#and always when i talk to one of my mentors or my supervisor i am very motivated afterwards but i just doesn’t keep

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

Hhhhhhh I don't know what is wrong with me this winter. Maybe it's the political situation, maybe it's still the new job and the PhD and the fact that I feel like I should finally have an overview and know what I'm doing ... But I'm just constantly tired and Not Motivated and dreading everything I have to do and feeling kind of lonely although I have been okay for years with this living situation before ...

[lexygabe]

[father-daughter] iron tank!helena & von pushup one-shot

Helena couldn't afford shit. But to be more specific, she couldn't afford a new sink, because the old one (in front of which she stood) was broken (she broke it, while trying to install it).

It was her fourth month as an apprentice coach of Iron Tank' team, so she knew that the lack of a decent sink would not go unnoticed by Colonel Von Pushup.

,,What the heck do I do now, Larry?" she asked mop, which was leaning against the wall. When she turn her head in said direction, mop fell to the floor. ,,Shit."

For a moment, Helena considered the option of returning to South Africa, changing her name and forgetting about this whole farce called the Super League. But then she remembered she didn't have enough money to do this.

She sighed, stood up and started walking towards training base.

,,If anything happens, I will hit him directly in this beer belly" Helena talked to herself, trying to encourage herself. ,,Just like that."

Working for Iron Tanks was the best option for her among all job offers for other teams (Supa Strikas was too boring, even though her admiration for Coach, and on Hydra stadium she was this close to beat the shit out of Liquido). So it wasn't that unexpected that heads of the Super League decided to send her here... to Germany... in the Alps.

While leaving the building, she put on the fleece military jacket that Colonel once had given her when Helena had gone outside, unaware of the frost. Of course, at first he laughed at her and started telling his players some anecdote about why he always finds it funny when tourists come to this area, not expecting such cold weather. Present day was definitely warmer than mentioned one, but Helena still coudn't get used to temperatures of this region so while Iron Tank's players were wearing long sleeve shirts and Von Pushup himself wore a leather jacket with fur trim around the collar, Helena looked like as if she was going to climb mountains.

,,Fuck, my grandfather was a pilot in an English squadron 70 years ago, and I can't talk to my superior like with normal human being?" she thought, standing two steps away from her mentor.

Colonel Von Pushup with an almost smoked cigarette in his mouth and sunglasses on his nose, gave Helena the side eye.

,,The sink broke" she said with straight face.

Von Pushup started chocking on his cigarette. In a panic, Helena started hitting him on the back and then performed the Heimlich maneuver on him, as a result of which the wet cigarettebutt fell to the ground.

,,Vat?!" Von Pushup screamed, scratching his throat.

,,It was an accident!" Helena screamed back, doing pouty face.

,,How the hell did you break the sink?!" Von Pushup looked at Helena with shock on his face and a dead look in his eyes. ,,Verdammt! Was zum Teufel!"

,,I'm sorry. It was unintentionally!" Helena swore, rubbing her shoes on the ground.

,,Holy-"

Von Pushup looked up and down on Helena and just shook his head, running his hand over the bridge of his nose.

When he at first heard that they will sent him a new apprentice, he thought they will gave him some dodger, who would avoid work and probably not survive 3 days in The Fortress.

But they sent him Helena.

She immediately made a positive impression on him, because the first thing she did when she arrived on stadium was getting into a fight with Thor over the last energy drink in vending machine, but it still didn't change the fact that Helena apart from being very first apprentice Colonel truly liked, was also an underachiever.

Suddenly he felt hunger. Hell, he didn't eat anything since 5 am and this memory of the vending machine just made him even hungrier.

,,Missy Supervisor, we are gonna cook and I don't want to hear any mumbling" he said, tapping Helena hard on the shoulder. ,,This is your penance!" he reminded, when Helena opened her mouth with the intention of interjecting something of her own.

,,More like for both of us, sir" Helena announced, shrugging.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards. She is good.

His eyes turned towards the football players standing in place, closely watching his conversation with Helena.

,,And why are you don't do anything?! Faster, faster, faster!" he whistled with his fingers. ,,All of you will be fixing the sink that our Supervisor broke."

Her eyes widened and she looked at Von Pushup with terror.

***

Iron Tank's players have been trying to fix what their friend had done for half a day.

Would it be easier if Von Pushup (or at least Ginerva) just called a plumber? Probably yes, but everybody knew Von Pushup's methods, so as long as The Fortress was not flooded, there was no need to call professionals to fix anything.

,,You know that, it looks like a dead squirrel with sweat from our guys' shirts?" Helena asked Iron Tanks coach, while looking at pork knuckle that she and Von Pushup had been preparing for two hours.

Von Pushup cackled with big smile, slapping his knee.

,,I consider this as a confirmation, sir" she said with sweet smirk, while pecking out a peace of meat with a fork. ,,I'm not gonna eat this."

,,You will! You destroyed our sink, and...!"

Von Pushup couldn't finish his sentence, because after a while there was a loud crash, and water gushed out from the adjoining room.

Von Pushup's face blushed furiously, but before he could do anything, Helena handed him their knuckle.

,,You know what, sir-man? We better eat that while it's hot."

In anger, he took the first bite of his and Helena's meal.

She is a good kid.

,,All of them will eat cat food for the whole next week."

,,Of course, sir. Of course."

☆☆/

i write this bcs of my english grammar exercises

helena, wtf did you do

[flowercrowncrip]

hope this isnt a weird question but if youre ok with sharing, what is ur job / what is it like? im currently unemployed bc of several disabilities and everything i look at or try seems impossible or actively shuts me out, but its very . idk not "inspiring" bc i hate that word but its a mix of like. makes me happy for the person + creates a feeling of hope + curiosity too when i see disabled ppl with jobs, and i love hearing abt what its like and potential experiences out there

sorry this is long winded and feel free to ignore if u dont want to share! have a lovely day :] <3

Not a weird question at all!

I work part time as a youth support worker for a local queer organisation. I help facilitate youth groups and I also act as a one-to-one mentor. Occasionally I go into schools to deliver training.

At youth groups we do educational stuff, craft activities, play games, eat food,and just chat. My job is to help create and maintain a space where people are safe and supported, and also hopefully having fun.

One-to-one mentoring sessions very hugely depending on the needs of each young person. Sometimes I am helping people with practical things like changing their name at school, sometimes I am there so people can vent at me about how shit Life can be as a queer teenager, sometimes people want to talk about their hobbies, sometimes it's something completely different: every session is different. These sessions usually take place at our office, at schools, or at A community centre or café so I end up going to lots of different places.

When I go into schools we do a mix of talking and activities about being queer and we will often do a Q&A session where are young people get to ask us any questions they have.

What is like? It can be emotionally difficult – I often work with young people who are going through some really difficult things and it can be hard knowing that I can’t wave a Magic Wand and make it all go away. But overall I absolutely adore my job. The young people I work with are amazing and it's incredibly rewarding knowing that what I do makes a real positive difference to people’s lives. Plus a lot of the time I’m getting paid to do fun activities and eat food

Oba disability side, they organisation I work for has been incredible at accommodating me. They’ve gotten ramps and made structural alterations to the office building and everything. I’m not always able to do as much as my colleagues physically (like when we set up or pack away after groups), but that’s simply not an issue– everyone empowers me to do what I can and they can work around that. My supervisor is amazing and often checks in to make sure I’m not overworking myself and to make sure they’re doing everything they can for me. It’s a wonderful place to work.

[grison-in-space]

Oh yeah. And I mean, the mangling is largely hidden behind closed doors, too, which lets everyone underestimate the extent of it; bad mentors can evade consequences for treating students poorly because most of the time, the badly maimed just leave and no one ever notices. Every department I've ever been in has at least one faculty member who treats students wildly differently according to gender, usually multiple, and no one ever really does anything or comments. And everything is so absurdly specific that it is hard to anonymize anything, so if you want to talk about anything you'd better be willing to sit by the consequences of your mistake. I came out of one of literally two labs in the past 40 years to work with the species I studied for my PhD, right? So when I said elsewhere in these notes that I am very conscious of the flimsy shield between my professional identity and anywhere I talk work in public, I meant it. I've been compartmentalizing so hard for so long, I just... can't do it anymore.

(COVID hit just as I was trying to get out the door and it made everything worse: funding opportunities I was setting myself up to apply for dried up overnight; everyone I'd been carefully angling for a postdoc with and vetting as a mentor just... stopped taking anyone on, because they were sheltering their current trainees; my own supervisor handled the pandemic... badly, and everything was just kind of shambling forward. I spent one month literally doing nothing but diss, showering, and sleeping; I was even working on the diss while I ate. And then I finished by my PI's insane deadline in the midst of a global disaster and he tried to impose another, less reasonable one with two weeks' notice, and I threw an enormous meltdown and won, like, a semester of reprieve.)

And then you have the increased general unpredictability of modern life, right? I had three years of climate change induced flooding and other housing instability during my PhD, on top of teaching every single long semester (so not summers but otherwise always) since my very first semester of the program. I've got the trauma left over from alt-right protests, campus violence, and state attempts to enforce wildly unpopular politics on the campus community. I have the scars from surviving the fucking sequesters of the past ten years; even here I've had to clarify several times, if we have another federal shutdown, can I as a postdoc still work or do I have to go unpaid and consider myself furloughed? Does that time apply to NIH deadlines past which I'm no longer eligible for funds to apply for? Can anyone fucking explain to me why postdoctoral fellows can't have their goddamn paychecks run through tax withholding like everyone else? And then you expect me to up and move interstate every couple of years? What is wrong with this system? What's not?

It's exhausting! I'm exhausted! And I see the people who aren't as exhausted, and by and large they are people who... well, they haven't had to survive as much, or they had crucial support to do it. Academia is so relational that managing who you know and how they feel about you is critical to career survival, which means that you have to reckon with all the potential backlashes to requesting accommodation and making a spectacle of yourself in the process. There's a reason I'm only deliberately making a positive choice about presenting myself as disabled right now, as a postdoc rather than a grad student, and bluntly it's that if my funding runs out right now I'm looking from WFH data management positions and sketching up book proposals. I don't have the resources to keep performing without letting the effort show anymore.

On top of that, I always wonder about the survivorship bias of the people who stick around. I have watched that kind of exhaustion and frustration absolutely poison people who started as people who wanted, desperately, to be better kinds of mentors. And neurodivergent burnout sure explains a lot about why mentorship can be so incredibly bad in this field: not all of it is just sheer exploitation/sexual pressure/we-eat-our-young narratives. A lot of the bizarre dynamics between students and supervisors are consequences of mentors who have survived burnout (and either have to value their careers accordingly, by sunk-cost fallacy, or are too burnt out to approach the work with interest and enthusiasm anymore) and are still expected to conduct very intensive mentorships lasting years with much younger people, no explicit training, and almost no supervision. In, let me add, a giant pressure cooker constantly simmering with the knowledge of how you have to keep winning without pausing.

Why are we surprised?

yesterday's talk to the neurodivergency activism program also included a fun "ethics in research on neurodivergence" panel conversation at the end when one person expressed this real frustration with the academy: that it's so unfriendly to neurodivergent people who can't navigate the social structures of academia, and it is so frustrating to this person to know that they want to go back to school and get the PhD but it's so unfriendly to neurodivergent people--

bear in mind, I'm the only openly neurodivergent researcher on the panel and by far the most junior (the others are all established faculty), plus I do animal research which is probably as far from the rather clinical focus of the folks in that program as humanly possible. and I've discussed openly how relational academia is, and how much it relies on the approval of your supervisors. we've even had a nice conversation about the same thing in clinical practice.

but I'm sitting here going... you know what, the interpersonal fuckery that almost ended my career actually was a result of blundering into another neurodivergent person's unacknowledged shame spiral, actually? you know that neurotypical research PIs are a distinct minority in my experience? you know that this is an incredibly dysfunctional institution, I ain't arguing that, but it's also one that has been by and large built for, by, and around neurodivergent people's needs and desires?

it's just they don't know it, so if you talk about it openly you get panic reactions. but it's so, so, so funny to see. (as I expanded on this theme the lady I liked best, a black woman working on intersections between developmental disabilities, race, and access to health care, is just grinning SO wide and almost giggling to herself.) you label yourself and people go OH NO A LABEL but if you know how to see the shape of the thing the label is supposed to describe, you can see that they oughta have a label, too.

so on the one hand, real consequences for being too open about yourself, but on the other hand, things actually have gotten so much better in the last 5-10 years. and on the gripping hand, just being in a space with only other neurodivergent people does not necessarily fix the problem of inadequate communication, hurt feelings, bad relationships with power, and weird insecurities. it just doesn't fix it. what works is understanding how to resolve conflicts, building structures that are less reliant on single dyadic relationships, and finding alternate ways to make connections with scholars in your field.

dammit, this means I should probably poke my bluesky again. fff.

[snippychicke]

I really loved the Dali imagine you did, thank you for doing it for me! 🥰 May I be so bold as to ask for a continuation / part 2 to it? Hope all is well with you!

MisSam!!! I am so sorry it took me forever to write this! I really hope that it is well worth your wait, and I hope you enjoy!!!!

The next morning you woke again to feel much more… cohesive. 

Dali was still at your bedside, asleep in the hardback chair. Which meant you had a perfect opportunity to study the demon. 

Dali had been helpful as you adjusted to your new life. You had initially been a little creeped out by the fact he was always lingering nearby - but as one of the other teachers pointed out, you were the newest and 'very independent' for a new teacher. Your mentor - Buer - didn't seem to mind, but Dali was probably just concerned. 

Thus, you had started acknowledging him. Slowly the two of you began talking, and you felt like you were befriending him.

As well as developing a crush. 

He was nice, but it was the devilish side that had caught your interest. He may be a senior staff, but he still acted a bit childish at times as he pulled tricks on faculty and students alike. 

So no, you weren't upset by his prank. Honestly, you felt like you should have expected something like that sooner rather than later. 

But… now that he knew you were human, was everything going to change? 

--

Dali woke to something tickling his nose, preceding a slap to his face.

By his own hand.

Your laughter brightened the room as he startled awake. He blinked owlishly, confused for a moment before his mind woke up, refreshing him with the details of a long day and night at your bedside; holding a vigil as you fought the dire effects of his prank. 

But here you were, falling back into your bed as you gripped your ribs, a large grin on your face as you laughed. 

And - okay, that was a classic. He relaxed, smiling softly as he waited for your amusement to dwindle. 

You were awake. You were safe. 

You… were human. 

Devi, he felt like the biggest idiot when Lord Sullivan divulged that secret to him, after making him swear not to tell another soul. Things made so much sense now; why you tended to be skittish, your different thoughts, your imagination...

