADHD and OCD”, but that psychiatrist was someone I’d been sent to by a neurologist because he thought she could fix my eyes, and when she said she couldn’t, I stopped making appointments. After I got sick, physically sick, the lines blurred between what was causing what, to the point where even I have no idea. Two of the Novembers missing here are ones I spent at CC, on the block plan where I only took one class at a time. My physical health arguably improved a little after transferring in January of 2016, but mostly it didn’t, not until Spring of 2018 at least. And you can see that evidence in dropped blocks, concussions from passing out onto hard surfaces, a couple of incompletes taken when viral illnesses (or concussions) compounded my other problems. What the block plan changed was the way things pile up, lessened the struggle of constant task switching between classes. (Admittedly, I also had fewer papers when taking mostly science classes. Writing takes much more energy, and it’s much harder to convince myself it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth submitting.) At CC nothing ever really reached the level of catastrophe. Some of that is purely the ability to drop a single block, meaning when it was my physical health that was the problem, I didn’t lose a whole semester, just one class, then reset. But I should have realized sooner that the block plan wouldn’t account for the level of improvement if my physical health had really been the only barrier.

So we’re back to now. Grad school. November again. Dark again. Semester plan again. Too much writing again. Crushing dread again. Dysfunction again. Panic attack in the middle of the night increasingly elaborate organizing rituals scream of the subway tracks in my mind can’t stop can’t start can’t breathe can’t move burnout again. This time without the explanation of chronic fatigue to fall back on.

I have my tricks, have actually learned somewhat to cope in the past 18 years. Schedules help, break tasks into pieces that are as small as possible. Mindfulness meditation. Forgive yourself when it’s not perfect. Get started with something easy, set a timer for 20 minutes and only work for those 20 minutes and then let yourself stop if you want to (and surprisingly often, you won’t want to, sometimes that momentum is all it takes). If you work better in the night, work in the night, who cares what society says your sleep schedule should be. When switching tasks, physically get up and move to a different location. Allow yourself to procrastinate on work with other work if that’s what you have to do. Delete the stupid games from your phone. One or two missed assignments are not actually the end of the world, if you let yourself view it as piling up, you won’t be able to get anything done, so if you absolutely have to, just move through and move on.

It’s not a catastrophe, this November. It’s a fight, but it’s not a catastrophe. I read Austerlitz and forgive myself for skimming it. I write a Canvas post and forgive myself when it’s only 500 words and doesn’t make complete sense. I read Toni Morrison and Édouard Louis and classmates’ discussion posts about Deaf culture and identity and remember why this matters in the first place, that it’s not just a series of assignments to overwhelm me, it’s a series of interesting complicated exhausting important thoughts and questions. I get it done. Some of it. Most of it. I let myself sleep. I breathe. I remember to be grateful because I can get out of bed in the mornings and take the stairs. I am okay.

[serpent-jugheadjones]

The Partner Revealed - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Description: Jughead and Y/N’s relationship gets more intense but will it continue?

Warnings: Bullying

Word count: 3396

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, my computer died on me. But it is a bigger part to make up for it! 

Jughead’s point of view

Jughead gets up refreshed that morning. He couldn’t sleep many hours, but the ones he managed to were serene, the very word Y/N used to describe Sweet Water River the previous night. He has so much to write after what he considers to be his best moment in ages! He lets his fingers work fast and his mind even faster, for he would have to move from one Twilight Zone to another – the drive-in to school – pretty soon.

He walks through the halls of Riverdale High just thinking about the latest lines of his novel, imagining several possible ways in which those pages could unfold. He’s wondering what role Y/N will play in that story, looking for her face on everyone else’s. Jughead is bitterly disappointed in himself because he never remembered to ask for her phone number. His mind is brought back to the present as he spots Archie standing by Jason’s locker, now a memorial site. He really wants to work things out, so he tries to start a conversation with some of his usual sardonic humor, making a joke about Jason. However, it has a bad impact on his friend, and the awkward atmosphere between them continues.

Jughead walks into his Biology classroom with Principal Weatherbee and Sheriff Keller’s announcement still fresh in his mind. “Most of you already know the details, but your classmate Jason Blossom’s body was found late Saturday night. So as of the weekend, Jason’s death is now being treated as a homicide. It is an open and ongoing investigation.” He wants answers just as much as they do and will stop but nothing to find them. He sits in the front, overhearing Cheryl’s conversation with her minions, confirming that Jason had fallen into the water. She says like it’s the most obvious thing, but Jughead doesn’t buy it and takes note to share with Y/N later if or when he sees her. Just as he finishes writing his sentence, the teacher walks in. “Seats, everyone. Pair off, gloves on, scalpels up.” He says hurriedly, putting something on the blackboard. Walking right behind him is none other than Y/N Y/L/N. Jughead shouts he wants to be paired with Y/N before his brain even processes the thought, before anyone even has a chance to pick their partners. Archie says he wants to pair up with Cheryl, Veronica practically throws herself at Betty, leaving Kevin to work alongside with Moose, the pair who found Jason’s body.

The Y/H/C girl seats on the stool next to his, drops her heavy bag on the desk, opens the zipper and takes her notebook out. “Didn’t think we had any classes together.”, says a kinda nervous, kinda thrilled novelist who can’t help noticing she smells like white chocolate and ginger. “Just Biology, I guess. Didn’t make the grade for honors.”, she explains. “Here I thought pairing up with you would be a guaranteed pass.”, he says playfully. “Sorry Jones, that guy with the gradebook doesn’t like me.” He looks at her questionably. “I refuse to make dissections. Telling him we are in the 21st century and that kind of teaching is old fashioned didn’t seat so well with him.”, she says rolling her eyes and taking off her jacket, revealing a biology joke on her shirt, a cell taking a selfie written cell-fie under it. “So I’m gonna have to do all the work?” He points at the frog sitting in front of them. She laughs. “I’ll do the theory, you do the practice.” Jughead starts dissecting their frog and she looks away, earning a reproving look from their teacher. 

As Y/N makes notes on frog anatomy in Jughead’s book, he observes her. She’s so focused on what she’s doing that lines form on her forehead, and he thinks they make her look adorable. "We should go to the Pep Rally together.”, he blurts out. She looks up from the book and towards him, puzzled. “Everyone will be there. It’s the best time for us to narrow down our list of suspects.”, he quickly tries to fix what could’ve sounded like he was in any way interested in school events that involve jocks and cheerleaders running around. “Maybe that sounded like I wanted to take her out and now she thinks it’s just for my novel. Well done, Jughead.”  He scratches his neck nervously at what she’ll say. “I’ll meet you under the bleachers.” She writes something down on a scrap paper she hands to a now happier Jughead. “I got her number.”

