#i need to do a tolerance break but with this fucking administration?

[diamondnokouzai]

its never to late to write your own self-indulgent self-insert batman fanfic. while you watch a ralph bakshi film.

[harrison-abbott]

How much he was Hated

He told me I shouldn’t take my lunch break when I’m behind on the work. This is based on an email I got when I was eating my sandwich, away from my desk, and so I didn’t see it. When I got back to my chair he told me he needed to have a word with me. Okay, I said, I was sorry.

He told me that I often looked like crap in the morning. “Do you often go out at night?” I said, No, Sir, I don’t. Then he asked, “Do you have problems sleeping?” I responded that I didn’t. He shrugged, and walked out of the room with his steaming coffee mug.

It was Valentine’s Day once. And he said to me, “So, Sean: what special lady you taking to dinner this evening?” I smiled and said I didn’t have a date. “You don’t have a girlfriend?” I shook my head. He said, “Hmm. Maybe if you cheered up a bit you might get one. You always look so morose around here.”

One time I fucked up the spreadsheet digits on one document I said to him. He invited me into his office and told me to shut the door. And he said that it was a serious mistake, because that particular spreadsheet was very important to the company. I apologised. He said, “At least when you apologise you should make it seem like you’re actually sorry! Now, go!”

I knew a lot of difficult people when I was younger, in high school, and from my family, well, my whole life. And so I learned from boyhood onwards how to tolerate. But, Jesus, this man, my boss: he was quite the lesson in endurance.

It wasn’t just me. Which, ironically made me feel a little less personal about his behaviour. He barked and snapped at the other colleagues too.

There was this new girl that started in one of the administration roles. She was young and pretty. He kept putting the spotlight on her whenever he came out onto the floor, even though she obviously didn’t like it. It was as if he enjoyed watching her blush – which she did a lot. He would hover over her back whilst she was trying to concentrate on her screen. Or sit on her desk and ask her personal questions, as if she was his niece or something. Creepy behaviour. I felt sorry for the girl but couldn’t do anything about it. Or rather I was too cowardly to.

And there were times when he went home early, especially on Friday afternoons. And this great wash of tension went through the whole office. Nobody liked him. And he was much the source of ridicule when he was out of earshot. I actually, despite all of the things that he’d done to me, felt bad for him: because he was probably clueless as to how much he was hated. But on the days that he scolded me I joined in the bitching as well.

I suppose it’s what happens to people when you splash them with a little power. They earn more. They have the ability to sack you if they please.

But with him it was as if he was addicted to picking on people. Maybe he did know that people disliked him and reaped pleasure in adding to his own negative image. Some kind of self destructive thing like that.

When he asked me that time if I’d ‘been out’ the night before. No – I stopped ‘going out’ for drinks when I was in my mid 20s, just because I lost interest in it. I was in my 30s now and I simply do the night life thing anymore. What angered me when he said that, was that he often drank on weeknights. And he was in his 40s, and still doing that crap. I knew because he told us so, quite openly. He would complain about his hangovers, and would be grumpy in the mornings. Sometimes he didn’t turn up to work at all.

I still can’t believe I worked with him for over a year. Put up with all of that crap. There was this other woman who sat near me who I was friendly with. And she quit about half the way through the tenure I was there – and said it was mostly because she couldn’t stand the boss. It was worse when she left because I had one less friend.

The assistant manager was called Dennis. He was all right. Kinda polite, quite reserved. Was serious and you didn’t really know much about him. There’s not much to say about him: aside from when the boss went home or wasn’t there, Dennis was the next go-to chap, the assistant head.

Dennis was in the boss’ office a lot. Through the door you could always hear the boss’ booming voice but never Dennis’.

It was hard to tell whether Dennis liked him or not. He never joined in the bitching sessions.

However, the boss did snap at Dennis too. Quite a few times. We noticed it. Dennis, despite being the deputy, wasn’t exempt from the behaviour. But Dennis never reacted aside from with meekness. “Oh, sorry about that. Won’t happen again,” etc etc.

It got to winter time, December. Christmas time, and so the office was at its busiest with orders, and the office bustling and stressful. The boss was always extra twitchy when it was busy. He shouted at me in the canteen once because I left an unwashed spoon next to the kettle. Things like that. But, yeah, anyway: there was one afternoon in the second week of December. When the boss decided to start shouting at Dennis about something.

I didn’t really know what it was about and I never found out the lead up to the story.