Watching you, feeling that fear that he may have accidentally killed you, made him realize - or rather admit several things. 

Mainly, his interest in you was far more complicated than he liked to pretend. It wasn't purely scholarly, or out of professional concern to make sure you were doing your job right.

He was attracted to you; your mind, your smile, your body. Everything that made you, you. Human, demon, it didn't matter to him. 

A wicked idea sprung to his mind as your laughter started to fade. He shifted before springing onto the bed, pinning you down. He grinned as your laughter suddenly died, your eyes wide with fear, face flushed darkly. 

"You dare to trick the master?" He growled with a feral grin before attacking your sides with his fingers. Tickles were torture after all, though your gasp and perles of laughter were anything but. He knew exactly how to toe the line between playful and too much, and made sure to stick right on the edge as you squirmed beneath him until tears were in your eyes as you begged for mercy. 

"You think you deserve mercy after the worry and heartache you put me through?" He purred, leaning close to whisper in your ear as his hands fell from your side to brace upon the bed. "I should gobble you up for making me worry so." 

He could almost hear your heart pounding. This close to you, he could smell the fear; a hint of that delicious scent he instinctively knew was human, as well as a trace of arousal. 

It answered part of his question, though he knew arousal didn't necessarily mean you were interested in him. He was your supervisor, and hopefully a confidante now that he knew your secret. Betraying your trust was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. 

"Well, if someone hadn't put toxic beetles in my desk," You shot back quietly, surprising him. He pulled back to study your face. You avoided his gaze, but there was a hint of steel in your expression nevertheless. 

"Well, I guess I will have to protect you from such careless idiots," He replied. "Though, I have a feeling they sincerely regret their idea now, and would offer their deepest apology." 

Your gaze drifted back to his, studying him intently before softening. "It was intended to be funny and not malicious. And it wasn't like they knew my… disability with magic." 

"Do you possess any magic?" He asked seriously, and felt his stomach twist as you shook your head. Devil, how had you lasted this long without any magic? In a school full of demons no less.

"I'll protect you," He swore, shifting to brush your hair. "You're one of my precious teachers who pledged their life to Babyls. No one will harm you under my watch." 

You hesitated before smiling once more. "I trust you." Before he could react, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for looking out for me." 

Oh. Oh. He couldn't let you get away with that. "I can protect you from the others," He crooned, a warning in his tone. "But not when you play with fire like that." 

There was a pause as you registered his words; the meaning behind them, the hazy look in his eye. Dali was giving you every chance to back off, and instead you rose to the challenge. 

"You mean like this?" You wrapped your hand around the tie loosely hanging around his neck before you pulled him down. Dali happily met your lips in a kiss, moaning at the sensation. Soft, warm, smelling and tasting like some exotic treat. He groaned as he shifted to cradle your head between his hands, as one of yours wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close. 

It would be so, so easy to get carried away. Something about you was intoxicating, making the rest of the world blur into nothingness. All that mattered was your lips, your tongue. Your nails digging into his back, your legs shift to straddle his hips. 

Those small noises from the back of your throat, letting him know you were enjoying this just as much.

But, he had a reputation to uphold - and he had just vowed to protect you. Including from his own desires. He forced himself to pull away, though lingered close enough where your breath merged with his. "As much as I would love to continue, it's probably best if we… take it slow." 

"Can teachers even have relationships?" You asked softly, a hint of dread in your voice at the answer.

"As long as we both understand the student's safety comes first." And many demons found it hard to accept that their mate would always put their vow to Babyls before everything else. 

But you were human, and apparently full of surprises. "I would certainly hope so," You replied with indignation. "I would never ask for you to put my life before theirs." 

"Well then, it seems like I have an even better excuse to sit in on your lectures." 

[engagemachine]

"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

[melismaticmadness]

INTERVIEW

Request: “Something in the lines of reader playing reggies gf on the shows s2 and she becomes bffs with charlie but people keep shipping them. Something in like interview style or so....”

Description: FLUFF

1811 Words

Warnings: one curse word!

Charlie x Reader, Featuring Jeremy

Hope you like it!!

Press was always an exciting time as an actor, but even more so with this cast because of what happened before press events for season one. Their virtual press was great, but you can tell how excited they all were to experience it together this time around. Julie and the Phantoms was the best job I had gotten since moving out to LA. Honestly, it could be my big break. I was playing opposite Jeremy as his love interest, but our off-screen relationship was strictly platonic. Obviously, he and Carolynn are married and she is the sweetest. Jeremy is more of a mentor to me.

I sat in between Charlie and Jeremy for our first interview of the day when a production assistant came in and prepped us for the topics for this interview. Each interview has a slightly different focus, so it’s helpful that we know before we get started. The soft-spoken man raddled off some talking points: Charlie’s sleeves, Jeremy’s new character arc, my relationships/experience joining the cast, and then all of us would have time to add in stories of our choice if there was time. Easy. This cast makes it really easy to connect and bond. They are a family and I am so lucky to be a member of it now.

What I didn’t expect was to get so close to Charlie during rehearsals and filming in Vancouver. The two of us were instantly inseparable. He came to watch my film on set, I came to watch him. We rehearsed our lines together almost every night after long days, and Owen even considered me his other roommate because of all the nights I was asleep on their couch. Hanging out with Charlie felt like we had known each other our entire lives, but it had only been about a year.

Interviewer: “So, y/n, you seem really well connected to this cast, even though you’re sort of the new kid in the group. Would you mind telling me how you felt about joining this project?”

Y/N: “Oh I definitely felt welcomed right into the group. I remember my first night in Vancouver, Charlie came to check out my apartment, Owen came too, and I remember Charlie and I trying to prank Owen when he fell asleep on the couch but it was an epic fail. We had water and shaving cream all over the floor and ourselves, oh my god it was a mess, but that’s kinda the proof of how fast I became part of the group. Night one and they were already including me in their fun. The same goes with the girls, Jadah, Madi, Sav, Tori- we immediately were meeting for breakfast before filming together and having movie nights. It was the best welcome I could have imagined, knowing how close they all were from last season.”

Interviewer: “Jeremy, what was it like having this new energy come in, especially to shake things up for your character Reggie, who really was much of the comedic relief last season, but now has this mutually flirty relationship with y/n’s character?”

Jeremy: “Well, it was great having y/n come in and it allowed us all to explore Reggie outside of his quirky one-liners. It’s not that hard acting opposite, y/n, the talent they bring in was insane and we got along really well so it made it a lot of fun exploring Reggie as somewhat of a ‘ladies man’.”

Interviewer: “Yes it was fun getting to see more of who Reggie is, or was? Spoiler alert if you haven’t seen season one, Reggie is dead. All the boys are dead. Anyway, speaking of seeing more of something- Charlie, I noticed the sleeves on all your shirts this season were barely there. Is this a Charlie characteristic that just carried over to show off or was this specifically written for Luke?”

Charlie: “Oh gosh, haha. I think it’s a little bit of both. I definitely bring a lot of myself to Luke, but even in season one, Soyon, our amazing costume and wardrobe supervisor, was cutting the sleeves off Luke’s shirts. I think it played into his 1995 bad boy persona, and now it’s just him.”

Y/N: “and you just like showing off...hahaha!”

Charlie: “If you got it, flaunt it!” With that, all three of us and the interviewer were cracking up laughing and Charlie was flexing which kept us going a minute longer.

Interviewer: “AH,” they sighed, “Y/N, the internet is freaking out about you, truly, because of some photos of you with Mr. Gillespie over here. Let me read some things for you - ‘my heart is broken because I can’t have Charlie, but at least y/n can. I ship it,’ under an Instagram photo of you two the caption reads ‘ship it so hard it’s like the Titanic,’ which is my favorite. It’s too funny. So my question is, what is going on here? Is there a secret showmance that you’re hiding behind Reggie?”

Charlie and I are now laughing hysterically again. I don’t think the interviewer realizes how nervous our laughing sounds compared to before, but hopefully, it’s not noticeable to fans or the rest of the cast. I wasn’t expecting to get questions about Charlie and my relationship when I was supposed to be talking about my character, the whole experience, and all my scenes with Jeremy.

Y/N: “Oh no, no, no. We are friends! Nothing is going on,” I looked over at Charlie who had his eyes locked on me most admiringly. He was going to let me handle this however I wanted. “Charlie and I just happened to click right away during rehearsals and now I feel like he’s the older brother I never had!”

Charlie looked a little hurt at that ‘brother’ comment, but he jumped in to echo what I had said.

Charlie: “Ya know, the fans are so great. They love to keep up with our lives and find little hidden clues in the show about the backstory, and I think that’s just what happened with our friendship. We’re best friends, we have so many inside jokes, we hang out a LOT. But, Nah, nothing is going on here. It’s cute though that they ship us! Look out, Jere! I’m stealing your girl!.”

Interviewer: “You heard it here first everyone, Mr. Gillespie isn’t off the market! Thank you all for your time today. Everyone make sure to check out season two of Julie and the Phantoms, now on Netflix!”

*****************************

After a long first day of press, I was finally walking back into my hotel room in New York when my phone went off.

I tossed my stuff on the couch and plopped down to see what I had missed all day. Charlie had just texted me asking to meet him on the roof.

“The roof?!” I grunted, “How did he even get on the roof?” Back out the door, I followed signs to the roof. Swinging the door open once I got up there, my breath was taken away. New York City right at dusk, with the cool breeze hitting me, was so beautiful.

“Gillespie, are we allowed to be up here?”

“Kenny said we’re less likely to be followed or have our picture taken together if we were up here and came up separately. So, if we get in trouble, it’s on Kenny...”

“The view is amazing. Not surprised Kenny knew about it.” I said as I went to look out over the glass barrier at the edge of the building. We looked out in silence for a minute or so when I heard Charlie exhale.

“Y/n, what was that today?” he said running his hands through his hair.

“What was what today?”

“That whole ‘Charlie is my brother’ thing,” he made his voice go up in pitch to mimic my voice when he said it and I could tell it was bugging him, but I didn’t know why.

“I was caught off guard...I mean we’re friends.. but I figured no one would believe that if I didn’t squash the rumors right there. Sorry if it was like, emasculating, or made it seem like you don’t have any game, lol.” I playfully hip bumped him to get him to laugh a little and it worked but there was still something on his mind.

“Char, is your manager upset with what I said? I can fix it tomorrow, I’ll figure something out-” I said tilting my head in front of his so he was looking at me instead of the view.

“No, y/n, no, it’s okay..” he hesitated, “but is that really what’s going on?”

It felt like the wind was knocked out of me at that moment and all I could do was slide my back down the glass and sit on the roof. My head was in my hands and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing next.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry if I caught you off guard,” Charlie said squatting down to my level. “I just thought..maybe you felt something, anything, telling you this was more than a friend to friend relationship..” Now he was rubbing my back. Damn, this boy is my best friend.

“Charlie, I- I don’t want to lose my job. I love working with you and with everyone,” I took a deep breath, “but I can’t say I never thought about it. I have definitely thought about it.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking in that head of yours?”

“I’m thinking that I care about you and that I have for a while but didn’t want to admit it to myself until now,” looking up at Charlie I could tell he was fighting to hold back a smile.

“Kenny, won’t fire you. I talked to him in LA before we went up to Vancouver because I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me because of how I felt.”

“You told him in LA?! He’s probably been watching us and laughing at us for MONTHS. Oh my god.”

“No, it’s cool. He just warned me to make sure I wanted to be more than friends because he didn’t want to lose you.”

“Wow. Okay.” The weight I didn’t even know I was holding, had been lifted off my shoulders. “The fans really do know us better than we know ourselves.”

We both laughed and Charlie finally settled down right next to me.

“Look, I’m not saying we rush into anything. I knew I had to say something before the opportunity was gone. Now that the show’s out, you’re going to have guys banging down your door for a date.”

“I guess it’s a good thing the only guy I am looking for is you then, hmm?”

“Thank god for that interview…” Charlie said under his breath.

[cancerbiophd]

Hi Julia, I hope you're doing well! I was wondering if you had any general advice on being a successful science phd student? Sometimes (all the time) I wonder if I'm doing enough/ working hard enough/ being organized enough etc.

Hi anon!

I know that feeling. Grad school really can seem like you're hacking away through a thick jungle while being unsure the entire time if you're even going in the right direction!

I have a masterpost of grad school advice here and here if you want to check them out (some links may repeat themselves).

In general here are some of my personal guidelines that I followed during my PhD to gauge organization, productivity, etc:

On staying organized:

I use the general mind-set of being a reliable resource. I always think to myself: "If I were to go on a no-communication-allowed vacation for a week, would whoever is going through my lab notebook and files be able to find what they're looking for?", or "If our lab gets audited tomorrow, could I hand over my work with confidence that everything and anything I've done is well-documented and well-organized?"

Tips on staying organized include creating folders and sub-folders (whether electronic or hard copy), writing the date on everything, and clearly communicating the reasoning behind any decision (aka having something to always hang your hat on). You may find yourself revamping your organization system a few times throughout grad school, and that's ok! Take your time to find a system that works best for you and your lab.

On knowing you're working hard enough:

Set small bite-sized goals. Start with "what will I get done this hour?", then "what will I get done today?" and work yourself up to "What are my goals for the week/month/year?". And be able to factor in flexibility too, because the unexpected will always happen (especially in something as "lawless" as research!). I also got in the habit of ending each day by reflecting: "What do I know now that I didn't know when I woke up this morning?" If you keep a journal, that could be a good topic to write about. It'll also be really affirming to look back on how much you’ve learned in few weeks/months/years, and realize that yes, you are making amazing progress!

And work closely with your supervisor on these goals. If you aren't already, set up regular weekly or bi-weekly one-on-one meetings with them to go over progress, obstacles, and planning for the next week. You can also check in with them outside of meeting times with quick "Am I on the right track?" conversations.

Lend a hand. One of the most concrete ways to realize you really have made progress and that you do know what you’re doing is to help others learn about what you worked hard on. This includes mentoring undergraduates in the lab, TAing classes, tutoring, and helping other grad students (including prospective students) and lab members. One of my most memorable “take that, stupid imposter syndrome!” moments was when a younger grad student brainstormed her project with me, and I walked her through all these neat experiments she could run. It was really fun, and really rewarding!

Present your research. At least once a year, present your research in a formal setting (outside of lab), like a poster. Not only are these great physical representations of your progress, but communicating your awesome results is all part of the scientific process. And don’t forget to add it to your CV!

On “success” in general:

This one’s more philosophical, as everyone’s definition of success is different. But as a grad student, we not only have to take into how we ourselves view success, but also how our PI and lab measure it. And that picture will only paint itself through proactive communication, careful organization and planning, teamwork, and old fashioned grit. 