He notices how hard it is for her to keep a gag in as they do the assignment, so he discreetely gives her the note containing Cheryl’s conversation, in hopes it will make her mind shift from dead open frogs to dead shot people. “Does anything weird come to your mind whenever you think of that holiday? Besides Cheryl lying.”, she asks in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “Well, Archie and I were supposed to go on a road trip during the July 4th weekend. But he bailed last minute. I tried talking to him about it before class, but he was... evasive.”, he says reluctantly, with some visible bitterness, looking at his friend behind him, afraid to see a suspect instead of a life-long pal, but then again, he wasn’t so sure they were still friends after that. “He was also very defensive this morning when I made a joke about skipping PE because I’m grieving Jason.” He knew she wouldn’t reprehend him for it, unlike Archie. Even not  knowing her long enough, he could tell they had similar ways to see and react to things. She even giggles at the thought of Jughead telling Archie a morbid joke. “Archie seems too nice to do it, but we can’t be sure. Maybe talk to him? Since you two have a history. I’ll stick with Evil Queen Cheryl.” He laughs a little too loud, but he’s literally saved by the bell ringing and everyone leaving the classroom as fast as they can.

Jughead was once again wandering through the school halls, messenger bag across his chest carrying his laptop and the school book Y/N made notes on, headphones blasting his favorite song, blocking the world. He passes by the music room and sees something so weird that breaks him away form his daydream. His best friend – at least that’s what he would call him until last summer – and the music teacher so close they could only be kissing. His mind going 100 miles per hour, he goes straight to Andrews’ house to wait for Archie and follow Y/N’s advice to talk to him. Now more than ever he needs to understand what’s going on; Besides, regardless of the distance that formed between them, he cares about him – a lot. When he finally shows up, Jughead doesn’t like the answers he gets. He tries his best to knock some sense into that bonehead, but has to leave declaring defeat. He’d usually head to Pop’s to write and eat his body weight on fries but he is terribly wiped and has so much in his mind he knows he won’t be able to make a single coherent sentence. He doesn’t even remember about Y/N until she shows up holding his hand, slightly touching her lips on his cheek – in his dreams.

Y/N’s point of view

Keeping her focus on studying becomes a lot easier after Biology. She doesn’t have any other classes with Jughead, and there aren’t too many honor students anyways. School hours fly by and her homework pile gets bigger, but all she wants to work on is the case. She looks for Jughead after her last class, unsuccessfully. She heads to Pop’s, the only place left she believes he can be found. To no luck. But she does see Veronica and her mom, the new comers from New York, just after Jason supposedly drowned. They aren’t the strongest of suspects but Mr. Lodge being in jail makes it wise sticking around to see what she can find out. 

She doesn’t hear anything worth mentioning, besides the Archie/Veronica drama. Hermione pretty much just does her job, taking orders and delivering them. After it gets boring, mainly because Jughead was a no-show, Y/N leaves.

Y/N finds out she’s home alone for a few days. Her parents always leave town without notice, certain that she can take care of herself. The only hint is her dad’s car keys gone. “I just thought that with a murderer on the loose they’d at least let me know.” That said, she opens the fridge and finds dinner ready to heat up with a note on it: “Back in a couple of days, love mom and dad.” A beautiful smile forms in her face. “There’s my note.” She goes up to her room to finish the homework she started at Pop’s while she was waiting for Jughead. It’s an essay for her Spanish classes on the book “Pablo Escobar: My Father”. After each sentence, she glances at her phone, occasionally pressing the power button to check if Jug texted her, but her eyes only meet her screen background. 

She hasn’t seen Jughead all morning. He wasn’t at Pop’s when she passed by before class, he wasn’t in the halls or in any classrooms when she got to school, and they didn’t have Biology that day. Y/N thinks she’s getting paranoid. “I mean, we only spoke twice so far! That doesn’t make us friends. He doesn’t owe me anything.” While she’s lost in those thoughts, walking into the student lounge, a lively conversation is taking place there. Archie, Veronica, Betty, Kevin, and many other northsiders are just listening. Reggie is talking about Sheriff Keller giving him a hard time over Jason’s death, but when he sees that bright girl coming in, it’s inevitable not to provoke her, not to let his urge to defeat her turn him into an unpleasant caveman. “Maybe Y/N did it?” Everyone laughs. “Bare with me.” He ajusts himself on his seat to face her. “She did tutor him. Maybe she fell for him and he didn’t crush her back. Obviously, who would?” He looks at her with disgust, making her sigh in anger. “Maybe she snapped and shot him.” Some of the guys on the football team were actually falling for his theory. Y/N needs only a few seconds to think of an appropriate answer. “You have a theory strongly based on maybes, don’t you? If you had focused on certainties, maybe you could have reached to a plausible conclusion – that Jason’s death is much more than a love crime. But how would you, if your neurons are already wasted on football moves?” She looks away from an enraged Reggie and sees Jughead standing by the vending machine, confused. She stares at him, hoping to get some backup, but she’s only met with more doubts in his eyes.

Reggie’s teammates tease him about her comment, forcing him to try to defeat her. He has another stupid idea. “If a kid at Riverdale killed Jason, it’s not gonna be a jock, right?” He trows his football over to Moose, who was laughing the most. “Now let’s be honest. Isn’t it always some spooky, scrawny, pathetic Internet troll, too busy writing his manifestos to get laid? Some smug, moody, serial killer fanboy freak, like... Jughead?” He turns to him and everyone laughs again. “Why is picking on us so funny for them? Just because we don’t fit in their distorted standards.” But he does’t stop there. “What was it like, Suicide Squad?”, he asks and Jughead just shrugs. “When you shot Jason, you didn’t do stuff to the body, did you? Like… After?” The whole football team is backing him up. “It’s called necrophilia, Reggie, can you spell it?” Juggie wittly answers. She chuckles at his reply before Reggie skillfully jumps over the couch towards him. Fortunately, Archie stops him. ”What do you care, Andrews?” Reggie asks demandingly. “Nothing, just leave him alone.” Arch is trying to minimize the damage for both him and Jug, but he can’t find the words. “Holy crap. Did you and Donnie Darko kill him together? Was it some sort of pervy, blood brother thing?” Hearing that, the red-haired boy loses his temper and jumps at the caveman. Everything turns to chaos, ending with Reggie punching Archie in his eye.

Jughead’s point of view

Y/N takes Jughead out of the student lounge before Reggie does anything else. He tries to escape as soon as they get to the hallway, but she grabs his wrist, making him stop and turn to her. “My parents aren’t home, we can hang in there till the Pep Rally.”, she says in a way he can’t deny. “Don’t you have any more classes today?”, he asks, implying he didn’t want her help. “I’ll skip.” He’s taken aback by her determination to help him. He doesn’t think she has ever skipped class before.