But I certainly saw what happened. He, the boss, went over to Dennis’ table and yelled at him. Whilst thrusting some papers about wildly. I think Dennis had made a mistake. Dennis took his glasses off and rubbed his nose. And then he got up from his seat. And sized up the boss’ build … and then punched him in the jaw. It made this light crack of a noise, like you get when you slap the surface of water in a pool. And then the boss was on the floor. The entire room went totally silent. All you could hear were the printers trickling in the background. Everybody either staring at the boss, who was sitting on the floor, also silenced, with his tie thrown over his shoulder, or at Dennis, who was now turning his PC off. Dennis put his glasses back on, and then his coat and bag, and left the room.

It remains the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in a workplace.

[cinnamonest]

okay but I have this little idea about becoming crepus’ and co.‘s cum dump.

imagine crepus finding you on the street in the rain passed out, and he just falls for you right then and there. he doesn’t want you, he NEEDS you. he brings you home, making you his while you’re asleep, this tiny little thing on the bed, his cock buried deep inside you. maybe you’re so small compared to him, and his cock is so big, that it doesn’t even fit all the way in. his tip hits your cervix and he’s still got like 1/3 of his dick left to push into you. the bulge in your stomach just gets bigger and bigger. his hand would be covering your mouth, just in case... he’d be latched onto your breasts, biting, kissing, sucking... he’d leave your nipped bruised and swollen. he’d even take you from behind, for hours and hours on end. you wouldn’t wake up, say your body was overloaded from the pain that it just couldn’t bring itself to wake up.

when you finally did, you would be in the pure darkness, cold and trembling. From pain, from fear... you would feel the cum leaking from your cunt and your ass, all you would feel was agony.

and then he’d come back, introduce himself, tell you that he found you like that, unconscious, being raped by a bunch of treasure-hoarders. he’d tell you that you shouldn’t worry, because he would look after you now.

and then he’d wrap his arms around you, and wash your body. he’d pull you with his back to his chest, tell you soothing words, how he’s so sorry this happened to you. he’d massage your stomach with one hand, letting all the cum seep out, saying it’s okay, you’re safe now but in reality, he’s smiling the biggest smile, watching the cum leak out of you. he so desperately wishes he could eat you out, eat it out of you, but that would have to wait.

when he’s done washing you up, he’d dry you so tenderly, smiling softly, manipulating you into complacency, a false sense of security... he’d give you one of his shirts to wear, loving how big it is on you, enjoying how your nipples poke through the thin fabric. he’d bring you some food, some water, then he’d take you in his arms, softly stroking your hair until you fall asleep...

but don’t worry, he slipped a little something into your drink, and as you’re passed out, he’d fuck you all over again. he’d drill into you, again and again and again. then he’d wash you again, leaving you as though you’d never moved. when you’d wake up, in even more pain, he’d tell you it’s the effects from the treasure-hoarders. he’d make you believe that you’d always feel this pain now, that they fucked you so hard you’d be left this way permanently. he’d tell you that when people lose their virginity, they all feel like this, forever, until they get used to it.

when you don’t become more tolerant to it, when it seems to hurt more and more every day you wake up, he’d tell you that maybe you were just extra-weak, that you need to be looked after so desperately. he’d use it as a reason to keep you in his room all day, or in one specific wing of the winery.

and every night, the cycle would repeat. you’d have no idea that he was raping you so viciously, you’d completely come to trust him, to hold faith in him as your saviour.

and then, after some time, he’d introduce you to his two sons, letting you spend some time with them. they’d be just as nice, just as caring as he was, even if a little angry and grumpy. and you’d never know, that eventually they were fucking you too. they were all taking turns to abuse your body, every damn night, that they’d each take one hole and alternate.

maybe one day, the boys are just so frustrated, so angry, that they can’t help it. their father is out, so they just disregard his plan. they take you, right there and then, eyes open, awake. you scream and you cry, and you beg them to stop but they don’t. you keep crying- gege, gege... and maybe kaeya jeers at you, you cry now, but you had no problem taking all three of our cocks before, you little slut and it all clicks into place. how could you have been so stupid? but there’s nothing you can do, you can’t move, you’re in so much pain.... even when the two of them are done, lying next to you, all you can do is cry.

and then crepus comes back, and realises what’s happened. he sighs and reaches out to you, perhaps administrating a sharp slap wherever he can when you writhe and inch away. there’s no point in pretending now, things have changed. they’ll get a whole lot harsher, angrier. the soft family you once knew would be gone. you were there fuck toy, their cum dump, their little whore. whether you like it or not.

please don’t ask why the paragraph breaks are so big, they always do that for some reason?

BUT ANYWAY THIS WAS SO SELF INDULGENT I JUST idk hope you enjoy? 😳

!

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Tolerance

Summary: Natasha likes to push.

Warning: 18+ Language, Jealousy, Teasing, Smut (Daddy kink, marking, spanking, fingering, strap on) 

Word Count: 2,031

Side Note: I have no idea what made me write this but I’ve never written straight up smut so I hope this isn’t crap.

