#also the inherent hilarity of just adding ‘poke-‘ to any existing website

[shmothman]

This is nothing but I had to write it anyway. Someone please explain memes to this man. Source: I can’t keep up with the kids’ memes either. (500 words)

Clavell’s tentative call of your name makes you look up from your work, losing your place in the seemingly endless excel sheets before you. You blink the strain from your eyes and swivel around to face him—he’s sitting at his desk, hands steepled before him. You’ve seen him like this before: he’s been thinking hard about something.

“Hm?”

“You seem… good with the students,” he starts, and you already know where this is going—your lips start to quirk upwards before he can finish, “would you say that you’re… hip?”

You purse your lips—trying your best not to laugh—and roll your shoulders: you’ve been sitting at the computer for far too long. “I wouldn’t say I’m hip, no.”

He frowns. “But you understand their slang.”

“Sometimes,” you admit with a shrug. “But kids are always coming up with new things that I don’t get.”

“You seem very capable of keeping up with them,” he presses. “How do you do it?”

You give a short, self-derisive laugh. “It’s ‘cause I’m on poke-twitter too much.”

“Really?” He asks, his interest clearly piqued. “That allows you to keep up with the slang?”

You know where this is headed, and you instantly know that you need to put a stop to it. “Sorta, but I promise it’s not worth it.”

“Why not?”

You lean back in your chair with a sigh, crossing your arms behind your neck and your ankles before you. “That place is a hellscape, Clavell. People are, like…” how on earth do you describe the drama of the internet? “…Really mean to each other.”

His brows are knitted in concentration. “Ah,” he says. “Like the cyber-bullying.”

Well, he’s at least heard of that term.

“Yeah, but that’s not even all of it. The stupidest stuff happens on there, all the time.”

He gives a hum of displeasure. “I just want to be able to… connect with the students more,” he says, and you know how he feels. It’s clear in everything he does that he cares about them, that he wants to be able to meet them on as equal a footing as possible. But dear god they’d eat him alive on poke-twitter.

You smile gently. “What did you hear that’s got you thinking about this?”

He puts his head in his hands, his voice coming slightly muffled as he replies: “I walked past a group of boys, and one of them let his Foongus out of its poke-ball. The other three immediately said, ‘uh-moh-gus,’ and then ‘sus.’”

You let out a wheezing laugh that makes you double over in your chair, and Clavell hunches over further.

“What am I missing?” He laments, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you say, still not containing your laughter well, “I’m sorry.” You finally sober enough to grab your phone from your desk and head over to him, and you know he doesn’t like it when you do it, but you sit on his desk anyway. “Alright,” you say, leaning over to share your screen with him. “This is gonna take a bit.”

A/N: this one goes out to whoever is running the Clavell Twitter account. Also, I’m not on Twitter. But my partner sends me the highlights.