The walk to her house is dead silent, unlike the previous one. Neither dares to break the silence. Jughead, a prolific writer, is oddly unable to find the words. When they arrive, she hands him a soda can and opens one for herself, pointing him towards the tall stools around the kitchen island. “You tutored Jason?”, he finally asks. It isn’t the bullying that hurts. He sits down and takes a sip from his soda. “Yeah, last year.”, she says softly, not meeting his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He knows he can’t demand anything from her, but he’s hurt by finding out from someone else – Reggie of all people. “Didn’t think it was relevant.” He knows she’s right. “Would’ve been nice to have a heads up.” He runs his hand on the strains of hair sticking out of his beanie. “We weren’t exactly friendly to each other. I just helped him with his Chemistry assignments a few times. Like I said, irrelevant.” They both sip their sodas. They both think that Jason’s chemical problems might matter after all, but they don’t know how to explain it, so they move on. “I’m sorry, I’m just pissed at Reggie.” He looks down at the dark, cold marble table hoping he hasn’t ruined the start of something good. “I know.” She reaches for his hand and they maintain eye contact for a while. When they stop touching, all he needs is feeling her soft touch again, but he just freezes.

After finishing their drinks, they silently agree to leave everything about that small-brained Reggie behind. Jughead’s attention was instantly directed to the living-room shelves the second he got in, so now he has to ask about those shiny DVD covers, his eyes shining even more. “Is this the complete Tarantino filmography?”, he points at them. “Me and my dad are obsessed.”, she tells him with an excited smile. “What do your parents do?”, he asks, trying to understand why they have such a collection. He picks up some of the DVDs to take a closer look. “My mom is a writer. Nothing big published yet, just some magazine articles.”. He finds that even more interesting than Quentin’s “From Dusk Till Dawn” in his hands. “Dad’s a retired surgeon.”, she continues, as his focus is back on the shelves, now checking the book bindings. “Retired?”, he asks, wondering about his age. “He’s not old. He had an accident and his hand got crushed. He can’t operate anymore. So now he just consults for other doctors.”, she explains. Worried that she may ask about his parents, Juggie quickly finds something else to talk about. “Can I borrow this?”, he shows her the book cover. “Metamorphosis? You’ve never read it?”, she asks amazed. “About time, huh?”, he’s embarassed and they both laugh. “Please take it. Kafka is a must. It’s a crime you haven’t read it.” Damn, he loves the way she deals with words, saying things with multiple meanings. He feels stupid for hiding from her all day over a dream he was afraid could come true. Only now he realizes he actually wants it to happen.

He feels good, like he hasn’t for a long time. It’s great to be relaxed, not having to watch his back or keep second-guessing someone’s sentences. He can just get to know that fascinating girl. In this spirit, Jason’s murder doesn’t even come up for the rest of the afternoon, as if it didn’t happen at all. However, those few hours eventually remind him that he had a life, a dysfunctional but satisfactory one, before the case. As nice as being with Y/N is, he misses his friend, more than he cared to admit, to himself and to Archie.

They are standing next to the bleachers. The field in front of them is full of Vixens and Dogs. Everything is decorated in blue and gold, the school’s colors. Jughead can hear Y/N’s voice but he can’t make out the words, not because the crowd is making an incredibly loud noise or he’s ignoring her, but due to the fact that his attention is solely on Archie, speaking to Miss Grundy. His friend finally approaches. “See you at Pop’s later?”, she asks, making sure to give them room to talk. Jug just nods, anxious to know what he has to say:  Weatherbee will know he heard a gunshot on July 4th. Juggie is immensely relieved and proud, glad to realize they’re heading the right way, back to their unique friendship.

Y/N Point of view

She watches everyone from afar, used to doing that since she learned being invisible comes with advantages. But no one is acting guilty or uneasy. “Is it just me or cheerleading is revolting?”, she asks out loud, knowing nobody will listen to her. She’s ready to leave for Pop’s, rolling her eyes at the girls with their high pony tails swaying their hips happily to the song as if a kid, the brother of their leader, hadn’t died. Something changes her mind, though. Cheryl running away from the stage, crying her heavy make up out. Y/N follows the red-haired girl as fast as she can, barely keeping up. She stops at the dressing room door and almost walks in. Cheryl is drowned in tears and Veronica’s voice is trying to comfort her. “He was supposed to come back.”, Cheryl sobs. Y/N hears footsteps coming to their direction and quickly gets out, for she’s already a social pariah without being caught sneaking up on Riverdale’s elite. But not forgetting to make a mental note to tell Jughead later.

Arriving at the diner, she looks around but doesn’t spot Juggie anywhere. She asks at the counter if they’ve seen him, but no one has. She places her order and proceeds to his usual booth to wait. Every time the shopkeepers bell rings, she looks up at the door, excited to tell him what she heard. A few hours later, when she is finishing her third milkshake, the bell finally signals Jughead entering. Y/N can’t help a grin, but he looks to the other side of the diner. Archie walks in right after him. They both stand at the door for a second before making their way to the table Betty and Veronica are sharing. Her grin slowly fades, giving way to an exasperated expression. Jughead doesn’t even notice she’s there until she gets up to leave. She sees him moving as if he will get up and walk after her, but she’s so fast at disappearing it’s impossible to check whether he really does it. “He got his friends back, he doesn’t need me anymore.” That’s the only thing in her mind.

[crazyscienceteacher]

I really do appreciate when students understand that their grade is low and then try and solve it - but that feeling evaporates when they do one worksheet and expect their grade to skyrocket like 20%. I walk into work this morning and a student is waiting at my door - a student that had to have parent contact yesterday due to her lack of effort. Apparently she got the message because she shows up after school with an assignment to turn in and I put it in the gradebook, full points but didn't raise her grade significantly. So back to the story, she comes back this morning and asks me why her grade isn't better - asking why it's still a 40%. I unlock my door, put my stuff down, and log into my computer still yawning and rolling my sleeves up. As it turns out she has a 50% but that's no better in her mind (good, it shouldn't be acceptable so props to her there). We go through her grades, specifically the test scores since my classes are weighted 40% tests/quizzes, 30% lab work, 30% classwork. 2/26 on a quiz and 39/90 on a test. This means 40% of her grade is only at 35%. Her she asks if she can redo them and I tell her the usual yes you can but the new test score will average with the old one. she scoffs and asks about the lab scores. Well, we've done one lab and a post-lab activity for it. On the lab she scored 10/50 and on the post-lab she did much better. She complains saying she did the lab and she should have full points. I pull up the assignment and see "turned in a blank packet" noted on her score. She argues this but luckily, I keep a box with every assignment from the entire semester in case just this instance occurs. It takes me 5-10 minutes looking through a ton of these papers, finding the one with her name on it and sure enough it was completely blank other than a name and one work underlined. No data, no nothing. She stares at it for about 30 seconds, scoffs again and walks out - all before the first bell.