****** 

She is a tease.

The biggest tease you’ve ever met.

It’s nothing you can’t handle but that doesn’t mean you enjoy not being able to do anything about it.

Quite frankly you knew this was going to happen. Tony and Pepper sent Morgan to spend the weekend with her grandparents which meant free time for them. In true Tony Stark fashion, he planned a party.

He told the team weeks ahead of time and it’s safe to say that everyone got considerably excited over it. There hadn’t been a Stark party since long before the snap and no one would admit how much they missed them.

When Saturday night arrived, you and Natasha got ready an hour before the party. Despite your admonishing to do so before then, only for Natasha to dismiss that idea by telling you that you would just be fashionably late.

The second she left your bedroom to get dressed you knew she was up to something. So before you pulled on your black dress pants, you stepped into a harness and secured Natasha’s favorite red ribbed dildo to it, tying it to your thigh with an inconspicuously wrapped belt.

As always your girlfriend looks beyond gorgeous. The black thigh length dress exposes her back and leaves a space at her side, revealing just enough of the curve of her breast to make you clench your jaw.

She combs her fingers up into her hair and shakes the curls out to leave a wavy look behind.

On the drive to the building you warn Natasha not to try anything, her smirking at you and saying,“ we’ll see.”

And you so indeed see.

Along with the team, there are a number of other people around. The King and Princess of Wakanda escorted by the general, Fury and Hill, as well as the Captain herself Carol.

Which leaves a number of people for Natasha to flirt with.

No matter where you stand she’s directly in your line of sight: at the bar with Bucky and Steve, on the provided couches with Wanda and Clint, in a corner with Tony and Bruce.

She leaves lingering touches on the people she’s chosen to drag into her little game. Leaning close to them just enough to put her chest on display.

If it weren’t Natasha everyone might’ve thought something of her actions, but it’s very publicly known that she’s your girl.

The two of you hadn’t fucked out in the open at any point but you never bothered to cover the many bruises and marks you decided to leave on each other. And that’s evidence enough.

Apparently though, someone didn’t get the memo.

Two hours into the party, as Natasha notices your lack of reaction, she tries for a more embolden play.

Grabbing the hand of Carol Danvers, she pulls the woman on to the dance floor.

It’s not packed enough for you to lose her, which you’re grateful for. It allows you to send a murderous glare their way as you watch your girlfriend sexually dance against the blonde woman.

Her hips move in an enticing manner, the Captain matching her movement as her hands lay against your girlfriend’s hips.

Disregarding the drink you just ordered, you march over to the two, jaw clenched so tightly your teeth might shatter.

Natasha’s green eyes alight as you approach. Fire setting inside her when you grab her waist and spin her into you.

“Excuse me, we have something important to discuss.” You give your best smile to the blonde woman before pulling Natasha away.

She excitedly keeps pace with you as you walk through the hallway of the venue, each step taken with intense purpose.

Having never been in the building before you aren’t sure where to go, purposefully passing the bathrooms, until you finally find a door marked ‘Administrative Office’.

Natasha has no time to think. You open the door and pull her into the room, pressing your lips against hers with pent up fervor.

She eagerly returns it, a cocky smirk breaking the kiss.

“What’s gotten into you Y/L/N?” She teases.

“You don’t think I knew what your plan was already?” You cock a brow at her.“ This skimpy little dress of yours gave the plan away before we even left the apartment.”

She knows you knew, she just didn’t think you caught on that early.

“I-”

“Don’t. I’m sure whatever you’re about to say is a bunch of bullshit. Besides you know exactly why we’re in here.”

Even though it’s not a question, she nods. It’s as if she’s already fallen into the heat and intensity of the moment.

A switch basically flicks in her as she waits, ready to comply to whatever is about to happen. She knows whatever you’re about to do is going to be worth it.

You run your thumb along her bottom lip and she sucks it into her mouth without needing instruction. Letting it go with a pop, a small string of spit hooking around her bottom lip, that she licks away.

Her tongue leaves her lips looking even more glossy, accentuating how plump and kiss swollen they are. This just makes you kiss her again.

A low moan vibrates through it as your hand tangles in her hair and tugs. You trail hot open mouth kisses across her collarbone, leaving marks behind that will for sure be visible by the time you return to the party.

“You must feel pretty proud of the show you put on out there huh?” 

She moans again as you speak against her neck, voice low and rough with arousal. 

When you pull back you find her green eyes blown,“ did you enjoy dancing with Carol like that?” You circle her body like she’s your prey, stopping behind her to speak in her ear,“ grinding into her, letting her touch you the way that she did?” 

Emphasizing your point, you mimic their past actions: pushing your hips into Natasha so that your strap rubs against her ass and running your hands down her waist.