This also means that you shouldn’t compare yourself to other students. Constantly comparing oneself to others in a “choose your own adventure” scenario that is grad school is not only unproductive, but will only lead to negativity. In addition, whenever I would talk to other grad students and we would get to ranting about our current obstacles, we would always realize we have more in common than not. Grad school is hard for everyone. 

One last bit of advice: Take it one day at a time. Doing a PhD is like reading a lengthy mystery novel. You just gotta do it one page at a time, and after all the twists and turns, it’ll all come together at the end, and you’ll turn the last page and go, wow, what a journey. 

I hope this helps. Let me know if you have any other questions! Best of luck with everything. 

[ssa-babygirl]

Out of My League [Part 3]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: ~4.5k 

Summary: Nothing brings two friends together like a bit of grief with a side of daddy issues. (Mixed POV, includes flashbacks)

Warning(s): As the summary states, angst, grief and daddy issues, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of cancer, a few swear words, i think that’s it??? i use the word “smile” like 138407894 times i’m so sorry i hate noticing my crutch words

Author’s Note: I am SO sorry how long this took I honestly have no excuse, this chapter isn’t even that great but this is only two thirds of what I actually intended this part to be so GUESS WHAT I SPLIT IT UP!!!! the next part shouldn’t take too long (I say that but watch it’s gonna take like another year) and it’s gonna be super fluffy so DON’T Y’ALL WORRY IT’S GONNA BE FLUFF CENTRAL FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF CHAPTERS

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

WASHINGTON D.C., 2007

(Reader POV)

You had only been to D.C. a few times before to visit your dad, normally under happier circumstances, such as him getting sworn in for another term, but this time was not the case. You got the phone call from your mother the evening before when you quickly packed yours and Jamie’s bags for the flight that left later that night. The few hours you had spent in D.C. already felt like long days. You were physically and emotionally exhausted. Jamie had never been on a plane before and was grappling with the effects of jet lag.

You needed a bit of a pick-me-up yourself, so you ran over to a coffee shop for a bit of a change of scenery. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when you heard your name being called, but not by the barista making your drinks, but by a familiar voice that you had only heard over the phone for a couple of months since his last visit home. You turned around to face the source and locked eyes with Spencer.

“Hey!” You smiled, trying your best to not look like you had just had the longest 24 hours of your life.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say you were gonna be in town?”

“I didn’t know I was gonna be in town until last night!” Spencer could see right through you. He pursed his lips, not asking what was wrong yet, but still opting to check-in and make sure you’re okay.

“How are you feeling? Jet lagged?”

“Some profiler.” Your chuckle came out more annoyed than you would have liked it to. 

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, just getting some coffee--”

“No, like, are you okay?” He knew something was wrong, he wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite, by a long shot.

“I’m fine, Spence,” you lied through your teeth.

“Then who isn’t?” Panic and worry flashed across his face, “Is Jamie okay?

“Yes! He’s fine!” You couldn’t help but smile at the relief Spencer displayed that your son was safe and well, his hand coming up to rest over his heart. You hesitated for a second before giving in and telling him why you seemed so off, “My dad’s sick in the hospital.”

“Oh! Do they know what’s wrong with him?”

“Yep. Stage 4 lung cancer.” Your dad had been a smoker for most of your life. He tried to quit after Jamie was born, but the damage had already been done.

Spencer looked genuinely heartbroken as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of what to say next “Do you know how much time he has?”

“Couple of weeks if we’re lucky.”

His eyebrow furrowed and his golden eyes softened to an impossible degree, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This wasn’t sudden, we’ve been expecting it, but when the doctor says eight to twelve months, and you get through month eight, you start hoping it’s gonna be twelve.”

“Are you going back to the hospital now?”

“Yeah-”

“I’ll come with you!”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t have to be there for another hour and,” he checks his watch, which was pulled over the sleeve of his dark gray cardigan, “fifty-six minutes.”

“The hospital’s out of the way and you hate being late.”

“I hate the thought of you going through this alone even more.” You tried to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling that gave you but ultimately failed. Those big brown eyes refused to stop studying your face, analyzing any signs that you needed him, which to be fair, you did.

“I’m not alone, I got Jamie and my mom.”

“Even more the reason for me to want to go with you.” He finally dropped the solemn frown and took up a bright smile instead. You swore his grin was contagious because, by the time you both got your coffees, you were smiling just as wide.

You drove back to the hospital in comfortable silence. Walking back to your father’s room felt easier with him by your side. Jamie looked up from his drawing as he saw you approach, beaming at you and his favorite federal agent.

“Doctor Spencer!” He came running up to him and hugging his legs.

“Hey, little man!” Spencer ruffled his hair and grinned down at the tiny human squeezing his arms around his thigh.

Your mother looked up from her book, “Doctor? Spencer? Wait. As in…”

“Yeah, mom.”

She stands and wraps him in a hug, “Oh my goodness, sweetheart, you got so big! You’re all grown up! Oh, and you’re cute, too!” She pinched his now pink cheek as his face twisted into a bashful smile, “Right, Y/N? Spencer got cute!”

Now you were blushing a little.

Why am I blushing? I don’t blush over Spencer!

You pursed your lips and looked him up and down. His striped tie was crooked under his cardigan. His long hair was a bit shaggy, as if he rolled out of bed, showered, and decided to go to work. You just laughed nervously as you met Spencer’s eyes. God, those eyes. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

“You definitely grew into your looks. Honey, this is Spencer. Remember the boy that used to tutor Y/N?”

“Oh, nice to finally meet you, son, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your father shifted in his bed, managing to sit up slightly.

“You too, sir, I just wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

“Don’t give me any of that ‘sir’ crap, I got enough of that working on the Hill,” your father chuckled but his hearty laugh quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Your mother sat back down on the bed next to him and fed him some ice chips to keep him hydrated.

“So, Spencer, Y/N says you work for the FBI now?” She turns her attention away from her husband and forces a smile.

“Yes! I do.”

You took a seat and sipped your coffee, “He was on the team that helped save Jamie, remember?”

“What division are you in?” Your dad asked.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“I got some buddies in the bureau, who’s your supervisor?”

“Aaron Hotchner?”

“Oh, I knew him in his prosecutor days. Helluva lawyer, he got some of my clients put away.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, they were guilty, weren’t they?”

Spencer’s phone rang in his pocket, “Speaking of which, I have to go. Got a case.”

“Go! Don’t be late!”

“Go catch the bad guy, Doctor Spencer!”

“Will do, Jamie.” He ruffled his hair before turning to your parents, “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, it was great seeing you.”

“Bye, sweetheart, don’t be a stranger!”

“I’ll walk you out, return the favor.” You walked quietly with him.

“Listen, I don’t know when I’ll be home from this, but I’ll let you know when I get back, and if you’re still here just give me a call, okay?”

“Of course, Spence. Now go catch the bad guy!” You grinned as you parroted your son’s words. He returned your smile and pulled you into a hug. You could feel tears brimming in your eyes, but you fought it off best you could. Spencer could still sense your pain and hugged you as tight as possible. You were the one to pull away first, patting his back and forcing your pursed lips into a smile. His phone started to ring shortly after.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

            (Spencer’s POV)

The case went on for too long. Two whole weeks passed before we were able to come home from Minneapolis. A man was strangling women with short black hair between the ages 30-40 because they reminded him of his mother, it’s standard stuff, it should have been a pretty cut and dry case, but the guy was almost impossible to find, he was completely off the grid. It took Garcia days to just get us a name, let alone contact information. He killed two other women while we were there. One of them was a mother, she had three kids all under the age of 10. Cases like these were always tough, but Gideon had seen enough to talk us all through it. I still wasn’t used to him being gone.

I couldn’t get any sleep on the jet. The nightmares have been coming back with a vengeance since Gideon left. He was like a father to me, my protector, my mentor, and now I have no one.

That’s hyperbolic; I do have the team, and they miss him too, but I’m pretty much alone out on the field. I know I can go to them, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like to rely on others because when they leave, I’m by myself.

Which is exactly why I am the only one awake on the jet home.

I suppose I wasn’t totally alone, I could call Y/N, but I wouldn’t wanna bother her if she was with her family. She only has so much time left with her dad. I took my phone out of my pocket anyway and saw a missed call from her last night, I hadn’t seen it before because of the case. If she wanted to talk she probably needed to, right?

I mulled it over in my head, and before I could even come to a decision, my fingers worked on autopilot, dialing the same number I had memorized years ago, and hit call.

Las Vegas, 1994

I picked up the book from the top of the pile she set down on the counter, “You’re reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Yeah, for class.”

“If you need any help with that, my mother was a classics professor, I’ve read most of Shakespeare’s works.”

“Really? That’s cool. I’ve read the basics in other classes, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, all that, but this one is definitely my favorite so far.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I don’t know why, but the idea of falling in love with the wrong person just sorta… I dunno… resonates, I guess.”

“Yeah, same here.”

She snorted, “You’re like 12, how would you know about that?”

I bit my lip before explaining, “Reminds me of my parents. They loved each other at one point, obviously, but not enough to stop my dad from leaving us.”

She cringed to herself as if she realized some horrible mistake, “Jeez, I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Two years ago.”

“So it’s just been you and your mom?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at the pencil as she twisted it in between her fingers. Her eyes refused to meet mine. “My dad has worked in D.C. pretty much my whole life, and a lot of the time it was just my mom and me. He was always home for Christmas and birthdays, he came to all my recitals as a kid, but he was gone the rest of the year. I see him maybe… fifteen days out of the year?”

She finally looked up, if only for a second. Seeing her eyes, at last, I took note of the sadness behind them, “Which is fine, it’s better than nothing, but I don’t really have a dad the other 350 days of the year, you know? I could call him, but I don’t, it’s always ‘Sorry sweetheart, I’m a bit busy right now.��”

“Yeah, my dad was always too busy too.”

“I know our situations are still really different, and you probably already know this after two years, but it does get easier.”

Present Day

(Reader POV)

You click the button to answer the call, “Spencer?”

“Hey! We’re landing soon, you still in D.C.?” His voice is scratchy like he had just woken up, or like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a couple of hours.

“Y-yeah! I’m still staying with my mom.”

“How’s your dad?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to, your silence answered his question well enough.

“Oh, shit…” Spencer groaned, “God, Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago?”

“Last week, the funeral was yesterday.” You could hear him grimace over the phone.

“Y/N I am… so sorry I couldn’t be there for you—”

“Don’t be! You had to work, it’s okay, Spencer.”

“I should have called sooner.”

You almost laughed at his tone, “Spencer, you were catching a serial killer, it’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m okay.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. I’m fine.”

“How’s Jamie, god, how’s your mother?”

“She’s holding up. I’m helping her out for a while, I don’t want her to be in this house alone.” You decided to leave out the part about you putting a downpayment on an apartment a couple of blocks away from your mother’s house for now.

“How’s Jamie doing?” He asked with perfect timing as Jamie flopped onto the couch behind you.

“Wanna talk to him? He’s right here.”

“Can I? Please?”

“Jamie, baby, wanna talk to Doctor Spencer?” He didn’t even say yes before he leaped up from his seat and grabbed the phone from your hand.

“Hi, Doc!”

“Hey, little man! How’s it going? How are you?” You could still hear his excited voice even though it was nowhere near your ear anymore. It brought a smile to your face as you saw Jamie light up at the sound of your friend on the other side of the call.

“I’m okay. Did you catch the bad guy?”

“Yes, Jamie, we got him. How’s your mom?”

“She’s saying she’s fine, but she’s still really sad.”

“Well, can you put her back on with me?” Jamie hands the phone back to you and runs off to return to his coloring book and crayons.

You sighed before putting the phone back to your ear, “Don’t worry about me, Spence—”

“Come to the BAU.”

He said the words so fast you almost needed him to repeat it, “What?”

“I mean it, I’ll call you when we land, come visit. Bring Jamie and your mom.”

“Won’t you have a ton of work to do when you land?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I did all my paperwork on the jet.”

“Spencer—”

“Please. I need to see you guys.” He was practically begging. It tugged at your heart in a familiar way, but there was a pit in your stomach that you couldn’t place.

“What happened on the case?”

He sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just come in like, an hour.”

You tried to lighten the mood just a little bit, “My mom’s been obsessively baking, want us to bring you your favorite?”

“Did she make her famous oatmeal cookies?” You could almost see his face and the way his brown eyes lit up, even while he was on a plane hours away.

The image brought a soft smile to your face and sparked a tiny bit of light in your heart, “Yep!”

“Y/N L/N, if you bring me some, I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You owe me nothing, Doctor Reid.”

               Security waved you through to the elevator, Spencer had cleared you for entry already. One guard hit the button for the sixth floor and sent you up, one hand holding Jamie’s and the other holding a Tupperware of your mom’s cookies. When the doors opened, you saw the entrance to the bullpen, desks filled with paperwork, and busy agents trying to get it all done. As the three of you crept through the hall to the glass doors, your eyes locked onto Spencer, who was sprawled out in his office chair with a thick book, legs propped up on his desk, and glasses balanced on the ridge of his nose.

“Hi! Who are you here to see?” A chipper blonde with purple cat eyeglasses and curly ponytails waved at you from down the hall.

“Spencer Reid?”

“Oh! He mentioned he’d have visitors, you must be Y/N! I’m Penelope.”

“That’s a pretty name!” Jamie beamed up to the woman, who clutched a hand over her heart and returned his smile.

“Oh! Thank you, sweetheart! What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Jamie!”

“Oh you are just precious, he is precious, Y/N, good kid.”

You laughed at the pair’s enthusiasm, “Thank you, can we just go straight in?”

“Yep! Go ahead!”

You walked up to his desk and placed the cookies next to his computer, pulling his attention away from his book. He turned to look up at you, closing the book and throwing it where his feet rested before he jumped up to wrap his arms around you. Jamie hugged his leg and your mother pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, how are you guys doing?”

“Spencer, we’re fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just examined your face for any sign of a lie. The frustration on his face said he didn’t find one.

“Stop profiling me, I’m okay.”

“Mommy, can I have a cookie now?” Jamie eyed the container like a hawk; he shared Spencer’s love of oatmeal cookies, especially from your mom.

“Right! You brought your cookies, thank you so much, Mrs. L/N.”

“You’re not a kid anymore, honey, you can call me by my first name.”

“No, I absolutely cannot,” he laughed.

“Y/N?”

You turned around and saw the woman who hugged you while you cried when you thought your son was gone: JJ.

“Hi! Good to see you again!” You brought her in for a hug while Spencer continued to catch up with Jamie and your mom.

“You too! Jamie got so big!” 

“Yeah, he’s starting 3rd grade soon!” You reached around to ruffle Jamie’s hair.

“When does he start?”