[ultramarcypan]

D Gray Man Ficlet

Summary: There are a number of quirks to Tyki’s family.  Lavi has been warned and he really should have listened--maybe then he wouldn’t find himself being snuggled to death. (aka Wisely really likes to cuddle)

Author’s Notes: Hoo boy, we need some background on this one.  So, @haloud dragged me down into D. Gray Man hell.  Both of us have a severe lack of self-control and a burning love for College AU’s and what started as a casual discussion then morphed into several Google Doc’s and well.  Ta-da~

S’all good though, I dragged haloud down into Lucky Pair hell.  This is why you don’t invite me into your fandoms, kiddos. 

But yes, moving on!  In College AU, Lavi is an overworked and underappreciated freshman Elementary Education major who happens to end up in a class where Tyki is the unfairly hot--actually, just unfair in every way--TA.  Tyki’s also in charge of taking care of his elementary school niece, his high school freshmen cousins (Jasdero and Devit), and his high school senior nephew.  Lavi may or may not have a huge crush on him; he’s working on that.

Aaaaand...well, there’s a bunch more but that’s all that you need to know for this!  But please, feel free to come ask me and haloud more about the AU, god knows we love to yell about it.

It’s raining outside and it’s way too cold, yet Tyki still won’t let him enter the house without giving a whole spiel first.  Lavi’s starting to get the very strong suspicion that the older man just likes the sound of his own voice.

“Listen to me,” his TA says, looking the most serious Lavi has ever seen him.  “I live with four little monsters, all of them with their own unique little quirks that drive me up the wall.  And their favorite thing is to mess with fresh meat.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Lavi tells him, but Tyki shakes his head.

“If anything, I’m not being dramatic enough,” he says grimly.  “I’m serious about this, Red.  They look like angels and act like devils the second you lower your guard.”

“Isn’t the oldest only 18?”  Lavi snorts.  “And you want me to believe that they walk all over you?”

Tyki lets out a dramatic sigh.  “Alright, fine.  I’ll give you the run down, and if you don’t believe me, then it’s on you when one of the little gremlins attacks.”

“Fine, fine--just make it fast.”  Anything to get out of the cold and wet.

“Jas and Devi, the twins, are going to try to pull some stupid prank on you.  They’re mainly harmless, but usually a bitch to clean up after.”

“Twins are pranksters, got it,” Lavi echos back.

“Road….I’ll be honest, I have no idea what trick Road will try to pull.  You never really know with her, you just have to stay on your toes.”

“Your niece is the Wildcard, okay.  And the fourth one?”

“Wisely?”  Tyki grins at him.  “Actually, Wisely isn’t that big of a pain, just a bit odd.  He likes to cuddle.”

“He...cuddles?”

“Yeah,” Tyki shrugs.  “He actually gets really offended when you refuse to hug him; it’d be funny if he didn’t look like he was gonna burst into tears at any moment.”  He chuckles to himself, and Lavi takes that moment to wonder what it is he’s getting himself into.  “But yeah, common space in our house is fair ground for Wisely to cuddle up to you, and he doesn’t give a fuck if your limbs fall asleep or not--you cuddle until he decides it’s time to move.”

“Pranksters, a Wildcard, and a cuddler,” Lavi repeats diligently.  “I got it.  Even ready to take a quiz on it, if you want.”

“Yeah, like you need another 90 on the gradebook,” Tyki says with a wicked grin, and even though Lavi knows he’s only doing it to get a reaction, he still rises to the occasion.

“That’s because you are an asshole,” he snarls, taking a swipe at Tyki.  His TA laughs and steps into the entryway, just out of reach and Lavi has no choice but to follow him.  Tyki’s warnings are pushed to the back of his thoughts, and Lavi files it under the ‘probably never going to need’ part of his brain.

As it turns out, he’s dead wrong on this, and Tyki, the insufferable jackass, is right yet again.

He finds this out one evening when he’s waiting for Tyki to come home from shopping with Road, and he’s been left unattended in the other’s house.  Lavi’s sprawled out on the couch in the living room, his phone in his hand, mindlessly scrolling, when the floor creaks and he’s suddenly aware of another person’s presence.  He glances up to see Wisely standing a few feet away, a thick, cream-colored blanket draped over his head and a textbook in his hands.

“Hey,” Lavi greets, dipping his head down slightly.  Wisely blinks at him.  “Did you need something?”

Instead of answering, Wisely shuffles over to the couch, crawling onto it, his blanket trailing behind him like a cape.  “What the..?!”  Lavi yelps, as suddenly there’s an eighteen year old sprawled out on top of his chest, nestling down like a cat.  The textbook somehow ends up on Lavi’s chest and Wisely lays his head down neatly on folded arms just above Lavi’s sternum.  After a moment's pause, Wisely tugs on the blanket over his back so that it settles properly around the two of them.

“Um.”  It’s really all the speech Lavi is capable of right now.  Wisely’s eyes flicker up to his face, then to his hands which are thrown up in the air.  Lavi doesn’t even remember moving to make room for the teenager.  When Wisely’s eyes flicker from the hands to his face with pointed intensity, Lavi takes the hint and slowly lowers his hands back down so that they’re resting on the others back.

The teenager hums, evidently pleased, and turns his attention back to his textbook.

Wisely is a cuddler.  Tyki’s warning echoes in his brain, and Lavi grits his teeth.  He’s about to shove the other off of him when the second part of Tyki’s warning comes back to him.  He gets real upset when people don’t want to hug him.  A string of curses runs across his brain, and for a moment he just seethes in silence.

He’s trapped beneath a snuggly eighteen year old that he can’t toss off of him because he can’t stand to make kids cry.  The world just isn’t fair sometimes.

Although, it’s not like Wisely’s heavy or anything.  Actually, Lavi barely feels any pressure on his chest and before he can think it through he runs his hands down the other’s back, to see if he can feel ribs.  Wisely huffs a quiet laugh but otherwise doesn’t move, still very focused on his textbook.  The teen is pleasantly warm as well, and the blanket he brought with him is soft--perfect to cuddle with, if he’s being honest with himself.

Lavi settles back against the couch, bringing his hands to rest on top of Wisely’s shoulders and slowly turning the situation over in his mind.  Of all of Tyki’s wards, he’s certainly the most low maintenance.  Lavi would take a cuddler over a prankster any day of the week.  And it’s not like Wisely is hurting anyone; the teen seems perfectly content to do his homework quietly, even if he is presently using Lavi as a pillow.