Natasha breathes heavily and rests her head back against your shoulder,“ it worked didn’t it?” She bites your ear, running her tongue across it as she pulls away.

“That’s not what I asked you. I want to know if you enjoyed it?” 

She has two options here. Tell you ‘no’ and let this continue exactly how it usually would. Or lie and tell you ‘yes’, eliciting you to punish her and this continues roughly.

“Yes.” She whispers.

Jaw clenching, your hand trails up her back, and you push her down. The red head hisses at the feeling of the cold wood pressed against the tops of her breasts.

Your fingers leave a burning trail up her thighs to the bottom of her dress and you hike it up to bunch at her stomach.

When your hand rubs soft circles on her ass she knows what’s coming. The anticipation of it sends another wave of arousal into her stomach and pooling between her legs.

The first smack is painfully delicious, making her hiss and moan through the number one, not forgetting to count along even in her sex daze.

The force of your smacks and the burn on her ass eventually has her jolting against the mahogany desk and she knows her panties are beyond ruined.

After the tenth smack you stop, once again rubbing the abused cheek soothingly. It’s a familiar tingly painful sensation but she loves it.

She’s not fully recovered from your previous actions when she feels your fingers sliding through her folds, collecting her arousal and ghosting over her clit.

“Y/n please.”

A dark chuckle falls from your lips that’s equally intimidating as it is sexy,“ begging so soon? Where’d all that courage from early go?”

You tease her entrance with your fingers as you speak, just barely slipping one inside her.

Being so riled up has her cursing already, a near silent “fuck” falling from her lips at your ministrations.

“I find it amusing that you’re begging me now when just minutes ago you were practically letting Carol fuck you on the dance floor.”

She whimpers at both your words and the way you roughly remove your fingers from her. Your finger hadn’t filled her by any means but the loss of your touch is enough to make tears spring in her eyes.

Turning her head, she looks back at you,“ I don’t want Carol. I don’t want anyone but you. Please.”

You decide that she’s been teased enough, and you know she has no feelings towards Carol it was all to get a rise out of you.

It’s beyond relieving to her to hear the belt of your pants clatter against the floor. You pull her underwear off of her, the fabric slightly agitating her abused ass.

“Tell me something Tasha, do you think you deserve to be fucked?”

She’s nodding before the questions is even asked.

Amused, you run the tip of the strap against her folds, collecting her dripping arousal on it, before easing it into her.

The rigged dildo fills her and has her gripping the desk already.

You start with a slow teasing pace, hand just barely gripping her hip as you move into her.

Until she starts to moan louder, breathing harshly as she says,“ harder daddy, please.”

Her words make you still, purely because you have to process the sound of that word leaving her mouth. She speaks it with such innocence despite your current actions.

Only for it to be spoken appropriately dirtier as you begin to pound into the woman.

Her body bounces every time your hips connect, her arousal coats not only her own thighs but also yours. She’s cursing, begging, and calling you ‘daddy’ in an attempt to make you literally ruin her.

But that’s practically guaranteed when she cums without your permission.

If she’s being honest she wouldn’t have been able to stop it anyway. You’d managed to hit her most sensitive spot repeatedly and there was no holding back the orgasm that forced from her.

Since she’s decided to disregard your rules, you work harder and faster to pull another one from her seconds later. But you know she can do better than that.

And she does, cumming a third time with a single thrust. Her legs quiver and her arms grow weak.

“Fuck, Y/n, I can’t-”

“Just one more pretty girl. You can do that for daddy can’t you?”

Wanting nothing more than to please you, she slides a hand underneath her body and circles her clit. Your ministrations plus hers makes her cum a forth time.

She literally screams, a Russian curse mixed in, as she collapses against the desk.

You just barely move inside her, allowing her to come down from the highest of highs. A hand running over her thigh in time with your slow rocks.

When her thighs settle and her body stops heaving with each breath, you pull out of her. A whimper spills from her lips with her last ‘fuck’.

Helping her sit up, you turn her around to face you. Gentle fingers comb red hair out of her face and wipe away the tear stains.

“I love you.” You smile at her.

Of course she returns it, no matter how outdone she is,“ I love you too.”

After you’ve eased her underwear back into place and fixed her dress, you fix yourself. Ideally you’d clean yourselves up but that’s not an option at the moment and you’re slightly pleased with the idea of her being reminded of this moment every time her slick thighs rub together.

“Just a reminder, I can handle a lot of things, but I don’t tolerate people touching my girl.” The grip you assume on the back of her neck is equally as loving as it is a warning,“ try that again and you won’t be walking for a week.”

She nods, teeth biting into her bottom lip.

When the two of you return to the party, marks blooming on Natasha’s skin aa she clings to your arm, it’s clear to everyone what just went down. But it’s not spoken on.