“A few weeks! We gotta go back to school shopping!”

“Ooh, that’s exciting! So you’re heading home soon?”

“Um…” You glanced at Spencer and your mom, who was pestering him about whether or not he had a girlfriend, “Actually, I just thought it would be best for us to stay close to my mom. Jamie likes it here, so we’re actually going to be moving here before school starts.”

“A new school! Are you excited, Jamie?”

“Yeah!”

Spencer, still a blushing mess thanks to your mother’s nosiness, sputtered out “Uh… Excited for what?”

“To move to D.C.!” You raised your hands in a little “Surprise!” motion.

“W-what?” He couldn’t stop himself from looking delighted even if he tried.

“We’re moving here to stay close to my mom.”

“She’s been such a good help,” she gestured to the cookies, half gone over the course of the conversation, “I’m not really ready to give her up just yet.”

“Spence, you should show her around!” JJ’s face had an unreadable look, but I guess that’s what profilers are for “Take her sightseeing. Jamie, have you been to the Washington Monument yet?”

“Nope! Doctor Spencer, can you take us?”

“Sure, little man, you want your mom and grandma to come with?”

“Yes!”

Spencer grinned at him, ruffling his curls before smiling at you. His eyes were scrunched into thin lines from his cheeks, but there was still something behind them. Something you couldn’t quite read. His smile softened slightly and you finally got a clear view of his hazel eyes. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but Jamie cut him off again.

“Ooh! Ooh! Can we go to the Smithsonian?”

“Oh, honey, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that,” JJ joked.

“The kid knows everything, you’ll be there for hours,” a deep voice said behind you.

“Morgan!” You smiled and stretched your arms out to hug him.

“Good to see you again, Y/N.”

When you turned back to Spencer, his warm grin was gone, replaced by a glare directed at Morgan. Had something happened with them? Last you heard they were best friends. Maybe that’s what happened on the case? Maybe that’s why he was so upset on the phone? Whatever it was had to be bad because he barely spoke for the rest of the visit.

               A few weeks later, after you were all moved into your new apartment and Jamie was settled into his new school, you called Spencer. He owed you a trip to the Washington Monument. On your little day trip, there was no such thing as silence. Even in the quiet museum, Spencer’s voice filled the air, spewing facts about the monument, the memorial, the exhibits, and everything in between. Jamie loved to learn, so he hung onto every word that he heard.

“Plans for the monument’s development actually started in 1783, before Washington was even elected president. D.C. wasn’t even the capital of the country yet. Washington was actually against the monument because he didn’t want to use public funds for it, but after his death, Congress wanted to build him a mausoleum--”

You didn’t mind the rants. You still loved to listen to him ramble. Even if you didn’t understand what he was talking about sometimes, the sound of his voice was just soothing, especially after the stress of moving across the country. 

Jamie got tired after walking around all day after the tour of the National Museum of Natural History and the Washington Monument, so your mom offered to take him home. You planted a kiss to his forehead and ruffled his hair, hugging your mom goodbye as Spencer high fived him and waved as they went off in the direction of home.

“You know, you didn’t have to stay with me. If you wanna go home too, you can.”

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

A small smile crept across his lips, blush rising to his cheeks. He bit his lips and looked down at his feet as he started walking off to the next stop on his little tour.

“Where to now, Doc?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Come on, tell me, tell me!”

“No, ‘cuz then it’s not a surprise!”

“I’m aware of the definition of surprise, you don’t need to have an eidetic memory to know that.” You would just have to rely on your less refined profiling skills to figure out where you were going. You were on foot, so it couldn’t be too far. 

“Why aren’t we taking a cab?”

“Because I wanna walk with you.”

Just hail a cab, it takes way less time than--

Oh.

You walked side by side for the remainder of the distance. He did most of the talking, telling you stories about the team. You took notice of the softness in his voice when he talked about Morgan. He wasn’t bitter anymore. 

“--And then Garcia answered the phone.”

“Oh, god, what’d she say?”

“‘Talk dirty to me.’”

“No!”

“Yep!”

“She said that to your boss.”

“Morgan was mortified, you should have seen his face.”

You looked at him while he grinned at the memory. It was the most at peace you’d seen him in… well, a while.

“So… you guys are cool now?”

The peace was replaced with confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your pace faltered, but you kept walking, “Didn’t you guys…? Weren’t you fighting?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your brows, “No reason.”

Why else would he have been mad at Morgan when I went to visit? You thought, There’s no other reason! Unless… 

Oh--

“We’re here!” Spencer stopped in his tracks, looking up at a large white structure with tall windows and stone carvings decorating the walls. You turned and saw the sign out front that read: “Folger Shakespeare Library.”

“Spencer…” You gaped at the sign, a small, awe-filled smile tugging at your lips.

“I remembered how much you loved Shakespeare in school, I thought you’d get a kick out of this.”

“Spencer, this is… This is wonderful!”

“Good surprise?”

“Great surprise!”

You grabbed him by the arm and tugged him up the front steps as he digs through his pockets for his wallet. Once inside, he bought two tickets for the next show: Midsummer Night’s Dream. Your favorite. It didn’t start for another half hour, so he led you to the reading room.

The room was beautiful, to put it lightly. Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The furniture and accents were all done in a dark wood, shelves packed tightly with books. The setting sun shone through the breathtaking stained glass windows. An unlit fireplace rested against the wall. Spencer led you up to the second level, a balcony wrapping around the border of the room. 

“Thank you for today,” you beamed, “I haven’t seen Jamie that happy since…”

“I know the feeling. I haven’t felt this okay since…” His gaze dropped to his feet, trying to swallow the words that came out too soon.

“Since what?”

“Since uh...” He glanced back up to your face, “Since Gideon left the team.”

Spencer never told you he left. Agent Gideon kept tabs on Jamie after his rescue. For the last three years, he got a card in the mail on Christmas and his birthday. He always checked in and asked how he was doing. When you went to visit Spencer at the BAU a few weeks ago, you wanted to say hi to Agent Gideon and thank him for his consideration, but you hadn’t seen him. You thought he was just taking a personal day, he worked too hard anyways from what Spencer told you. 

“Spence, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words were like a spark that shocked your heart awake from a lovely sleep, and now it was upset to be so rudely awoken, “Of course I care! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t wanna know the reason you’ve been so… off.”

“What do you mean ‘off?’”

“You don’t have to be a profiler to see you haven’t been yourself in… when did Gideon leave?”

He played with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater and looked back down at his feet, the toe of his converse nudging at the emerald green carpet, “Couple of months ago.”

“You could have told me.”

“You’ve had your own stuff going on. It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t have to convince yourself that you aren’t having a hard time just because I am. You don’t always have to be the hero.”

“Neither do you, you know.”

“I really am fine.”

“Y/N, he was your dad, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“I am, okay?” You snapped, “I miss him like hell! He was always just one phone call away and now…” One hand carded through your hair as you inhaled deeply, placing your other hand on the banister beside you to steady yourself.

“I’m not going to pretend that our situations are the same because they aren’t, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me when we were kids.” He placed his hand close to yours on the banister, your fingers almost touching. Almost. “It gets easier, not seeing him every day. But just ‘cuz he wasn’t around doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad.”

You force a smile, “Thanks, Spence.”

“Of course.” He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. The hug wasn’t particularly emotional. Neither one of you felt like you were about to cry, it just felt nice to be in each other's embrace.

“Show’s starting soon.” He muttered into your ear before pulling away, walking off towards the theater with you following close behind.

Taglist~~~

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[alwaysmychoices]

Hi! Me again! I don’t know if you’ve done this or not or something that might interest you. But HC with Ethan and MC meeting like Derek and Meredith, sleeping together before knowing they work together?

I really enjoyed this one! A. I got to do “research” by rewatching Grey’s. B. I loved the way this turned out. If this becomes it’s own fic, don’t be surprised. 

Ethan & f!MC - Meeting Before Knowing They Worked Together 

When MC walked into Donahue’s on the eve of her first day at Edenbrook, she was determined to have one last night where she wasn’t an incoming resident or a future diagnostician or anything other than a girl at a bar.

Maybe she should have known that a bar that close to a hospital would attract its employees.

But really, when she saw Ethan, she wasn’t thinking.

He was just a handsome man sitting alone at a bar, and she was just a girl.

Neither of them meant to go home together that night. If anything, they felt like they were trapped in some magnetic pull.

They had to talk. Ethan had to buy her a drink, and MC had to move closer. A few hours later, when Ethan called himself a cab, it was a foregone conclusion that MC would be in the backseat next to him.

That night was amazing.

The morning, however…

MC woke up hungover to Ethan’s morning alarm. The 45-second gap between MC waking and Ethan turning off the alarm was as close to hell as MC ever wanted to be.

“Why is it so loud?” she grumbled, covering her eyes with her arm.

“It’s an alarm.”

“Right.”

…

“What time is it?”

“6.”

“What?”

MC scrambled for her phone and emitted a panicked groan that made Ethan do a double-take. Jolted awake with anxiety, MC got out of bed and fumbled for her clothes, which lined Ethan’s floor haphazardly.  

He watched with bemused confusion.

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying not to smirk as she mumbled a thousand curses under her breath as she tried to button her jeans.

“I’m going to be late.”

“For?”

“My first day.”

“At?”

“My job.”

Ethan was both amused and frustrated with her insistence on remaining vague. She didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to him, or in him at all this morning. That should have been a blessing. He never liked the awkward, post-sex small talk or the polite feigned interest in each other’s life.

Maybe he was so interested in MC because she wasn’t interested in him.

Either way, he asked her name. She didn’t seem to be offended that he forgot, and a moment later, she admitted that she didn’t know his either.

Ethan asked if she wanted coffee. Nearly tripping as she buckled her wedges, MC said she didn’t have time. He asked for a raincheck.

MC paused, debating how to answer. She didn’t walk into that bar to find someone, nor did she move to Boston with the intention of dating anyone. She didn’t have time for coffee dates, no matter how handsome this stranger was.

But instead of letting him down gently, she walked to his bedside table where he kept a pen and paper for late-night epiphanies. She scribbled her name and number on the top sheet.

And then she had to go.

Ethan called out a goodbye, and though she didn’t return it, she smiled softly in the elevator.

The next hour or so was chaos. MC’s ride back to her apartment was slowed by morning traffic, so running out of time, MC ran upstairs, changed, grabbed what she needed, and ran back downstairs in a panic. 10 minutes into her commute, she realized her phone was dead, and she blindly navigated her new city.

Considering everything, it was a miracle she was only 5 minutes late.

But she was still late.

MC moved through orientation feeling like she was always a step behind because she was late. She made a few friends, all of whom assured her that she hadn’t missed much, but one maintained a sly, condescending smile as if he’d somehow won today’s game by being earlier than her.

She was so focused on making up for lost time that she didn’t notice her familiar coworker until it was too late.

They were in the halls when their paths first crossed.

Ethan saw her first. At first, it was just a quick glance, but when he realized who she was, he stopped dead in his tracks.

MC, coffee in one hand and a chart in the other, kept walking and only offered a cursory glance of intrigue when she saw someone stop in the halls.

She nearly dropped her coffee in shock.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

And then they stared at each other’s IDs.

MC felt nauseous when she read his name. Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Her hero. Her boss.

She had sex with her boss.

And Ethan had sex with an intern!

Ethan opened his mouth to say something – though God knows, he didn’t know what he was going to say – but didn’t get the opportunity. Panicked, MC just walked away.

The rest of the day, she felt like she was in a daze.

What had she been thinking? She should have never gone out last night at all.

Two hours later, they ran into each other again – this time, in a lonely elevator with no immediate exit. They were trapped.

MC spoke first.

“So, you’re… you’re Dr. Ramsey then.”

“I am.”

“Right…” MC evaded eye contact, “I read your book.”

Ethan cringed, “Oh.”

After a beat, he asked, “So, what are you? Surgery? Pediatrics?”

“Diagnostics.”

“Oh.”

Realizing that Ethan was MC’s direct supervisor, they agreed to pretend nothing ever happened. As soon as they exited this elevator, they would never speak of it again. They shared an awkward handshake just before the doors opened.

They fully intended to stay apart, but they kept running into each other.

MC quickly established herself as a promising if flawed doctor. Ethan was intrigued by her potential. After days of deliberation, he decided it would be unfair to refrain from mentoring her just because they made one mistake.

He told himself it was pure professional interest, but if that were true, he wouldn’t have kept her number all this time.

Ethan was hard on MC. His criticisms became so frequent they felt like abuse. He expected a lot from her – more than he expected from any other intern, save for Aurora. She responded to the criticism with improved performance, and Ethan saw no reason to let up now.

She couldn’t reach her potential if she was afraid to grow.

He kept his compliments and growing respect mostly to himself. He worried that, given their past, sharing them would appear inappropriate.

So, as Ethan grew attached to MC, she brewed in dislike.

The differential treatment was obvious. While Ethan flattered himself that he was pushing her to greatness, she just felt pushed and underappreciated. Her success was only met with more challenges. She was exhausted, and she blamed Ethan.

And Ethan had the misfortune of sitting next to her at Donahue’s the night she reached her limit.

He asked if she wanted a drink. She answered with the kind of glare that could slit throats.

Ethan’s reasoning was clouded with MC. Though he recognized her annoyance and knew to leave, he didn’t. He ordered his drink and remained next to her as she fumed.

After 10 minutes of silence, MC finished her third beer and asked, “Why are you such a dick?”

Ethan choked on his drink.

“If you’re just punishing me because of that night, that’s not appropriate. I’m a doctor, not just the girl from a bar you slept with.”

“I am not punishing you, and if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be for that reason.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in her system. Maybe it was months of resentment. Or maybe it was because, no matter what he did, he was still the handsome stranger at a bar. The magnetic draw they found in Donahue’s never waned. She still wanted him to pick up her number and schedule that coffee date.

Whatever it was, MC let him have it.

They ended up in an alley, yelling at each other like the rest of the world couldn’t hear them. Under the cover of false anonymity, they released so much frustration that their voices reached screams.

And then…

Well, they later blamed the passion of the moment.

But, once they had released all of their frustrations, one lingered. They resented staying apart.

So, that night, they didn’t.

In the middle of a screaming match where MC aimed a long stream of expletives at him,  Ethan kissed her. And then MC kissed him. And then they were in a cab, and they were back in his apartment. And… and it started all over.

And the worst part was that they each had a sobering moment where they realized what they were doing, and they did it anyway.

In the morning, they had the same conversation they had in the elevator. This was an unprofessional, irresponsible mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.

But it did.

And at some point, they realized they were no longer thrown together in the rush of adrenaline and frustration. They were together on the good days and in the smiling moments.

A thousand small decisions tied them to one another.