Sighing, Lavi resigns himself to his situation.  It’s not like he was doing anything of importance; he can browse on his phone just as easily with a leech of a teen on him as he could alone.  Wisely doesn’t even flinch when Lavi props his phone up on his shoulder, tilting it so that it’s resting against the side of his temple.  The two of them settle into a comfortable silence that’s only punctuated by the occasional buzz of Lavi’s phone or the rustle of pages as Wisely flips through his book.

That’s how Tyki finds them when he gets home with Road.  “We’re ho--” he starts to call out, only to cut himself off when he lays eyes on the two of them.  “Oh for god's sake Wisely, this is why we can’t have people over!”  Road giggles at the exasperation in her uncle’s tone.

Wisely finally shows signs of life, propping himself up on his elbows to stare wide eyed at his uncle.  Lavi takes the opportunity to shift his legs, which he lost feeling of around ten minutes ago.

“Down.”  Tyki commands, jerking his head sharply at the ground.  “Down you animal, let the poor man go.”  To Road, he adds, “And you, you adorable little munchkin, go put the groceries away.”

Road skips off to do just so at the same moment that Wisely lets out a whine or protest that makes Lavi smile involuntarily.  “He can stay,” he says diplomatically, relishing in how Wisely turns to him with bright, hopeful eyes.  “He’s not bothering me any and he’s warm.”

“You sure?”  Tyki asks, moving closer to them.  Wisely sends him a reproachful glare that is duly ignored.  “You don’t have to be nice just because he’s cute.”

“I’m adorable,” Wisley mutters petulantly, and those are the first words Lavi’s heard him speak since he came out to the den.  He chuckles, patting the teenager on the head affectionately.

“You are,” Lavi reassures him, and is rewarded with Wisely snuggling down firmly against him.  Glancing over the teen's head, he holds his arms out to Tyki.  “Come.  Join us in the cuddle huddle.”

“Cuddle huddle?  Really, Red?”

“I wanna join!”  Road, who’s just returned from putting away the groceries, launches herself onto the couch, landing on top of her adopted brother.  Both Wisely and Lavi grunt at the impact, and Tyki fixes Road with a warning look.  “C’mon uncle, come cuddle with us!”  She urges, completely ignoring the look.

With a sigh, Tyki pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Hooligans, the lot of you,” he mumbles, even as he’s nudging legs aside so that he has room to sit down on the sofa.  “Adorable, cuddly, hooligans.”  

“No complaining in the cuddle huddle,” Lavi says, jabbing his toes into Tyki’s ribs.  His TA catches his foot mid jab, tossing it down on his lap.  He holds an arm out to Road, who eagerly presses herself against his side.

It’s peaceful and nice for all of five minutes until a loud bang from upstairs reminds them that there are two members of the rag-tag family unaccounted for.  Lavi doesn’t have to be a mind reader to tell that Tyki is seriously debating if it’s really worth it to get up and investigate the source of the noise.  He makes the decision for the older man.

“Alright,” he declares, nudging Wisely in the side gently, “Everyone up.  We’re bringing the cuddle huddle to the twins.”

It takes several long moments for everyone to get upright, and even then Tyki’s stuck cradling Wisely as they make their way towards the stairs.  Road slips her hand into his, leading the way and Tyki follows close behind with Wisely yawning in his arms, and Lavi has to smile at the absurdity of the family he’s found himself.

[perfectzablog]

Time Is an Essential Teacher Resource, So How Can Schools Be More Creative With It?

If it were only up to Loveland High School Assistant Principal Marc Heiser, his school would have flexible modular scheduling, or “flex-mod scheduling.” That basically means that each discipline could decide the ideal class length and number of meetings each week, rather than having a standardized schedule where every class period is 45 minutes, no matter the needs of the department. So, for example, math teachers might want to meet every day for 35 minutes. But art teachers might prefer two class meetings a week, each for 90 minutes.

“What you end up seeing is a bunch of different size classes or shapes on a scheduling board,” Heiser said. “And everything’s not going to line up.” A flex-mod schedule would mean some kids would have gaps of time in their schedules when one class has ended, but the next hasn’t yet begun. Where would that student go? Maybe a resource room to get extra help or do homework, says Heiser.

“We’ve got to give permission to teachers, number one, to think that,” Heiser said. “Also, it’s a lovely thought, but systematically it’s a nightmare.”

‘The master schedule is the heart and soul of a school reflecting our vision and priorities.’Dr. Christina Casillas

Heiser knows. He’s in charge of creating Loveland’s master schedule and it’s incredibly challenging, even when the periods are all the same length. He knows his dream of a flex-mod system would be better for students, but it raises so many logistical questions that don’t have answers yet. How do you track a student through four years of flex-mod scheduling with a gradebook based on semesters, for example?

“I’ve got believers, but I don’t have a smart efficient system,” Heiser said. So, in the meantime, he does his best with a traditional bell schedule, which has very little flexibility.

RETHINKING TIME IN SCHOOLS

Time is one of the most powerful levers for change in a school. Everything about how a school runs from where staff go, to when they have breaks and collaborative time, to what classes students can take, is based on how leaders schedule the limited time within a school day, week and year. It’s important to make those instructional minutes count because teachers never feel they have enough time to get everything done.

“There’s all these other things that teachers have to do, that are outside of the core scheduled experience, that they feel overwhelmed,” said Chris Walsh, the head of growth and impact at Abl, a company that makes scheduling software. Before Abl, Walsh was a teacher and tech coordinator and has worked for New Tech Network. He understands that grading, calling parents, meeting with students after class, filling out paperwork, prepping lesson plans, new district initiatives and mandatory professional development can make teachers feel like there’s never enough time.

“I really see time and how you use time as one of the most critical levers for change in school because so many things revolve around it,” Walsh said. And he thinks schools can be more creative about how they use the time they have, without lengthening the school day, which is costly and difficult to achieve at the bargaining table. Through his work with Abl, Walsh has come to realize there are fewer restrictions on how time can be used than people think. That means there’s more flexibility and room for creative thinking about how to make the master schedule serve the strategic goals of a school.

“Ultimately we’re trying to build a movement to help schools rethink time across the board,” Walsh said. “A lot of what we’re battling is cultural norms.”

Abl is part of the Unlocking Time Project, which provides free resources for school leaders at all levels to assess how they’re using time and to start conversations with staff about what could change.

Unlocking Time offers a free school time assessment tool that asks principals to gather information in four areas: the master schedule, bell schedule, staff time and calendaring. After filling in some basic information in those four areas, the principal gets a personalized link with a 15-minute assessment for staff. It asks teachers how they currently use time, and their ideas and openness for changing how time is used. All this information is gathered into a presentation that principals can use to start the dialogue with staff.