******

[thesquishyrogue]

Rogue's relationships with the rest of the mercs

Scout:

Almost like a brother-sister relationship. They're always goofing off together, joking around, getting on Spy's nerves. Just being the chaotic force of the team. Scout constantly convinces Rogue to play baseball with him, especially after seeing that they both use bats as a weapon (albeit Rogue's has nails driven through it).

Scout: "Aw man, sick bat! Say, you ever actually played baseball? If not I could teach ya. Though, you should probably use a different bat. I'll let ya borrow one of mine!"

Soldier:

He's definitely sort of a weird uncle figure to her. She's always giggling at his ridiculous antics, and he's surprisingly protective of her. Although at the same time he's always impressed by her ability to fend for herself, and fight off men larger than her despite her size.

Soldier: "Hell yeah, look at her go! Kicking ass just like a true American! She makes me proud!"

Pyro:

Oh my goodness. These two. Rogue almost always puts on a tough attitude, especially around the other guys. But around Pyro? They're probably the only person Rogue will be a softie towards. They're constantly seen platonically hugging and cuddling, and Pyro loves when Rogue covers their mask in stickers. They always return the favor by covering her face. Once they come off she treasures them. The others will always comment on how adorable the two are, usually followed by Rogue telling them to fuck off.

Rogue: "If anything were to ever happen to Pyro, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."

Pyro: (灬º‿º灬)

Demoman:

Their relationship is quite explosive, to say the least. When Demo isn't trying to get Rogue to try some of his alcohol (which always results in Rogue gagging and choking from the bitterness) they're always assisting each other on the battlefield. Mostly in the form of Rogue catapultng Demo's bombs at enemies with her slingshot. They always share a laugh when a BLU team member is blown to bits.

Demoman: "Boom, right in the head! Look at all that blood! Yer aim is getting better and better, lassie!"

Heavy:

Just looking at these two stand next to each other is almost laughable. With Heavy being incredibly larger than everyone and Rogue being incredibly smaller, he practically dwarfs her. He's extremely gentle with her though, and takes care of her in sort of a protective big brother kind of way. Whenever the team is lounging around, she's often either cuddled into him or resting her legs in his lap. He doesn't mind it. He's also let her beat him in arm wrestling numerous times. She knows he lets her win, but she still take the opportunity to boast to the other mercs about it.

Heavy: "Little girl is so strong. You've beaten me again."

Rogue: 😏😏😏

Engineer:

He's also like an uncle figure to her. But unlike Soldier, he's more of the chill laid-back uncle that she can go to for advice. And she often does. Sometimes when she's bored she'll go into his workshop and talk with him as he plays his guitar or she helps out with whatever he's working on. Even if that help is something as simple as just handing him tools, he appreciates it. He appreciates the company too.

Engie: "Alright darlin', can you hand me the screwdriver?"

Rogue: "Uh... which one?"

Engie: "The Phillips."

Rogue: "Uh..."

Engie: "The pointy one."

Rogue: "Oh! Yeah sure I knew that."

Medic:

Like with Engie, Rogue will often go into the infirmary to talk with Medic as he works (she also makes sure he takes a break once in a while and doesn't overwork himself). He also does what he can to help with her depression once that's out in the open, prescribing her any antidepressants he can get his hands on. Though when she first joined the team and he gave her her first annual exam, he was astounded by how many fractures and injuries he'd found that were just left to sloppily heal on their own. The sadistic doctor was actually kind of worried for her, though honestly impressed by her high pain tolerance.

Medic: "Goodness fräulein, this is the fifth fracture I've found! How are you even walking?"

Rogue: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sniper:

Despite having quite good aim from using a slingshot for years, Rogue was quite inexperienced with guns (not including when she killed her old caretaker at the end of her fighting days). So naturally, Sniper took it upon himself to teach her. He educates her on different types of guns in order to find what works best for her, and the two partake in target practice together. Of course, the two end up bonding during the lessons. She tells him all about her life in the ring, and he tells her about what life was like back in Australia. One thing that Rogue wasn't anticipating, however, was how strong the recoil of a gun can be. She was so unprepared she was thrown right onto her ass in shock.

Sniper: "Crikey! You alright there, mate?"

Rogue: "Yeah I'm fine... fuck, what was that?!"

Sniper: "Recoil, love. Did you not know guns did that?"

Rogue: "...no..."

Spy:

Although she and Spy certainly took the longest to warm up to each other, the two are as close as can be now. Once they finally accepted each other, Spy took her under his wing as his apprentice. He helps her perfect her thieving skills and educates her on how to take tough situations in stride. She really looks up to him, and they almost have a father-daughter relationship. And of course, when her depression comes to light, he's her biggest means of support. He's always available when she needs him and he does whatever he can for her.