MC wasn’t just a girl in a bar.

She never had been.

tag list: if you want to join the tag list/be taken off (or excluded from certain posts), let me know! 

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[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The BNHA Group Chat Fic Nobody Asked For

Pairings: Todoroki Touya (Dabi)/Mr Compress (Sako Atsuhiro), Shimura Tenko (Shigaraki Tomura)/Chisaki Kai (Overhaul)/Kurono Hari (Chrono), Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)/Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead)/Shirakumo Oboro (Loud Cloud), Fukukado Emi (Ms. Joke)/Kayama Nemuri (Midnight), Bakugo Katsuki/Kaminari  Denki/Kirishima Eijiro, Iida Tenya/Monoma Neito/ Aoyama Yuuga

Word Count: 1,637 Words

Summary: LOV, internships, and Tenko unintentionally reveals a secret some of his classmates keep hidden from even Aizawa.

Warnings: Abduction Mention, Kidnapping Mention, Caps, Death Mention, Injury Mention, Amputation Mention, Prosthetic Mention, Cursing, Blood Mention, Teen/Underage Pregnancy Mention, Pregnancy Mention, Broken Bones Mention, Drugs Mention, Adoption Mention, Half Blind Character, Deaf Characters, Mostly Mute Character (due to a different medical issue), Selectively Mute Character, let me know if I should add anything else.

Notes: In this AU, Hisashi Shimura married Nao Shimura and Inko Midoriya had Hana with Nao then Izuku and Tenko with Inko and Nao respectively before Tenko's power went out of control and killed his parents.

Notes: Honoka (or 和花) means harmony flower. She's named after Hana Shimura. Nanami (or 七海) means seven seas. She's named after Nana Shimura. Akiyama(秋山) means autumn mountain, Sekai (世界) means world, Ayaka (彩花) means colorful flower, Akari (明り) means light/brightness.

Usernames: We Are Number One™ Aizawa: Dadzawa, Aoyama: immafiringmahlaser, Ashido: princessbubblegumknockoff, Asui: Galvan, Iida: Emergency Exit, Uraraka: 9.8, Ojiro: tailfloof, Kaminari: Pichu, Kirishima: baby shark, Koda: youredoingamazingsweetie, Sato: GuyFieriIsGod, Shoji: Cthulhu, Jirou: Jack Skellington, Sero: Spider-Man, Tokoyami: EdgarAllanCrows, Todoroki: WHERE?, Hagakure: cena, Bakugo: WHAT?, Midoriya: SmolMight, Mineta: Mineta, Shinsou: exhausted, Yaoyorozu: TheGreatCreator, Kurono: stopwatch, Chisaki: donthugmeimscared, Yukimura: choticgaydisaster, Bubaigawara: shadowclonejutsu, Shimura: idontfeelsogood, Awase: illrememberyouallintherapy, Kaibara: IDOWHATIWANT, Kamakiri: scyther, Kuroiro: itsmeyaboy, Kendo: Akimichi, Kodai: deadinside, Komori: shroomgurl, Shiozaki: wElCoMeToBiBlEsTuDiEs, Shishida: furry, Shoda: cryptid, Tsunotori: mylittlepony, Tsubaraba: airbender, Tetsutetsu: Iron Man, Tokage: t-rex costume, Fukidashi: glorifiedtextbubble, Honenuki: Eren Jaeger/spookyscaryskeletons, Bondo: Slimer, Monoma: HopeSummers, Yanagi: iLiEdImDyInGiNsIdE, Rin: snek, Toga: mystique, Sako: lostmymarbles, Hikiishi: queenofmagnetism, Iguchi: eye gucci, Shinokanri: stardust

Usernames: Emos Anonymous Kaminari: blackcloakedbrides, Shoji: fryingpan, Jirou: greentwentyfourhours, Tokoyami: myscientificinfatuation, Todoroki: twentyoneplotpoints, Bakugo: immobileinwhite, Midoriya: falldownboy, Shinsou: stabtheveil, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Chisaki: plummetingininverse, Yukimura: anxietyintheclub, Shimura: nappingwithsirens, Kuroiro: thousandfootcane, Kodai: marianaspit, Monoma: entiretimelow, Yanagi: recentyearsday, Sako: halfminutetomars, Aizawa: hollywoodlivingdead, Shouji: fryingpan, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Aoyama: phantomtown, Honenuki: visualizedragon, Sako: halfminutetomars, Awase: distressparade, Shinokanri: simplestrategy

Usernames: UA Teachers Are Tired™ Eraserhead/Aizawa: grumpy scarf cat, Present Mic/Yamada: screeching cockatiel, Midnight/Nemuri: chaotic goth gay Ingenium/Iida: gotta go fast, AllMight/Toshinori: actual sunshine, Vlad King/Kan: bloody hell, Power Loader/Majima: speechtotext, Ectoplasm: needalegup?, Snipe: kazoo cowboy, Cementoss: concrete block, Blackmist/Kurogiri: goth portals

Me? A Bitch? More Likely Than You’d Think-Chapter 8

10:03 am

We Are Number One™

Dadzawa: So, I heard someone's operating the LOV again?

idontfeelsogood: No, it's inactive. There shouldn't be anyone in it, all of us are here, in UA becoming heroes, none of us would become villains again EVER. At the very most, drop out and live life out as a normal couple, but never become villains again. We all talked about this.

mystique: yeah, if we did, we would have told you heroes already about that one of us and have them put with Koku and the two creeps

Dadzawa: Well, someone's running it and it seems they had a meeting with the yakuza and I'm afraid I need all of you to be under constant supervision by a pro hero for a short while.

stopwatch: If it proves our innocence we shall do it.

2:01 pm

We Are Number One™

lostmymarbles: @chaoticgaydisaster Agency is fun. I really like working under Sir Nighteye.

chaoticgaydisaster: That's because you're both really serious and you get along very well.

lostmymarbles: Perhaps.

lostmymarbles: Oh, we're already going on a patrol! I'll call you when I come back from patrol, honey!

chaoticgaydisaster: I love you, you absolute dork.

3:59 PM

We Are Number One™

Dadzawa: I've just received word that Atsuhiro Sako has been kidnapped during his patrol.

chaoticgaydisaster: GET MY HUSBAND BACK THEN!

Dadzawa: Calm down, you need to be rational. He should be fine. They're looking for him as we speak.

chaoticgaydisaster: Please don't let him die? I love him, I need him.

Dadzawa: I can't promise you anything sadly, I'm not a part of the rescue team right now but they'll involve me if it becomes more serious.

chaoticgaydisaster: Can I have a Good Dad™ hug?

Dadzawa: Of course, come to the teacher's dorms, Hitoshi is already here stealing said hugs.

5:25 PM

We Are Number One™

Dadzawa: I have confirmation that they've found Sako. He's mostly fine.

WHERE?: What do you mean 'mostly'!? That's my brother-in-law!

Dadzawa: It looks as though his left arm has been ripped off but they're currently working on both healing him and attaching a prosthetic that would allow him to still channel his quirk through the arm.

mystique: Has anyone seen Tami?

eye gucci: She was with the Fatgum Agency I think.

baby shark: I haven't seen her for a while. She showed up with me and then she just kinda disappeared near...oh

stardust: what is 'oh'? What happened to our favorite girl?

baby shark: She disappeared at around 2 or 3 just like when Sako disappeared.

Dadzawa: I'll send the search team out for her too.

6:19 PM

We Are Number One™

Dadzawa: Magne is back! She's in the ICU recovering now, she needed some pretty strong healing so she'll be out of commission for quite a while. We haven't closed the investigation but you LOV kids need to know the message stapled on your friends.

Dadzawa: [pic of two papers reading 'here take this back, we don't need him yakuza' and 'I will always run the League.']

Dadzawa: Do these mean anything to any one of you?

idontfeelsogood: I'm so done. I've been hiding from a little twerp, I can't even believe I was scared of him. He's going too far, like always, and I thought he'd changed like we did but he didn't. I'm going to sort this shit out. Send a search team by tomorrow morning at 6:30 if nobody sees me by then, I have some business to take care of.

Dadzawa: wait, AllMight will have my head if you get hurt!

idontfeelsogood is now offline

Dadzawa: fuck.

6:34 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

grumpy scarf cat: so it looks like Tenko is going off-grid for what I'm going to call a 'private investigation' into the revived LOV. He's apparently taken his hero supervisor with him because Ragdoll is gone with him and he's going to, and I quote, "sort this shit out". and requested a search team if he doesn't show back up in 24 hours.

yeet yeet bitch: yeesh, you really can't catch a break, huh, Shou.

grumpy scarf cat: I'm starting to wish I expelled them at this point.

gotta go fast: bullshit, they're our disciples and you know it.

yeet yeet bitch: you're right but why say it?

9:35 PM

We Are Number One™

donthugmeimscared: No sign of Tenko yet, Hari, I'm getting worried.

stopwatch: Me too, but we need to trust he can do this.

shadowclonejutsu: he should be fine, guys. he'll be okay.

6:17 AM

We Are Number One™

donthugmeimscared: Almost 12 hours

Dadzawa: I know, Kai.

donthugmeimscared: Do you think he'll be okay, Mr. Aizawa?

Dadzawa: honestly, I don't know but I'm here to offer you hugs if you need them.

donthugmeimscared: Thank you but I can't do hugs right now, too constricting.

6:30 AM

We Are Number One™

Dadzawa: the search party is officially being sent out to get him.

4:17 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

screeching cockatiel: we found him and we have the traitor under arrest. Tenko looked worse for wear so he's at the hospital already

actual sunshine: Who's the traitor?

screeching cockatiel: Minoru Mineta.

actual sunshine: I'm glad he was arrested.

gotta go fast: Yagi, are you and Tenko okay? you've always sympathetic when it was someone underage being arrested.

actual sunshine: it becomes null when my mentor's son gets hurt. blood to me or not, I can't feel sympathy for someone who's hurt him. he didn't have a childhood to begin with and I won't let anyone take what little is left of it from him.

screeching cockatiel: is he okay, Yagi?

actual sunshine: Since he's in my temporary custody until Ms. Midoriya can finalize her adoption paperwork, they contacted me first with his injury report and I would like that purple little shit to burn for what he's done.

yeet yeet bitch: Do you wanna elaborate?

actual sunshine: His leg is broken. The leg he had an injury in before. They have to fix it again.

yeet yeet bitch: Shit.

actual sunshine: Along with that, he's been deemed unable for further stress in the form of training and extraneous activities because the hospital confirmed he's eight months pregnant and needs to deliver early due to the drugs Mineta forced into his bloodstream.

yeet yeet bitch: Fuck, this isn't good.

actual sunshine: I'm pushing Ms. Midoriya's paperwork up through the courts as an emergency adoption due to the situation of him being her technically being his step-mother and her son being his only remaining relative, even if only by half of his blood and him needing a stable family after the birth of a child.

yeet yeet bitch: Hopefully they'll get it done quickly.

actual sunshine: Until then, I need to go offline and be there for him as his only parental figure and the only other person allowed in the delivery room.

screeching cockatiel: What do we tell the children? Tenko's boyfriends?

actual sunshine: Hari was already called to the hospital but they cannot confirm it's his child so I'll be the only familiar face to young Tenko in the room for the delivery.

actual sunshine: I must go.

actual sunshine is now offline

8:17 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

actual sunshine: Tenko is fine, out of surgery for the C-Section and in recovery now. the two little girls are fine too, both are a little smaller but that's expected since they're both premature and Tenko never gained much weight during the pregnancy.

grumpy scarf cat: I still can't believe he's been pregnant his whole stay at UA. hell, he was probably pregnant during the USJ incident at the beginning of the year.

actual sunshine: You're probably right and I don't like that idea, Aizawa.

grumpy scarf cat: me either but that's the reality of the situation.

10:24 PM

We Are Number One™

idontfeelsogood: Out of surgery in recovery. Got drugged and they needed to induce me there to give birth, which I didn't even know I was pregnant. Two healthy little girls named Shimura Honoka and Shimura Nanami.

chaoticgaydisaster: Welcome to the teen mom club, Tenko.

WHERE?: We have meetups on Mondays and Fridays and have playdates with the kids.

idontfeelsogood: I thought you two were the only ones with kids though?

wElCoMeToBiBlEsTuDiEs: No, I have a one year old son, he is the light of my life.

WHAT?: Well, I mean...

princessbubblegumknockoff: I best be going! Wouldn't want to burn down the house with the water I left running.

spookyscaryskeletons: Oh, would you look at that, it's time to go to sleep and never speak of this again.

Dadzawa: wait, we have seven of you now? I thought we just went up to three!

Dadzawa: And Honenuki, I never expected you to be a teen parent.

spookyscaryskeletons: Whaaaaaat? Nooooo. I never said that. I said I was going to bed! I'm just going to bed!

Dadzawa: Suspicious.

spookyscaryskeletons: I certainly don't have a one year old son named Akiyama. Nope, not at all.

wElCoMeToBiBlEsTuDiEs: My son's name is Sekai.

princessbubblegumknockoff: Honestly, I thought you'd read that in my file. I was basically just out of the two day hospital stay when I took the entrance exams to get into UA.

baby shark: Can confirm, my moms watched her daughter that day.

princessbubblegumknockoff: Her name is Ayaka.

WHAT?: You literally met Akari when you visited my house.

Dadzawa: that wasn't your parents' child!? That was a ten month old child!

WHAT?: No, I fucking made that!

Dadzawa: I shouldn't be shocked I got six of the seven teen parents in this school. well, if you need me, please don't hesitate to ask me for help.

WHAT?: Well, I want to bring Akari to the dorms because she'll be safer here. She's been staying with Auntie Inko for a month or so now.

Dadzawa: of course.

Taglist: @logan-sanders-enthusiast @luckyicekitsune @whippedbel @lgbtforeverything @pinecone-chomper @mikmacmoo @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @purplespiderstormcloud @stankyratman @king-of-the-oranges @headcannons-and-random-things @fear-ze-queer @turtleluv799 @ymmm-someone

[edmund-valks]

From Suramar to the Winter Court

"We… don't normally get your kind here. Then again, the living are hardly expected to be where the souls of the dead dwell. What you've shown me makes me think you would normally be… elsewhere. Perhaps among the Venthyr."

"Why is that?"

"They're the sort who help people work through their pasts."

"I don't need my past. I need a future. So I've come here, to find one. To make one."

"I don't understand…"

"Then let me explain more clearly…"

***

I was born to a family of musicians in Suramar, long after the Sundering. We lived in the grandest city on Azeroth, but could never leave it. The dome we lived beneath was our salvation as much as our cage. It was a tradeoff accepted by our ancestors; we had no choice but to live with it.