“There’s no judgment on our part,” Walsh said. “We’re not trying to push people one way or another. What’s good for one school might not be good for another.” And, in fact, he’s found that in this area practitioners are leading the way in thinking about how time could be used more creatively. School leaders are trying different approaches, pushing ahead of the research in this area.

THE HEADACHES OF SCHEDULING

For anyone who doesn’t have to do the scheduling in a school, it may not be apparent what a challenging and frustrating job it is. Almost every student has some kind of special schedule that needs accommodation, whether that’s an Individualized Education Program (IEP), Advanced Placement (AP) classes, an IB program, resource classes or even sports. On top of that, assistant principals, who are often tasked with scheduling, are looking to balance classes so there are even numbers of special education and English language learners in different sections. They’re trying to give grade-level teachers the same period off so they can plan together, and they’re thinking about professional development time.

Most assistant principals currently use some combination of paper-based requests, massive Excel spreadsheets, a physical magnet board and their Student Information System (SIS) to schedule students. And it quickly turns into a big mess. There are hundreds of moving pieces and often a lot of conflicts. In this cobbled-together process it can be hard for the scheduler to know if a conflict is an essential problem or something that can be ignored.

Marc Heiser started using Abl’s master scheduling software when it was in its infancy because he wanted to schedule strategically. He wanted to move toward a more inclusive model for special education students. Rather than pulling them out of class, he created a schedule within a schedule for kids with IEPs. Then he assigned a resource teacher to those rooms so they could provide extra support in the classroom to kids who needed it, with the added benefit of sharing their wisdom on differentiation with the content teacher. He said that would not have been possible with his old system.

Abl, which is currently offered only to secondary schools, gives Heiser more insight into who the students are in each class. He can mock up a schedule, see conflicts and then click on each one to see which student it is and the specifics of the conflict. He can also run reports specifically looking at the balance of classes by race, by language status, by special needs. When he makes changes to the schedule he can see how it’s going to ripple out and affect other students.

“It allows me to dig into the number of conflicts and who the kids are,” Heiser said. “I have more knowledge and information when I’m building it rather than waiting for the end to have some conversations.”

It also saved Heiser time, so he was able to bring counselors and teachers into the scheduling conversation to get their perspectives on what students needed. This not only supported students, but it also gave teachers insight into how the schedule is made.

“Teachers now understand the bigger picture and they understand why I can or can’t do something,” Heiser said. They also saw how hard it was for him to give them common planning time to work in professional learning communities, and they started taking better advantage of those precious minutes.

“It opened my eyes to how I scheduled,” Heiser said. He began to see how choices he made that “fixed the schedule” might be impacting the class schedule of real students. The technology took some of the logistical burden off him. He no longer had to manually tag kids, for example, so he could think about the process from a more human standpoint.

“Every decision I make is going to affect a kid and I want that personalization from the counselor,” said Heiser, explaining why he relies heavily on counselors when making decisions. “Counselors get to show off how much they know about their kids and advocate for their kids.”

EQUITY

When Dr. Christina Casillas, principal of Roosevelt International Middle School in San Diego, started thinking seriously about scheduling she came at the issue from a data-driven perspective. At the time she was the principal of a nearby high school, where she dug into her school’s testing data. She noticed that students who were not identified as gifted were underperforming, which led her to wonder about their experience during the school day. She began to notice more overtly the tracking that the gifted program created in her school and began to wonder if students were underperforming because of the way they were scheduled.

“I wondered if there were low expectations, especially due to having a separate classroom setting,” Casillas said.

She wanted the ability to look at live data while she was scheduling and to take an entirely student-centered approach to the scheduling process. And she wanted heterogeneous, balanced classes that included the students with special needs, who were still learning English, and who had not been identified as gifted into classes with gifted peers.

“The master schedule is the heart and soul of a school reflecting our vision and priorities,” Casillas said. “I really wanted to explore how I could design a master schedule that was really centered on the student.”

When she became the principal at Roosevelt Middle, she had a chance to experiment with scheduling designed to support the students who struggled the most. She decided to start by scheduling the neediest students into support classes first, and then layer in other students, starting with those who needed a class that is only offered at one time — a “singleton” in scheduler lingo.

She also wanted to assign staff to balanced teaching assignments and provide time for teacher collaboration so they could share strategies, develop common assessments and look at student work together.

“What I was really paying attention to was how the kids were grouped within the school day and how they traveled throughout the day,” Casillas said. The district’s Student Information System had a scheduling tool, but it was blunt and didn’t allow Casillas to think about individual students in this way. The district asked her to pilot Abl to see if it could achieve some of the equity goals she sought.

Abl allowed her to identify students who needed extra math and literacy intervention and schedule them so they had the same English, history, math and science teacher. Scheduling by cohort in this way allowed those teachers to meet, discuss and plan around the same group of students, providing them better support. The students who needed extra support weren’t necessarily all in the same class period, but they have the same teachers at some point in the day.

“Teachers are now realizing they share the same set of kids and how powerful they can make the school experience when they’re working together in teams,” Casillas said.

Roosevelt is in its first year of experimenting with this schedule, so there are still kinks and it’s not yet clear how it will impact achievement data. But Casillas is optimistic because teacher professional learning communities are now centered around specific students. Counselors have joined as well.

“They also provide a lens on the students in terms of social emotional aspects, working with the home, looking at attendance. They bring another value when talking with the teacher team,” Casillas said.

EFFICIENCY

Jason Medlin was Abl’s first end-to-end user and he claims he hit every glitch. But he still recommends the software to other schedulers. He’s now the principal at Academy of Richmond County High School, a Title I school in Augusta, Georgia. But he used to be the assistant principal in charge of scheduling. Many of his students are transient and others choose to come to the school from wealthier neighborhoods for the school’s International Baccalaureate (IB) program. Medlin said his roster changes up until the day school starts and he often has 50-70 new kids show up on the first day of school.

He wanted a tool that allowed him to see how changes would affect the rest of the school without messing up everything he had already scheduled. Medlin’s experience of scheduling before Abl was the spreadsheet, clunky SIS variety. He considered it a positive if he could get about 70 percent of students scheduled with the SIS software and then he would hand-schedule the rest.

“Because you’re doing it by hand you stay in the trees and you never see the forest,” Medlin said. It’s hard to see the big picture of the school when he’s making changes to individual student schedules by hand. And every year the first few days of school saw over 100 kids in the gym trying to fix their schedules one by one.

So, Medlin was astounded when he was able to get 92 percent of his school scheduled using Abl on the first run. “My principal said he had never hit 60 percent the first time,” Medlin said. Even better, out of almost 1,000 student requests, only 13 weren’t satisfied.