Spy: "You make me so proud, mon cheri. You've captured the intel once again, our training has really paid off. Great job."

Rogue: "Thanks dad."

Spy: "Excuse me, what was that?"

Rogue: "....nothing."

Bonus!

Miss Pauling:

Miss Pauling is literally the first woman Rogue has ever been close to in her life. Throughout her entire childhood she's been surrounded by creepy older men, and even though things are different now with the mercs... they're still men. There are just some things Rogue isn't quite comfortable talking to them about. But with Miss Pauling, going to her for help with things like clothes shopping and feminine problems almost feels natural. Hell, there were so many things Rogue didn't even know about periods until Miss Pauling explained them to her. And of course Miss Pauling takes the time out of her busy work day as often as she can to make sure Rogue is stocked up on sanitary items, and whatever else she needs. Rogue is always extremely greatful for it. And while part of her sees Miss Pauling as sort of a mother figure...another part sort of has a crush on her. Yeah, Miss Pauling was pretty much Rogue's bisexual awakening. But she hasn't said anything about it, one because it would just be awkward and two because she knows Scout also likes her, and she doesn't wanna stand in his way (but little does either of them know, Miss Pauling is a lesbian 👀)

Miss Pauling: "Rogue, honey, you don't even know what a pad is? Or a tampon??? What- what do you do when you get your period?"

Rogue: "What, you mean that weird time of the month that I start bleeding? I just... live with it I guess? Maybe put toilet paper in my panties if it gets too messy-"

Miss Pauling: "Rogue. Come with me, I'll get you stocked up on the things you need. And we'll get you some new panties too."

Rogue: "But don't you have things to do?"

Miss Pauling: "This is more important. You shouldn't have to suffer every month just because no one ever properly taught you about periods. I'll help you out."

Saxton Hale:

Rogue thought he was obnoxious upon first meeting him. Called him a "corporate clown" to the other mercs. But, she had to  earn his approval in order to join the team, so Miss Pauling insisted that she be on her best behavior around him. But, even when on her best behavior her spunkiness still shined through, and Saxton noticed it real quick. However, that spunkiness only raised his interest. He commented on how he, "Hadn't met such a scrappy sheila in a long time." Truth be told, she reminded him a lot of Maggie, but he wasn't about to mention it. During their one on one meeting, he demanded that she punch him in the face to test her strength. After a short hesitation, she did so. Saxton was impressed that she actually hit him hard enough to dislocate his jaw and bust his lip, and gave her the job on the spot with the promise that she keep up that energy (and learn to use some weapons, of course). Miss Pauling and the mercs were shocked to see the two of them come back with Saxton's arm slung around Rogue's shoulders and his face dripping with blood, and the two of them laughing with each other. She took back what she said about him being a corporate clown. Although, the only thing she still doesn't like about him is how he treats Miss Pauling, considering how close she is with her. She has a mind to call him out on it, but Miss Pauling begs her not to.

Saxton: "Let's see just how strong a little gal like you can really be. Go on, hit me RIGHT here! Hard as ya can!"

Rogue: "Uh...Mr. Hale, I really don't-"

Saxton: "Oh don't wuss out on me girly, you want this job or not?!"

Crack.

Rogue: "Oh my god- Mr. Hale! I am so-"

Saxton: "Now that's what I'm talking about! You pack a hard punch for such a cute little thing!"

Rogue: "You're bleeding..."

Saxton: "Consider yourself hired!"

Administrator:

Doesn't trust her. Not one bit. She only respects her because she has to, and even then her "respect" is so shallow that anyone could see right through it. She hates the way she berates, overworks, and oftentimes gaslights Miss Pauling, and the fact that even all the other mercs seem to be intimidated by her concerns her greatly. She knows something's going on with her behind the scenes, and she's determined to figure out what. In the few times she actually saw her in person, Rogue definitely smarted off to her more than once, despite Miss Pauling practically begging her to watch it. The Administrator, however, almost finds it adorable. Almost. She kind of views Rogue as a bratty child. A bratty child with skill and talent that is essential for her team. And for that, she lets the sassiness slide...for now. Luckily these two don't butt heads often though, considering the Administrator is rarely seen.

Administrator, over the loud loudspeaker: "Well done, let's see some more."

Rogue, mumbling: "Bite me..."

[please-help-this-little-lesbian]

How I Think Negan, Stephanie, and Heather are as teachers

This is for @xxqueenofdragonsxx

Negan:

Definitely that one teacher who doesn't give a fuck about kids swearing and is brutally honest with them about stuff going on at school (Shout out to Mrs. White love ya queen)

"I don't care what you do outside of school but can you not do it in my class that's too much paperwork."