My parents were not rich. They had enough money to ensure all their children were tattooed, but only with the simplest patterns. Still, we did not struggle in my early days. Music brought joy, and everyone wanted more joy. We played and sang and did not starve.

As I got older, my voice changed. Never quite the singer my family needed, I became far worse as I progressed through adolescence. It wasn't technique; I know how to breathe, how to shape my mouth, how to project. My tone, however, and range… Well. They were of little use. I became accompaniment at best. I took up needlework to minimize the burden I'd become. Cunningly patched garments are no match for a soulful aria, though.

If I hadn't grown entirely out of youthful beauty, they could have at least hoped to gain by my marriage. Instead, my voice and face and body achieved unity in ugliness, none betraying the others by achieving. This would not have been an issue in the year of my birth, but life had become ever more lean in the city.

The poorest are always aware that they are, and we had become increasingly close to being among them. Our art paid the same as ever, but the cost to survive had grown. People had begun to disappear, though it was always those who you might expect: the lonely, the bitter, the rebellious. Perhaps, we told ourselves, they had finally committed a grand crime and gotten exiled. That was the punishment, you see -- banishment from the city. It meant you were cut off from the Nightwell. You would wither away without its magic to sustain you. The lucky went to sleep and never woke up. The others went mad.

As we were becoming progressively nearer to the bottom rung of the social ladder, the demons returned. We -- my people, not my family, even my great-grandparents were too young to recall this -- had fought them before. The shield that was our sky had been created then. This time… things were not so easy for us. The High Magistrix traded our sovereignty for our survival, and so the Legion came to live among us.

There was an outcry, of course, even some small acts of rebellion. None were successful. The leaders were either jailed or exiled, not executed. I think the idea was that death created martyrs, while exile simply made animals. Life changed little, is what I am getting at. The major difference was the Legion walking our streets, presumably making demands of our leaders. We were more concerned with surviving, so I can't say we worried too much about all that.

It was difficult, though. Those who could afford to purchase the joy of song were fewer and fewer, yet they were increasingly wealthy. If there had ever been such a thing as a middle class, it had effectively disappeared. The rich sacrificed nothing; the rest of us scraped by.

Except those who didn't. There were more disappearances. Sometimes there were raids. Usually the families taken away were related to someone known to be a criminal of some sort. It was easy not to notice or care. We were much more concerned with our own lives. The bottom was coming quickly, we knew.

My family tried with me. I know they did. Nobody could have guessed I would betray them by ending up a collection of flaws held together with collective disappointment. They would not miss me, I was certain, so I decided I would do some good for them. I left one night while they slept, heading down to the docks.

The demons were most common there. Intimidating though they were, I often felt their presence to be… not soothing, exactly, but more tolerable than others. At least when I stood beside a flayed-skin husk that fed on souls I could feel almost pretty. They ignored me, mostly, so I sought out those of my people who worked among them.

There was work to be had, you see. The Legion needed portals opened and maintained, portals that required someone act as the conduit to maintain them. It was not very skilled labour, but that was good. I lacked skill, possessing nothing but my relative youth and determination to no longer burden my parents with my disappointing existence. I became what the later rebellion called a collaborator. In exchange for helping the Legion to destroy our planet, I could improve my family's lives. It seemed a fair trade.

I was surprisingly good at the work. I learned quickly, and I tired far less easily than others. The demons and my supervisors taught me runes and cosmology that were typically reserved for those who could afford tutors. I was rewarded quite decently for my efforts, and I passed that along to my family. They lived better than ever because of me, but believed me dead. I'd requested that, you see. I wanted them to profit without knowing I was a collaborator. Let them think I had died in service to something useful or whatever, and that in so doing I had made sure they would survive. They didn't need to be any more disappointed than I'd already made them.

The problem was I finally understood where people were going. We brought the Legion in, maintained paths from the Twisting Nether and other Legion worlds, but that was the most innocuous of what was happening. The disappeared, those too far gone to be of use to Elisande's regime… they were taken elsewhere. They would be loaded onto boats or carts or cages mounted on the backs of horrible beasts I never learned the names of. And then they would be gone. I didn't know exactly where, though I learned the name: the soul engines.

What happened there was beyond my understanding. I knew as much as I needed: the poor went in, power came out. My work… well. I don't know if they were related. The Legion handled it, so I suppose I helped in that sense, but doing what I did was the only thing that kept me and my family from finding out more about the "process" first-hand. Perhaps I was involved in the murder of thousands? All I know is I saved at least seven lives.

…

I'm sorry, I'm not used to talking about all of this. It seems important to be honest here, so I'm trying. In all honesty, I don't take any responsibility for what was done. How could I? It wasn't my decisions that caused any of those things to happen. I did what I had to to survive. And I made them pay in the end.

Once the… second, I suppose, rebellion started in earnest, the system became increasingly strained. My hours lengthened. Several others became so burned out they were "sent home early", almost certainly a euphemism for being fed to the engines. Some were murdered for collaborating with the Legion, or Elisande, or whoever the rebels were mad at that day. I couldn't help them, any of them. My life -- and others' -- depended on keeping my head down. So I did.

I considered, though, and I thought. I was becoming very senior, at least by maintenance standards. The portal builders were under pressure as well, their numbers thinning or being pulled for other priority tasks. That left space for opportunities. I didn't want to be them, but I was capable of learning. That made me an apprentice of sorts, something I never would have been a decade earlier. My family lacked the resources to get me a mentor; the Legion invasion had given me one for free, while providing for their needs.

My education on runes happened at an aggressive pace. Every day was multiple practical exams, and if I failed it was likely to kill me. I didn't. I wasn't allowed many questions, so I made them count. I learned a great deal in those days. For instance, I discovered that a small instability introduced by a slightly malformed rune could cause a devastating energy backlash. Can you imagine what might happen if a system under strain began breaking down while under heavy use? People could die, especially if the portal structures are being kept constantly active with no downtime for repair.

…

I said I was trying to be honest, didn't I? I knew what I was doing would kill them. That was the idea. I only did it because I thought I could get away with it. While nobody would think a lowborn technician was smart enough to do it, they would still prefer to punish the "unskilled" over someone who went to the same academy or whatever. That made me safe, even if I was an obvious suspect. They needed me, and I wasn't like the others. I benefited from their system and never dissented. Would I have done it if I thought they might be less blind? I don't know. I'm not willing to die over principle. It won't prove a point to anyone, won't change the world. Nobody would remember my sacrifice, so no, I don't think I would. The world hasn't earned that from me, and I don't deserve to die. We all do what we must to survive.

***

"...So no, I'm not pursuing "redemption". I don't have sins weighing me down. What I am is… curious. This is the world my people once knew, back long ago, isn't it? Where the only magic is that of the world around? We kept the night for millennia, but missed out on what that meant beyond our walls."

The fae hovered for a moment on her great wings, what could have been a shiver rippling through her fur. "I-I'm still not sure you're going to like it here. You don't seem the sort to laugh."

"There hasn't been much to laugh about in my life," the shal'dorei snapped. She took a breath, continuing on more softly. "Besides, I don't plan to stay forever. We are helping each other. Perhaps you can help me laugh."

Blinking several times, the creature was clearly hesitant, but desperate times did come with special rules. "We… can certainly try! Um. Come along, let's get you introduced to everyone, Miss…?"

"Ciscandra," she answered, deliberately omitting a surname. "Thank you."

[bensk]

Be curious. Be humble. Be useful.

I was invited to give the annual Taub Lecture for graduating Public Policy students at the University of Chicago, my alma mater and the department from which I graduated. This is what I came up with.

---

I am incredibly grateful and honored to be here tonight. The Public Policy program literally changed my life.

My name is Ben Samuels-Kalow, my pronouns are he/him/his. I’m a 2012 Public Policy graduate, and I will permit myself one “back in my day” comment: When I was a student here, the “Taub Lecture” were actual lectures given by Professor Taub in our Implementation class. I’ve spent the last nine years teaching in the South Bronx. For the past two years, I have served as Head of School at Creo College Prep, a public charter school that opened in 2019.

I was asked tonight to tell you a bit about my journey, and the work that I do. My objection to doing this is that there is basically nothing less interesting than listening to a white man tell you how he got somewhere, so I'll keep it brief. I grew up in New York City and went to a public high school that turned out Justice Elena Kagan, Chris Hayes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, among many others…none of whom were available tonight.

We, on this Zoom, all have one thing in common — we have been very, very close to graduating from the University of Chicago. I have never sat quite where you sit. I didn’t graduate into a pandemic. But the truth is that everyone graduates into a crisis. The periods of relative ease, the so-called “ends of history”, even the end of this pandemic, are really matters of forced perspective. This crisis isn’t over. Periods of relative peace and stability paper over chasms of structural inequality.

You went to college with the people who will write the books and go on the talk shows and coin the phrases to describe our times. You could write that book. You could go into consulting and spend six weeks at a time helping a company figure out how to maximize profits from their Trademark Chasm Expanding Products.

You could also run into the chasm.

What is the chasm?

It is the distance between potential and opportunity. It is a University on the South Side of Chicago with a student body that is 10% Black and 15% Latinx, with a faculty that is 65% white.

It is eight Black students being admitted to a top high school in New York City...in a class of 749.

What is the chasm?

The chasm is that in our neighborhood in The Bronx, where I’m standing right now, 1 in 4 students can read a book on their grade level, and only 1 in 10 will ever sit in a college class.

It is maternal mortality and COVID survival rates. The chasm is generational wealth and payday loans.

It is systemic racism and misogyny.

It is the case for activism and reparations.

In my job, the chasm is the distance between the creativity, brilliance, and wit that my students possess, and the opportunities the schools in our neighborhood provide.

In the zip code in which I grew up in New York City, the median income is $122,169. In the zip code where I have spent every day working since I graduated from UChicago, the median income is $30,349. The school where I went to 7th grade and this school where next year we will have our first 7th grade are only a 15 minute drive apart.

In my first quarter at UChicago, I joined the Neighborhood Schools Program, and immediately fell in love with working in schools. I joined NSP because a friend told me how interesting she found the work. I’d done some tutoring in high school, and had taught karate since I was 15. I applied, was accepted, and worked at Hyde Park Academy on 62nd and Stony Island in a variety of capacities from 2008 to 2012.

At the time, Hyde Park Academy had one of very few International Baccalaureate programs on the South Side, and every spring, parents would line up out the door of the school to try to get their rising 9th grader in. I worked with an incredible mentor teacher and successive classes of high school seniors whose wit, creativity, and skill would've been at home in the seminars and dorm discussions we all have participated in three blocks north of their high school.

In my work at Hyde Park Academy, I learned the first lesson of three lessons that have shaped my career as a teacher. Be curious. I had been told in Orientation that there were “borders” to the UChicago experience, lines we should not cross. I am forever grateful to the people who told me to ignore that BS. Our entire department is a testimony to ignoring that BS. We ask questions like, why did parents line up for hours to get into what was considered a “failing” high school? Why had no one asked my kids to write poetry before? Why are they more creative and better at writing than most of the kids I went to high school with, but there is only one IB class and families have to literally compete to get in? I learned as much from my job three blocks south of the University as I did in my classes at the University...which is to say, I was learning a LOT, but I had a lot more to learn.

I knew I wanted to be a teacher from my first quarter here. I did my research. The Boston Teacher Residency was the top program in the country, so I applied there. I was a 21 year old white man interested in education, so...I applied to Teach for America. In the early 2010’s, I looked like the default avatar on a Teach for America profile. It was my backup option. I was all in on Boston, and was sure, with four years working in urban schools, a stint at the Urban Education Institute, and, at the time, seven years of karate teaching under my belt, I was a shoe in.

I was rejected from both programs. Which brings me to my second lesson. Be humble. We are destined for and entitled to nothing. There is an aphorism I learned from one of my favorite podcasts, Another Round: "carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." If you are a mediocre white man, like me, do as much as you can not to be. If you look like me, you live life on the "lowest difficulty setting." This means I need to question my gifts, contextualize my successes, and actively work against systems of oppression that perpetuate inequity.

Over the last two years, I have interviewed over 300 people to work at this school. There are a series of questions that I ask folks with backgrounds like myself:

Have you ever lived in a neighborhood that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked on a team that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked for a boss/supervisor/leader who was a person of color?

The vast majority of white folks, myself at 21 included, could not answer “yes” to these three questions. This is disappointing, but I've also lived and worked in two of the most segregated cities on this continent, so it is not surprising. By the time I sat where you’re sitting now, I had learned a lot about education policy and sociology. I'd taken every class that Chad offered at the time. I'd worked at UEI, I'd worked in a South Side high school for four years, and I still thought I was entitled to something. Unlearning doesn't usually happen in a moment, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but these rejections were the best thing that has happened to me in my growth as a human.

I moved back home to New York, was accepted to my last-choice teaching program, and started teaching at MS 223: The Laboratory School of Finance & Technology. I ended up teaching there for 5 years. I had incredible mentors, met some of my best friends, started a Computer Science program that’s used as a model at hundreds of schools across New York City…and most importantly, while making copies for Summer School in July of 2015, I met my wife.

All this to say — if you aren’t 100% convinced that what you’re doing next year is Your Thing, keep an open mind…and make frequent stops in the copy room.

I learned that teaching was My Thing. I didn't want to do ed policy research. I got to set education policy, conduct case studies, key informant interviews, run statistical analysis…with 12 year olds. This was the thing I couldn’t stop talking about, reading about, learning about. I really and truly did not care about the “UChicago voices” of my parents and my friends who kept asking what I was going to do next. My answer: teach.

If you look like me, and you teach Computer Science, there are opportunities that come flying your way. I was offered jobs with more prestige, jobs with more pay, jobs far away from the South Bronx. I was offered jobs I would have loved. But I’d learned a third lesson: be useful. If you have a degree from this place, people will always ask you what the next promotion or job is. They will ask "what's next for you" and they will mean it with respect and admiration.

Here’s the thing: teaching was what’s next. “But don’t you want to work in policy?” Teaching is a political act. It is hands-on activism, it is community organizing, it is high-tech optimistic problem-solving and low-tech relationship building. It is the reason we have the privilege of choosing a career, and it is a career worth choosing.

I had internalized what I like to call the Dumbledore Principle: “I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.” This meant unlearning the very UChicago idea that if you were smart and if you think and talk like we are trained to think and talk at this place, you should be in charge. The best things in my life have come from unlearning that. Learning from mentors to never speak the way I was praised for in a seminar. Learning from veteran teachers how to be a warm demander who was my authentic best self...and more importantly brought out the authentic best self in my students. Being useful isn't the same thing as being in charge…and that is ok.