That’s a feat because like so many schedulers, Medlin has to think about meeting IEPs first, then making sure students in the IB track have their required classes. Next come the AP classes and finally the general education classes. But on top of that, some students go to an off-site skilled trades center to take certificated courses in the afternoon, so they needed to have their core classes in the morning.

“Those things are real challenges,” Medlin said. He’s proud that he was able to schedule every student in a pathway — whether IB, AP, or trade center — with the right classes to complete their course of study. On top of that he was able to schedule so that all foreign language teachers and core content teachers had common planning time and department chairs had an extra planning period.

“We just remained very nimble in our master schedule all the way up to the end,” Medlin said. He could see the downstream effects of changes without locking specific students into schedules that couldn’t change, which helped tremendously.

The efficiency he found in scheduling allowed him to tell the district he didn’t need three of the full-time employees designated to the school based on their size, which meant they had more money in the budget to use elsewhere.

As the first real Abl user, the process was not smooth. Medlin said Abl’s software didn’t communicate with the district’s SIS, so he’d make adjustments in Abl and then have to load it into the SIS to see how it looked. Worse, load times were slow. But, he says the Abl staff were always available to help him with his questions and he understands that his experience helped them work out glitches in their system. Despite the challenges, he’d recommend the software because of what it allowed him to accomplish with the schedule.

“When you’re talking about a school improvement plan, the schedule is your main lever to improve your school,” Medlin said. “If you can build the right schedule, have the kids in the right classes with the right teachers, your school is going to improve the first year.”

Time Is an Essential Teacher Resource, So How Can Schools Be More Creative With It? published first on https://greatpricecourse.tumblr.com/

[bisoroblog]

Time Is an Essential Teacher Resource, So How Can Schools Be More Creative With It?

If it were only up to Loveland High School Assistant Principal Marc Heiser, his school would have flexible modular scheduling, or “flex-mod scheduling.” That basically means that each discipline could decide the ideal class length and number of meetings each week, rather than having a standardized schedule where every class period is 45 minutes, no matter the needs of the department. So, for example, math teachers might want to meet every day for 35 minutes. But art teachers might prefer two class meetings a week, each for 90 minutes.

“What you end up seeing is a bunch of different size classes or shapes on a scheduling board,” Heiser said. “And everything’s not going to line up.” A flex-mod schedule would mean some kids would have gaps of time in their schedules when one class has ended, but the next hasn’t yet begun. Where would that student go? Maybe a resource room to get extra help or do homework, says Heiser.

“We’ve got to give permission to teachers, number one, to think that,” Heiser said. “Also, it’s a lovely thought, but systematically it’s a nightmare.”

‘The master schedule is the heart and soul of a school reflecting our vision and priorities.’Dr. Christina Casillas

Heiser knows. He’s in charge of creating Loveland’s master schedule and it’s incredibly challenging, even when the periods are all the same length. He knows his dream of a flex-mod system would be better for students, but it raises so many logistical questions that don’t have answers yet. How do you track a student through four years of flex-mod scheduling with a gradebook based on semesters, for example?

“I’ve got believers, but I don’t have a smart efficient system,” Heiser said. So, in the meantime, he does his best with a traditional bell schedule, which has very little flexibility.

RETHINKING TIME IN SCHOOLS

Time is one of the most powerful levers for change in a school. Everything about how a school runs from where staff go, to when they have breaks and collaborative time, to what classes students can take, is based on how leaders schedule the limited time within a school day, week and year. It’s important to make those instructional minutes count because teachers never feel they have enough time to get everything done.

“There’s all these other things that teachers have to do, that are outside of the core scheduled experience, that they feel overwhelmed,” said Chris Walsh, the head of growth and impact at Abl, a company that makes scheduling software. Before Abl, Walsh was a teacher and tech coordinator and has worked for New Tech Network. He understands that grading, calling parents, meeting with students after class, filling out paperwork, prepping lesson plans, new district initiatives and mandatory professional development can make teachers feel like there’s never enough time.

“I really see time and how you use time as one of the most critical levers for change in school because so many things revolve around it,” Walsh said. And he thinks schools can be more creative about how they use the time they have, without lengthening the school day, which is costly and difficult to achieve at the bargaining table. Through his work with Abl, Walsh has come to realize there are fewer restrictions on how time can be used than people think. That means there’s more flexibility and room for creative thinking about how to make the master schedule serve the strategic goals of a school.

“Ultimately we’re trying to build a movement to help schools rethink time across the board,” Walsh said. “A lot of what we’re battling is cultural norms.”

Abl is part of the Unlocking Time Project, which provides free resources for school leaders at all levels to assess how they’re using time and to start conversations with staff about what could change.

Unlocking Time offers a free school time assessment tool that asks principals to gather information in four areas: the master schedule, bell schedule, staff time and calendaring. After filling in some basic information in those four areas, the principal gets a personalized link with a 15-minute assessment for staff. It asks teachers how they currently use time, and their ideas and openness for changing how time is used. All this information is gathered into a presentation that principals can use to start the dialogue with staff.

“There’s no judgment on our part,” Walsh said. “We’re not trying to push people one way or another. What’s good for one school might not be good for another.” And, in fact, he’s found that in this area practitioners are leading the way in thinking about how time could be used more creatively. School leaders are trying different approaches, pushing ahead of the research in this area.

THE HEADACHES OF SCHEDULING

For anyone who doesn’t have to do the scheduling in a school, it may not be apparent what a challenging and frustrating job it is. Almost every student has some kind of special schedule that needs accommodation, whether that’s an Individualized Education Program (IEP), Advanced Placement (AP) classes, an IB program, resource classes or even sports. On top of that, assistant principals, who are often tasked with scheduling, are looking to balance classes so there are even numbers of special education and English language learners in different sections. They’re trying to give grade-level teachers the same period off so they can plan together, and they’re thinking about professional development time.

Most assistant principals currently use some combination of paper-based requests, massive Excel spreadsheets, a physical magnet board and their Student Information System (SIS) to schedule students. And it quickly turns into a big mess. There are hundreds of moving pieces and often a lot of conflicts. In this cobbled-together process it can be hard for the scheduler to know if a conflict is an essential problem or something that can be ignored.

Marc Heiser started using Abl’s master scheduling software when it was in its infancy because he wanted to schedule strategically. He wanted to move toward a more inclusive model for special education students. Rather than pulling them out of class, he created a schedule within a schedule for kids with IEPs. Then he assigned a resource teacher to those rooms so they could provide extra support in the classroom to kids who needed it, with the added benefit of sharing their wisdom on differentiation with the content teacher. He said that would not have been possible with his old system.