Has like two (2) class rules but God help you if you break them

Makes an effort to form relationships with his students

Has favorites and doesn't even try to deny it

Bullies his students to "keep them humble <3"

gives homework bc he thinks it's funny to listen to the kids bitch about it but said homework is so easy it's a joke

same with tests

does not believe in extra-credit

(most) of the kids like and respect him but it's lowkey out of fear

constantly gives free days that most definitely turn into "coach Negan can you please help me with my math homework" (looking at you, Hillary)

disliked by parents

surprisingly likes meetings

Stephanie:

The nicest, sweetest, kindest teacher to exist on the planet, deserves way better than the American public education

If she's teaching high school then she def swears in class, if elementary then obviously no

has won teacher of the year on like four different occasions, first was after her first year

always coming up with creative, out of the box assignment ideas

despises standardized tests and common core

loves all of her students dearly and does not have favorites

keeps snacks to give to her kids

does not follow standard disciplinary guidelines, is a firm believer of gentle parenting, and carries it over to the classroom

wouldn't move me down to yellow for no good reason and then yell at me for crying about it fuck you Mrs. Roberts

is by no means a doormat though, she will get you in trouble if she needs to

the fifth graders get on her nerves not gonna lie

has definitely thought about running parents over in the parking lot

hated by a lot of parents but that's only because she doesn't take their bullshit

hates her administration

beloved by all her students

her classroom is a safe space

has fun with her kids

hates meetings, grading, and power school

again if she's in high school she tries her hardest to go to every single game, play, etc.

would single-handily run teacher TikTok and you know it

Heather:

Pretty similar to Negan in that she's chill but she actually has a fair amount of rules

radicalizes her students through her lessons

really funny

does not tolerate bullshit

friends with parents but only the ones she likes

hates meetings

constantly thinks about quitting

tired

her assignments are pretty conventional but her lessons are not

loves field trips

hates phones and will not hesitate to take them

very involved in her student's lives

would be brutally honest about teaching but she doesn't trust the kids enough

survives on coffee

has heard too much

judges her kids

co-president of teacher TikTok alongside Stephanie

plays music in class

Ron Desantis' worst nightmare

hates meetings

[closer-stars]

Good Thing - Mingi (1)

Member: Mingi Genre: A lil of drama, tension, fluff, maybe angst depending on how you look at it. Requested: Yes Word count: 8k  Content: Dance team leader y/n. Basketball captain Mingi. Both of them are stubborn. Enemies to Lovers. Mentions of food. Mentions of near fainting. Mentions of tension. Academics. Slowburn.  Notes: after a long creative block, I’m back once again with long fics. Divided this into two? three? parts. This was supposed to be short, what the fuck. Anyways, I hope this fits your expectations, anon! Please I didn’t expect this to be so long, but here we are. I was already itching to post something after so long so here we are. 

[ Mountain ] Capt, the venue’s already taken. :(((

That wasn’t a good sign. You were in class when you received that message from your best friend. It was a good thing your professor allowed gadgets as long as it was used for note taking. In true student fashion, you lower your brightness just a bit as you switch tabs to reply to San. 

[ You ] Look for the next best. I trust your decision. I can’t stay too long, prof might catch me not paying attention.

You close the tab quickly and catch up on what your professor discusses. Fingers fly across your keyboard as you continue to add additional connections and theories that aid in the discussion. Your best friend and your second co-captain, Wooyoung, was slightly struggling with keeping up with the note keeping, you were already sure that he would ask you for help. 

[ Mountain ] Don’t kill me, Please. :c 

That didn’t sound good. 

[ Mountain ] 6-9pm. Court 2. 

That is definitely not good. Before you could reply, the bell rings and a chorus of laptops closing, notebooks closing could be heard in the room. Your professor quickly reminds the class of an exam the following week along with other reminders that just fly through your ears. 

“Did you catch what he said about brand identity?” Wooyoung asks as the two of you leave the classroom with heavy feet. Your coach had thought it was a good idea to have all of you go through house drills for the first half of the training last night. Fast forward to today, you and Wooyoung were struggling with walking. Even with just simple walking, Wooyoung would make pained whines. 

“I got them. I’ll send you my notes when we get a seat somewhere. I want my coffee while I massage your old muscles.” The both of you found a good shady spot where you could discuss what to do in tonight’s training session as your coach had personal issues to deal with. “Can you message the team where our training’s going to be tonight? San said it’s at Court 2, 6 to 9 PM”

“Heh, six to nine and okay.”

“How mature of you. I’ll be back.” You (try to) jog to the vending machine as you get yourself a quick dose of caffeine. By the time you get back, taking small sips of the caffeinated bean water, Wooyoung stares at you as if he had realized something. “What?” You ask as you settle down next to him. 