I believe this deeply. Which is why, when I was offered the opportunity to design and open a school, my first thought was absolutely the hell no. I said to my wife: “I’m a teacher. Dumbledore Principle — we’re supposed to teach, make our classrooms safe and wonderful for our kids.”

I also knew that teaching kids to code wasn’t worth a damn if they couldn’t read and write with conviction, so I started looking for schools that did both — treated kids like brilliant creatives who should learn to create the future AND met them where they were with rigorous coursework that closed opportunity gaps. In our neighborhood, there were schools that did the latter, that got incredible results for kids. Then there was my school, where kids learned eight programming languages before they graduated, but at which only 40% of our kids could read.

We were lauded for this, by the way. 40% was twice the average in our district. We were praised for the Computer Science — the mayor of New York and the CEO of Microsoft visited and met with my students. It felt great. I wasn’t convinced it was useful.

Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up didn’t have to choose between a school that was interesting and a school that equipped them with the knowledge and skills to pursue their own interests in college and beyond. Why did our students have to choose? I delivered this stressed-out existential monologue to my wife that boiled down to this: every kid deserves a school where they were always safe, and never bored. We weren’t working at a school like that. I was being offered a chance to design one. But…Dumbledore principle.

My wife took it all in, looked at me, and said: “You idiot. Dumbledore RAN a school.”

Friends, you deserve a partner like this.

The road to opening Creo College Prep, and the last two years of leading our school as we opened, closed, opened online, finished our first year, moved buildings, opened online again, opened in-person (kind of) and now head into our third year, has reinforced my lessons from teaching — be curious, be humble, be useful. These lessons are about both learning and unlearning. A white guy doing Teach for America at 21 is a stereotype. A white guy starting a charter school is a stereotype with significant capital, wading into complicated political and pedagogical waters. The lessons I learn opening a school and the unlearning I must do to be worthy of the work are not destinations, they are journeys.

Be curious

I didn’t just open a school. Schools are communities, they are institutions, and they are bureaucracies. If you work very, very hard, and with the right people, they become engines that turn coffee and human potential into joy and intellectual thriving capable of altering the trajectory of a child’s life.

First you have to find the right people. I joined a school design fellowship, spent a year visiting 50 high-performing schools across the country, recruited a founding board of smart, committed people who hold me accountable, and spent time in my community learning from families what they wanted in a school. There is studying public policy, and then there is attending Community Board meetings and Community Education Council Meetings, and standing outside of the Parkchester Macy's handing out flyers and getting petition signatures at Christmastime next to the mall Santa.

I observed in schools while writing my BA, and as a teacher, but it was in this fellowship that I learned to “thin slice,” a term we borrowed from psychology that refers to observing a small interaction and finding patterns about the emotions and values of people. In a school, it means observing small but crucial moments — how does arrival work, how are students called on, how do they ask for help in a classroom, how do they enter and leave spaces, how do they move through the hallways, where and how do teachers get their work done — and gleaning what a school values, and how that translates into impact for kids. Here’s how I look at schools:

Does every adult have an unwavering belief that students can, must, and will learn at the highest level?

Do they have realistic and urgent plans for getting every kid there? Are these beliefs and plans clear and held by kids?

Are all teachers strategic, valorizing planning and intellectual nerdery over control or power?

Is the curriculum worthy of the kids?

Can kids explain why the school does things they way they do? Can staff? Can the leader?

If I'm in the middle of teaching and I need a pen or a marker, what do I do? Is that clear?

What’s the attendance rate? How do we follow up on kids who aren’t here?

How organized and thoughtful are the physical and digital spaces?

Are kids seen by their teachers? Are their names pronounced correctly? Do their teachers look like them? Do they make them laugh, think, and revise their answers?

Would I want to work here? Would I send my own kids here?

Be humble

I learned that there are really two distinct organizations that we call “school.” One is an accumulation of talent (student and staff) that happens to be in the same place at the same time, operating on largely the same schedule.

These were the schools I attended. These are schools you got to go to if you got lucky and you were born in a zip code with high income and high opportunity. These are schools where you had teachers who were intellectually curious, and classmates whose learning deficits could be papered over by social capital…and sometimes, straight up capital.

“Accumulation of talent” also describes the schools I worked at. These were schools where if you got lucky and you were extraordinary in your intelligence, determination, support network, and teachers who’d decided to believe in you, you became one of the stories we told. “She got into Cornell.” “That whole English class got into four year colleges.”

Most schools in this country, it turns out, are run like this. I knew all about local control and the limits of federal standards on education and the battles over teacher evaluations and so much other helpful and important context I learned in my PBPL classes.  But when thin-slicing a kindergarten classroom in Nashville on my first school visit of the Fellowship, I saw a whole other possibility of what “school” can be.

School can be a special place organized towards a single purpose. One team, one mission. Where the work kids do in one class directly connects to the next, and builds on the prior year. Where kids are treated like the important people they are and the important people they will be, where students and staff hold each other to a high bar, where there is rigor and joy. A place where staff train together so that instead of separate classrooms telling separate stories about how to achieve, there is one coherent language that gives kids the thing they crave and deserve above all else: consistency.

We get up every morning to build a school like that. It’s why my team starts staff training a month before the first day of school. It’s why we practice teaching our lessons so that we don’t waste a moment of our kids’ time. It’s why everyone at our school has a coach, including me, so we can be a better teacher tomorrow than we were today. It’s why we plan engaging, culturally responsive, relevant lessons. It’s how we keep a simple, crucial promise to every family: at this school, you will always be safe, and you will never be bored.

Be useful

Statistically speaking, it is not out of the realm of possibility that several of you will one day be in a position to make big sweeping policy changes. You will have the power to not only write position papers, but to Make Big Plans. I will be rooting for you, but I hope that you won’t pursue Big Plans for the sake of Big Plans.

The architect who designed the Midway reportedly said "make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood." I had that quoted to me in several lectures at this school, and you know what?

It’s bullshit.

I am asking you not to care about scale. Good policy isn’t about scale, it’s about implementation, and implementation requires the right people on the ground. Implementation can scale. The right people cannot. We can Make Big Plans, but every 6th grade math class still needs an excellent math teacher. That's a job worth doing. I could dream about starting 20 schools, but every school needs a leader. That’s a job worth doing. Places like UChicago teach us to ask "what's next" for our own advancement, to do this now so we can get to that later. I learned to ask "what's next" to be as useful as possible to as many kids as I have in front of me.

I hold these two thoughts in my mind:

The educational realities of the South Bronx have a lot more to do with where highways were built in our neighborhood than with No Child Left Behind or charter schools, and require comprehensive policy change that address not only educational inequity, but environmental justice, and systemic racism.

The most useful policy changes I can make right now are to finalize the schedule for our staff work days that start on June 21, get feedback on next year’s calendar from families, and finish hiring the teachers our kids deserve.

I will follow the policy debates of #1 with great interest, but I know where I can be useful, and I’ll wake up tomorrow excited to make another draft of the calendar. I hope you get to work on making your Small Plans, and I will leave you with the secret — or at least the way that worked for me:

Find yourself people who are smarter than you and who disagree with you. Find problems you cannot shut up or stop thinking about. Do what you can’t shut up about with intellect and kindness. Use the privilege and opportunity that we have because we went to this school to make sure that opportunity for others does not require privilege. Run into the chasm.

Be curious, be humble, be useful.

Thank you.

[bomberqueen17]

saturday

I forgot to do one of my loads of laundry this week. Wellllll, really I was saving it, to be a catchall for anything I forgot, and then it was rainy so I couldn’t do it and hang it out, but. anyway, tl;dr all my underpants are clipped to hangers and I will be driving to the farm later today with all my underwear line-drying in the car. Sighhhh.

I worked four ten-hour days this past week so I could have my birthday off and still actually get shit done at work, and STILL, yesterday at 5 I was like “fuck! I didn’t finish the thing I was going to do before I went away!” well, probably nobody will notice. Supervisor was like “yes I will work on that while you’re gone” (i do a bunch of prep work, he finalizes it, that’s how these projects work) but it took him a month last time I did this so I bet if I don’t mention it he won’t actually get to it this time either.

I have been poking at both ends of this strange Keira/Lambert thing I have going on and it seems to be taking shape as a kind of... indirect meditation on freeing oneself from rigid gender roles, we’ll see how that goes. of course, the part where Keira goes to Yennefer for mentoring in the ways of strap-on use, which I definitely began as an unabashedly Horny story, has now derailed into discussion, so we’ll see how that shakes out in the editing stages. I don’t have time to continue working on it at the moment which is a shame because Yennefer has just found another use for Keira’s mouth than all this talking.

(I write a lot of erotica, like a lot a lot, and I’m not saying I don’t find any of my own stuff hot, it’s just that’s not usually the primary motivation? so it was kind of funny when I had set out to do something else and was like ohhhhhhh boobies hot though. and i was like omg! i am actually going to write Something Horny? and then it’s all talking. hi-larious. we shall see, though. we shall see. I never know where these things are headed until they get there. but listen i am a very old and creaky bi chick who’s been monogamously paired with a cis guy for like 20 years almost so it’s a real long time since I well we’ll stop there but uhhhh tiddies.)

Oh my other Deep Thought should go in its own post but rest assured I’ve also been having Deep Thoughts on things, LOL.

Anyway. I need to get off the computer and go make breakfast and pack my car. I always fucking procrastinate because I dont’ want to drive across the state but I want to be there, so really, I need to just. Go.

[pinkhairedlily]

Judgment needed, not judgment deserved

Chapter 7 of The Spring He Came Back | 7 of 12

The academy tribunal was rarely used. When it was opened to the public, it only meant that the students and professors violated the stringent protocols of the academy. Public trial also implied public shaming, a more surefire way to ruin an academic reputation. The regular admission students filled the big room, hushed voices growing along with the shuffling of feet.

It took a while before Hitsugaya to reach the front benches where Soul members were supposed to sit. He almost froze when his eyes met the wavering gaze of Momo. They both said hurtful words, but hers were more painful. She was standing beside Aizen who was still smiling behind the podium. Hitsugaya eventually found Rangiku, Rukia, and Renji sitting behind Urahara and Byakuya.

Unohana stepped forward, her figure commanded the fall of heavy silence in the room. Academy supervisors readied their hands on laptops for real time transcription. “Aizen Sousuke, senior faculty and Soul member, and Hinamori Momo, top student of regular class A, you are facing charges for plagiarism, fraud, and embezzlement. I, Unohana Retsu, will oversee your public trial today. Please acknowledge your audience.”

“What a beautiful day,” Aizen only replied. Hitsugaya can barely keep his irritation under control because while he was keeping that smile on his face, his research assistant was far from pretending to be happy. It didn’t slip his eyes that the professor lightly tapped Momo’s shoulder in a pretend assurance.

“You’re such a liar, Sousuke,” Urahara Kisuke said aloud. Unohana glared at him with her smiling eyes.

“Dr. Urahara, please do not speak unless we acknowledge you. Please respect the rules of our academy.”

“Oh right, I was on sabbatical leave. Many things happened huh? Like you stealing my work?” It was clear Urahara was prodding Aizen on, but the latter only kept smiling without even recognizing his statements. Byakuya placed a hand on Urahara’s shoulder, willing him to calm down in front of such a large crowd.

“Dr. Aizen, please answer in affirmative if you have written the studies published in the following journals….” Unohana listed the titles, all of which Momo assisted in. “Are you aware that your programming method, experiment design, and control treatment parameters were similar with Dr. Urahara Kisuke’s work?”

“I was promptly assisted by my great assistant, Hinamori Momo, in conjuring those designs. It was due to her hard work under my guidance that we were able to come up with such results,” Aizen deftly defended himself. For a minute, Hitsugaya thought he wouldn’t genuinely hurt Momo.

“You submitted a patent application to your design, calling it the Aizen Theorem.”

“That is right, again thanks to the bright idea of my trusted partner, Momo.” The casual use of her nickname didn’t escape Hitsugaya’s ears or the blush that crept on her cheeks.

“Fuck you.” He muttered under his breath. He knew where this was going.

“Are you saying Hinamori Momo is the root of all your charges?”

“I didn’t say anything like that, Dr. Unohana.”

“You are implying it is.”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? Isn’t it the reason why she’s here?” Aizen placed his hand behind Momo’s back and urged her to come at the front, thereby shifting the blame to her.

“She’s not credited for his works, not one.” Hitsugaya tried telling Byakuya. Rukia held him back, her eyes telling him not to interfere.

“Y-yes, it was me.” Momo’s voice was shaking, her eyes can barely look at Unohana. She was still probably angry at Hitsugaya, but her teary gaze wandered to look for him in the sea of indictors. When their eyes met, she conveyed her worry and fears. For Aizen or for herself, he’ll never know.

“Hinamori Momo, did you also know that Dr. Aizen forged his reference papers?”

“That’s not true, Dr. Unohana.” Aizen laughed this off as if it wasn’t a heavy violation.

That easygoing nature was lost on Momo, however. She cannot answer. She was frozen in spot, silently screaming help across Hitsugaya who was also powerless against the hold of his other friends.

“Hinamori Momo, were you involved in preparing budgets for your projects?”

“Y-yes, Dr. Unohana.” Momo’s voice was a desperate plea for help. Aizen, despite being the lead charge in the studies mentioned, looked like he was having the time of his life. He has his model scapegoat, after all. An enamored, naïve research assistant who could take the fall.

“So were you aware that these studies were declared under the academy’s jurisdictions, but the investors’ money were being funneled directly into Dr. Aizen’s personal banks?”

Hinamori, again, failed to answer.

“She has nothing to do with this.” Hitsugaya gritted his teeth.

“If she wasn’t remotely involved, shouldn’t it be simple to say no?” Byakuya asked him in all seriousness. Emotions do not hold metric in their system, but emotions are heavy tolls in Momo’s.

“I…don’t know,” Momo muttered under her breath.

“These are hilarious charges, Unohana.” Aizen dropped the doctor designation. “You don’t even have evidence on us.” His face was truly sure that he was out of the woods.

“Sorry, Toshi,” his mentor told him before standing up with Byakuya. The two of them walked towards Unohana and gave her a black notebook, a folder, and several documents. Hitsugaya’s face fell flat, and cold sweat started kicking in. He was the only one who knew where they were stored.

“These are Urahara Kisuke’s field notes, your forged references, and budget documents – we managed to gather them from Hinamori’s house. We received a call from one of the investors, wondering why no one apart from you was collaborating with them. An internal team investigated your office but found nothing.” Unohana looked directly at Momo, but she was staring at Hitsugaya. “An informant tipped us where to find them.”

Momo - wide-eyed and filled with bitter tears of betrayal. If he could hear her silent screams, it would be a ringing why, and he couldn’t give an answer. He never disclosed the location of the notebook or talked about the references with anyone. He never shared his messy, confused thoughts or his turmoil in her decisions. He endured his pain alone so why would he weaponize it to get back to her? Why would he when he loves her?