Abl, which is currently offered only to secondary schools, gives Heiser more insight into who the students are in each class. He can mock up a schedule, see conflicts and then click on each one to see which student it is and the specifics of the conflict. He can also run reports specifically looking at the balance of classes by race, by language status, by special needs. When he makes changes to the schedule he can see how it’s going to ripple out and affect other students.

“It allows me to dig into the number of conflicts and who the kids are,” Heiser said. “I have more knowledge and information when I’m building it rather than waiting for the end to have some conversations.”

It also saved Heiser time, so he was able to bring counselors and teachers into the scheduling conversation to get their perspectives on what students needed. This not only supported students, but it also gave teachers insight into how the schedule is made.

“Teachers now understand the bigger picture and they understand why I can or can’t do something,” Heiser said. They also saw how hard it was for him to give them common planning time to work in professional learning communities, and they started taking better advantage of those precious minutes.

“It opened my eyes to how I scheduled,” Heiser said. He began to see how choices he made that “fixed the schedule” might be impacting the class schedule of real students. The technology took some of the logistical burden off him. He no longer had to manually tag kids, for example, so he could think about the process from a more human standpoint.

“Every decision I make is going to affect a kid and I want that personalization from the counselor,” said Heiser, explaining why he relies heavily on counselors when making decisions. “Counselors get to show off how much they know about their kids and advocate for their kids.”

EQUITY

When Dr. Christina Casillas, principal of Roosevelt International Middle School in San Diego, started thinking seriously about scheduling she came at the issue from a data-driven perspective. At the time she was the principal of a nearby high school, where she dug into her school’s testing data. She noticed that students who were not identified as gifted were underperforming, which led her to wonder about their experience during the school day. She began to notice more overtly the tracking that the gifted program created in her school and began to wonder if students were underperforming because of the way they were scheduled.

“I wondered if there were low expectations, especially due to having a separate classroom setting,” Casillas said.

She wanted the ability to look at live data while she was scheduling and to take an entirely student-centered approach to the scheduling process. And she wanted heterogeneous, balanced classes that included the students with special needs, who were still learning English, and who had not been identified as gifted into classes with gifted peers.

“The master schedule is the heart and soul of a school reflecting our vision and priorities,” Casillas said. “I really wanted to explore how I could design a master schedule that was really centered on the student.”

When she became the principal at Roosevelt Middle, she had a chance to experiment with scheduling designed to support the students who struggled the most. She decided to start by scheduling the neediest students into support classes first, and then layer in other students, starting with those who needed a class that is only offered at one time — a “singleton” in scheduler lingo.

She also wanted to assign staff to balanced teaching assignments and provide time for teacher collaboration so they could share strategies, develop common assessments and look at student work together.

“What I was really paying attention to was how the kids were grouped within the school day and how they traveled throughout the day,” Casillas said. The district’s Student Information System had a scheduling tool, but it was blunt and didn’t allow Casillas to think about individual students in this way. The district asked her to pilot Abl to see if it could achieve some of the equity goals she sought.

Abl allowed her to identify students who needed extra math and literacy intervention and schedule them so they had the same English, history, math and science teacher. Scheduling by cohort in this way allowed those teachers to meet, discuss and plan around the same group of students, providing them better support. The students who needed extra support weren’t necessarily all in the same class period, but they have the same teachers at some point in the day.

“Teachers are now realizing they share the same set of kids and how powerful they can make the school experience when they’re working together in teams,” Casillas said.

Roosevelt is in its first year of experimenting with this schedule, so there are still kinks and it’s not yet clear how it will impact achievement data. But Casillas is optimistic because teacher professional learning communities are now centered around specific students. Counselors have joined as well.

“They also provide a lens on the students in terms of social emotional aspects, working with the home, looking at attendance. They bring another value when talking with the teacher team,” Casillas said.

EFFICIENCY

Jason Medlin was Abl’s first end-to-end user and he claims he hit every glitch. But he still recommends the software to other schedulers. He’s now the principal at Academy of Richmond County High School, a Title I school in Augusta, Georgia. But he used to be the assistant principal in charge of scheduling. Many of his students are transient and others choose to come to the school from wealthier neighborhoods for the school’s International Baccalaureate (IB) program. Medlin said his roster changes up until the day school starts and he often has 50-70 new kids show up on the first day of school.

He wanted a tool that allowed him to see how changes would affect the rest of the school without messing up everything he had already scheduled. Medlin’s experience of scheduling before Abl was the spreadsheet, clunky SIS variety. He considered it a positive if he could get about 70 percent of students scheduled with the SIS software and then he would hand-schedule the rest.

“Because you’re doing it by hand you stay in the trees and you never see the forest,” Medlin said. It’s hard to see the big picture of the school when he’s making changes to individual student schedules by hand. And every year the first few days of school saw over 100 kids in the gym trying to fix their schedules one by one.

So, Medlin was astounded when he was able to get 92 percent of his school scheduled using Abl on the first run. “My principal said he had never hit 60 percent the first time,” Medlin said. Even better, out of almost 1,000 student requests, only 13 weren’t satisfied.

That’s a feat because like so many schedulers, Medlin has to think about meeting IEPs first, then making sure students in the IB track have their required classes. Next come the AP classes and finally the general education classes. But on top of that, some students go to an off-site skilled trades center to take certificated courses in the afternoon, so they needed to have their core classes in the morning.

“Those things are real challenges,” Medlin said. He’s proud that he was able to schedule every student in a pathway — whether IB, AP, or trade center — with the right classes to complete their course of study. On top of that he was able to schedule so that all foreign language teachers and core content teachers had common planning time and department chairs had an extra planning period.

“We just remained very nimble in our master schedule all the way up to the end,” Medlin said. He could see the downstream effects of changes without locking specific students into schedules that couldn’t change, which helped tremendously.

The efficiency he found in scheduling allowed him to tell the district he didn’t need three of the full-time employees designated to the school based on their size, which meant they had more money in the budget to use elsewhere.

As the first real Abl user, the process was not smooth. Medlin said Abl’s software didn’t communicate with the district’s SIS, so he’d make adjustments in Abl and then have to load it into the SIS to see how it looked. Worse, load times were slow. But, he says the Abl staff were always available to help him with his questions and he understands that his experience helped them work out glitches in their system. Despite the challenges, he’d recommend the software because of what it allowed him to accomplish with the schedule.

“When you’re talking about a school improvement plan, the schedule is your main lever to improve your school,” Medlin said. “If you can build the right schedule, have the kids in the right classes with the right teachers, your school is going to improve the first year.”

Time Is an Essential Teacher Resource, So How Can Schools Be More Creative With It? published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/