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Aizen asked dryly. The smile was nowhere to be seen, only a grim countenance.

“A third-party laboratory analyzed these documents, Aizen.” Unohana also dropped the honorific. Damn the damned. “They did cross-comparisons of your handwriting and Urahara’s. They were significantly different, as well as from the hundreds of designs and blueprints we found. University references have unique watermarks in hard copies which yours didn’t have. The budget documents we sent over to the investors. You should know by now they pulled out of our town’s development.”

“Plead guilty now, Sousuke.” Urahara antagonized him further.

If his wounded gaze could convey his sincerest thoughts to her, she wouldn’t have probably done the next thing.

“It was all me, Dr. Unohana.” Momo raised her hand. Her eyes were brimming with tears but she dared not blink. “I fed Dr. Aizen the notebook, the documents, and I suggested he source out personal funds from the academy investment. It was all me. Please don’t give him a sentence. Please punish me instead.”

“Momo, no.” Hitsugaya was scrambling to stand up. Three pairs of strong arms held him down to his seat, three faces all similarly pained.

There was a clear power imbalance between the mentor and the research assistant which Hitsugaya’s group and the senior faculty knew, but Aizen played this to his advantage.

“Why don’t you put it to a vote?” a student called out.

“Dr. Aizen wouldn’t do such thing.” “He is so kind to us.” “He’s so intelligent he doesn’t even need that.” “He will never use a student that way.” “The audacity of that peasant to feed him lies? Sickening. She deserves to be banished.”

Bit by bit, the whispers grew into a full-blown uproar. This was the flaw of the public tribunal, a flaw that Aizen turned into an opportunity. The board members of the academy called Unohana to the side and delivered their judgment.

“Hinamori Momo, starting today, you are expelled from the academy.”

It was a judgment needed, but not the judgment deserved. Because Hinamori Momo was a girl from an unknown background with no strong backing. Because she was a student while Aizen came from a family with a high pedigree. Because she dedicated her life to a man who emotionally manipulated her. Because she was too trusting, too naïve, too easily swayed. Because she has emotions. Because she was Momo.

She was ushered out by some administrators, her eyes glued to the ground. They were soon followed by shuffling of feet and disgruntled students heaving sighs of relief from the ordeal. When all of that has come to pass, it was Aizen’s turn to go.

“Such a drag, huh?” Aizen mentioned to no one in particular. “Hoping you could catch me?”

“I am advising you to transfer,” Unohana hasn’t backed down. “That was what the board wanted.”

“Ahead of you, Retsu. That’s exactly my next step.” Aizen stopped beside the bench where Hitsugaya’s group still stood waiting. “Though it was unfortunate to let go of Momo. How sweet that girl was, so willing and so hardworking, to the point that she left her grandma alone to work.”

If blood could boil, Hitsugaya’s veins could have popped, drowning Aizen with his heated rage.

“Too bad that her best friend outed her, huh? If only she was more careful of who she associated with.”

A punch landed on Aizen face and then several more. Hitsugaya was but thirteen but his fists saw older days on the streets. After all, he was a peasant and a peasant always fought back. The fucker was the one who tipped the investigators, making Momo think it was Hitsugaya. He probably could have bought them himself. He capitalized on Hitsugaya and Momo’s relationship to drive a rift and completely separate himself from the problem. The fucker was a master emotional manipulator.

A flurry of robes forcefully grabbed Hitsugaya away from a smirking Aizen. “Fucking liar.”

“Hitsugaya Toushiro!” Byakuya rarely raised his voice, but the intensity of his warning stiffened Hitsugaya.

Aizen walked out of the classroom, seemingly unruffled as if he didn’t have a bruised eye or a cut lip. It took all of Hitsugaya’s energy not to go after him and put more damages in.

“Still the same MO,” Urahara said. “Best be careful around him, Toshi.”

“You know you need to be reprimanded for this, Hitsugaya.” Unohana said. “But I won’t because you’re one of our best.”

---------------------

The secret hideout and their silent reprieve – it became his escape. He couldn’t go to Momo to comfort her. From her understanding, he betrayed her. So he wallowed in self-pity, in helplessness, in his weakness. It wasn’t enough that he was like this. He skipped all his classes, didn’t do his experiments, and avoided the well-meaning questions of his friends. He picked fights, especially with regulars. They kept on calling Momo names, painting her to be the manipulator that put Aizen in such a complicated position when it was the other way around.

The opportunity came when Byakuya called him to his office. Urahara was there too. It was probably about his behavior.

“You can’t protect your friend like this,” his mentor told him. “Not when Sousuke still roams the academic field like a vulture.”

“We need to permanently excommunicate him,” Byakuya concurred. “We can only do that if we catch him red-handed alone, with no one to pass the blame on. He has done this exact operation in previous schools, but his networks run deep.”

“And he just appears to his next victim school like a mushroom.” Urahara poured Hitsugaya tea, and his heart throbbed in pain because Momo used to do that. “With a clean slate. So bigger higher-ups must be involved, funneling research and development funds into shady accounts yada yada.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Hitsugaya asked his mentors.

“You’re still a kid, Toshi.” Urahara ruffled his silver hair and his mind jolted back to a memory of a daffodil flower crown, Momo’s smile, and that last hug. “You can’t go around picking fights for her sake. It’s a lost cause. She’s shunned by the community.”

“You can’t continue associating yourself with her, Hitsugaya,” Byakuya added. “Because that will be an added burden. You’ll only rise from this. But when you do and you choose to remain here, she will not be rid of those comments. Considering your history, she’ll be accused again of feeding you plagiarized notes, helping you with fraud, and embezzling funds.”

“No one can protect her from those. She has no friends left,” Hitsugaya interjected. In no world will he leave Momo alone. He can’t see past the reasons given by his teachers. “She only has….me.” The doubt was in the open before he could open his lips. Not after the public tribunal. She made the decision that he wasn’t on her side.

Urahara took away the already cold tea in his hands and smiled at him through his long fringes. “Or you could go abroad, become the best, catch Aizen red-handed, and clear her name. Sounds good, right? Come with me again, my intern.”

---------------------

Snow marked the start of winter. Hitsugaya waited beside Urahara on the platform outside of town, the train arriving at their station any time soon. He made his goodbyes to Rukia, Renji, and Rangiku, all three asking silently whether it was okay to tell Momo. He shook his head in defiance, not wanting to trouble her further.

When the train arrived, he almost hesitated. At the very least, he wanted to see her again and Baba and share a watermelon for the last time. The doors opened and Urahara signaled to go inside quickly.

Please mind your distance. The doors are closing soon. The doors are closing soon.

The doors finally closed and Hitsugaya leaned on the side, tears pooling in his eyes. It was goodbye. The wheels started to keep pace and the slow fall of white snow turned into a flurry. As the train left the station, he caught a glimpse of loose black hair dancing with the wind. Maybe he just imagined it.

NEXT CHAPTER | 8 OF 12 | BREATHING IS A FOREIGN TASK

[lovemesomesurveys]

Whoa, me doing a bolding survey?

*lol bolding surveys are tough for me because I want to elaborate on my choices, which I did a lot of in this.*

NFP | mediator/idealist You get carried away by fantasies and ideas Always want to be hugged You’re energized by quiet time alone Constantly looking for the best in people People say you’re shy/calm/reserved So open-minded Can’t stop thinking about the future Probably a writer or artist in some way Compassionate and empathetic Insanely good listener Prefer a small group of friends Absolutely hate injustice Easily get lost in deep thought 9/13

ENFJ | protagonist/mentor Expert at communicating with others You’re sensitive and easily offended A natural born leader You strive for win-win situations Everyone wants to be your friend You’re basically everyone’s cheerleader  Hate seeing people excluded from things You stand firm for what you believe in You just want everyone to be happy Live for supporting people around you You’d be a great teacher You love to keep your life organized You’re probably an empath 6.5/13

ESTJ | executive/supervisor Incredibly practical about life You naturally step into leadership roles You can be very detail-oriented You’re very matter-of-fact You’re known to be very direct The first to take charge in a situation People say you’re very focused and driven Sometimes you can be too impersonal Strive in managerial positions Driven by results You love meeting and talking to new people You strongly believe in working hard You hate people who don’t follow rules. <<< I consider myself to be pretty rule abiding for the most part and I don’t condone crimes, but I can’t say I’ve never done anything wrong. Maybe nothing too serious, but still. I wouldn’t say I hate people who don’t follow rules, but I have an issue with people who don’t follow certain rules. It’s complicated hence the italicized answer and the need to explain a little further. .5/13

ESFP | entertainer/performer You love to live in the moment You’re energized when around people Avoid conflict like the corona virus You never forget anything Can be materialistic <<< I mean, I like my Apple products and Beats headphones, which are nice and expensive things, yes, but I don’t know if the term materialistic applies to me because of it. I think it goes bigger and beyond that. I’m not consumed with buying expensive things to fill a void or think it can buy happiness. I don’t have to be bigger and better. I don’t want to be flashy. I enjoy the items I listed above, but there’s more important things in life than worldly possessions.   You’re constantly changing your mind Way too friendly You could easily be an actor Often the life of the party Not a huge fan of deadlines or structure Independent af Constantly finding the light of a situation Sensitive to the needs of others 3/13

ISFP | adventurer/artisan Tend to hold back your feelings You live an easy-going life  You stick to a close group of friends <<< no friends anymore, but I stick to my family, who I’m close to and spend a lot of my time with. That’s how it was when I did have friends, though. I never had a big group of friends and that was perfectly fine with me. Hate long-term planning <<< I have to take things day by day or do short-term goals. Mistaken as “lazy” or “slow-moving” <<< Italicized because they’re not mistaken. You take things at your own pace So considerate to those around you <<< Italicized because I think I am? I sure try to be. Absolutely hate criticism and conflict Sometimes too hard on yourself <<< All the time. You could be an artist or musician You have a special bond with animals Have been called “unconventional” before Learn best with hands-on training 9/13

INTJ | architect/mastermind Everyone go away Very low tolerance for stupidity Small talk = your worst nightmare Have very dry humor Sarcasm is your first language You love researching everything Planning is your favorite hobby Can’t stand salespeople Known to be very blunt Probably could be a doctor or engineer A grammar nazi You like to silently judge people You love to create theories about life 3/13

ESFJ | consul/caregiver You care so much about others Take your responsibilities very seriously <<< Not these past few years like I should, but normally. You have a contagious laughter Tasks are your best friend You’re very family-oriented The most loyal person ever You absolutely hate feeling useless No one would ever call you selfish Probably strive as a nurse or social worker Overflowing with compassion and love Always seeing the best in others You value security and stability for everyone So down to earth <<< In some ways. I’m not a relaxed and stress-free person at all, but I’m also not arrogant or proud. I get along with and can work well with others. I don’t see myself as better or superior to others at all. 6/13

ISTP | virtuoso/crafter Very comfortable with change Easily find the solution in any problem Always want to know how things work Love to be constantly doing something Handle crisis-situations really well Efficient af in everything you do Stubborn when you know you’re right Hard for others to tell how you’re feeling <<< For the most part. My mom is good at it, though. 100% a hands-on learner Could easily be a mechanic or it the military You’re never afraid to make a mistake You dress for comfort more than style Easily bored and unfocused with tasks 3/13

ENFP | campaigner/champion Spotted constantly laughing So much enthusiasm for life Love to start new projects Constantly have a new hobby to do Hate repetitive tasks so much Expert at brainstorming new ideas Not a fan of micromanagers Very quick to understand people’s concerns So much energy Probably a comedian or counselor You’re never afraid to make a mistake Easily motivate people to join a cause Always looking at the big picture of life 2/13

ISFJ | defender/protector Very sensitive to others’ feelings Love to have a routine to follow every day Drawn to facts more than theories Hate the “unknown” in any situation <<< The unknown is generally scary to me, but some things I don’t want or need to know. Always want to keep others safe and sound Safety first You’re always obeying the laws/rules Known to procrastinate on certain things Easily taken advantage of, unfortunately Strives as a nurse or interior designer So detail-oriented and organized You love following traditions Probably quiet as a child 6.5/13

ESTP | entrepreneur/persuader Always seeking to have a good time Bubbly and happy almost all the time Love being the center of attention Like to live in the “now” Sometimes you can be too impulsive Life always seems to work out for you Expert at adapting the life changes Rules suck Very observant of the people around you Could be an entrepreneur or bartender So detail-oriented and organized People are drawn to your enthusiasm You’re a “get things done” person 0/13

INTP | logical/thinker You’re known to be quiet/thoughtful Can be distracted for hours by one thing Always hated group projects <<< Not because I have a problem with working with others, it’s just that group projects always gave me added stress. I didn’t like my grade dependent on other people and vice versa. I always stressed about everyone getting their part done. You find it hard to trust others Serious introvert Have a child-like sense of wonder Hate structure You never run out of things to talk about Can handle criticism pretty well Would strive as a lawyer or professor Will share educational articles with others Could easily win a debate with anyone Just generally pretty smart 5.5/13

ENTJ | commander/ceo Find the most efficient way to do anything Very goal-focused Can come across very assertive Born to be a leader Work hard and play hard Can motivate anyone to do anything Hate repeated mistakes Feel the need to fix everything Allergic to stupidity Never satisfied with your own work It’s so easy to get what you want Probably excel as a lawyer or ceo The word “impossible” doesn’t exist for you 1/13

INFJ | advocate/counselor Fear doing the wrong thing Genuinely want to please and help others Believe in the complexities of relationship <<< Not sure I understand this correctly, but I think so? Love encouraging others to be better Very likely an empath Could be a photographer or teacher Always avoiding conflict and criticism Feel the need to fix everything Really good at communicating with others Take relationships very seriously Sociable and fun but needs time alone too Loves physical contact with people Always the one to give advice to others <<< I used to be. 6.5/13

ENTP | debater/inventor Constantly coming up with abstract ideas Champion at debates Arrogant but also aware of your own faults The most introverted extrovert Getting really excited about sharing ideas Constantly changing your opinions Low tolerance for people but also social You overanalyze everything Known to take a lot of risks in life Picking accidental fights all the time Have probably argued with authorities So freaking clever Could be a detective or inventor as a career 1/13

ISTJ | logistical/inspector Take constructive criticism like a boss You thrive on organization Incredibly responsible You don’t rest until the job is done Actually really good with money Believe things should be done by the book Strive for structure in your every day life Absolutely hate getting in trouble Probably an officer or accountant Literally the most dependable person Sometimes too logical for people Take time to warm up to new ideas Some call you a perfectionist 3.5/13