“Court 2? That’s the only available one left for tomorrow?” He asks. 

You shrug. “It’s either we get free venues or we pay a meal’s worth for studio rentals.” You reason as you send your notes to the male. As a student-dancer, you knew how hard it was to get studios and have it come straight from your own pocket. The competition was three months away and you didn’t want the team’s finances to run dry this early. 

“Can you at least try not to bite off Mingi’s head?” Wooyoung pleads, almost pouting. 

Song Mingi is the team captain for your university’s basketball team. That said, he’s also often the face of the school due to his grades and being captain of the team. He also often got in your nerves whenever you cross roads. You’re also fairly popular in and out of school: captain of the dance team, often competing in outside school competitions, and even being featured in some big time gigs. The gigs paid the most for your bills. 

You pat your lap so that he stretches his legs from the muscle pain. Careful fingers press on his muscles, causing him to yelp in pain. “Breathe, you baby. I’ll try my best.” You snort, clearly entertained by how low his pain tolerance can be outside dancing. “Tell San we’re in the usual spot if he wants to--”

“Ello!!”

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Your co-captain and best friend as well has appeared a few feet away. “Captain!” He calls out, once he could see your face. Him noticing Wooyoung first then you wasn’t a surprise anymore. These two often plot pranks on you during down time since your second year in the team, this was old news to you by now. “Captain, I’m really sorry. Court 2 was the only one available. The other team already got our first choice and-” he goes off, rapidly defending himself. 

“San, it’s okay. I know how annoying that team is. Let’s just do our best tonight so we can take over the studio for finals okay?” You shake your head, understanding the issue. The dance competition had your own team versus other dance teams inside and outside the university. It was a big event that tickets to watch were always sold out. 

“Please. I don’t think I can handle you snarking Mingi off when he tries to drop by.” San mumbles. 

The thing is, Mingi and you had a handful of common friends. The expectation of his course, Business Administration, being more difficult than yours, a Media Arts student. His tendency to be just as stubborn and strict as you are in your respective fields made it hard for both of you to see eye to eye. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to see their bitch face anywhere outside the stage.” Wooyoung mentions lightly. It was an obvious fear though. The amount of auditionees for your team each year was pretty hefty, the reason? Your friends had pretty faces. To put it simply, your resting bitch face is scary even if unintentional but an intentional one had a lot of people staying clear of you. To whom do you give the intentional one? Shallow auditionees and Song Mingi.

By the time you’ve eased the knots on Wooyoung’s leg, you’ve finished your coffee. “Guys, I promise I won’t fight him tonight.” You say with a sigh. 

San just looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

You pout at him. “I promise! Besides tonight’s cleaning and drills. If I get distracted by that demon, give me the spiderman reps.” Wooyoung places his other leg on your lap, a cheeky grin on his features. A look of empty annoyance shoots from your eyes at him but you still do as he needs. Your two best friends give in with groans. It’s next to impossible to reason with you sometimes. It’s also your stubbornness that brought the team to the current greatness it had. 

“Three sets of spiderman reps. After training.” 

The bell rings, signaling your next class which was quite unfortunately, with the two of them still. San rises from his seat, your bag and laptop already in his hands as he waits for the both of you. 

“Last class for the day.” He states as you take your belongings from him. 

It’s going to be a long day for the three of you. 

“Five minute break” The entire team’s breathless from the drills. Some of them walked off the burn, others drinking water, others opted to lie on the cool tiled floor. You were part of the first group. You bend your back a little to get rid of the soreness that was starting to wear on you. The burn on your arms and shoulders is already a familiar feeling to you but you still hate it. At least it means your body was getting stronger, if the burn only started to set in now. When you reach for your water bottle, you realize that it was already empty. “Fuck..” You groan as you look for a water refilling station. 

The nearest one was near the basketball team’s court. 

Whatever. 

You make your way to the station, making sure that you would go unnoticed by the basketball team as they did their drills. So far, so good. No one paid attention to you as you fill your bottle up with water. That was until Jeong Yunho had noticed you. 

“Hey! Are you training here too?” His warmth made it hard for you to despise him even if he was best friends with Mingi. Why couldn’t he be the captain instead?

Eyes shoot up and you’re greeted by his pink hair. You wave at him quickly then take a sip of water. “Hey Yunho! Yeah, Is the music too loud?” 

He shakes his head, a few strands of hair covering his view. He pushes it back and it was there when you realize just why he had a large following. “Don’t worry about it. The guys appreciate a little music every now and then.” A sigh of relief slips through your lips. At least the volume isn’t too destructive for everyone. Why wasn’t he the captain instead?

“I have to go now. Good luck with your practice!” You bid goodbye quickly, your Mingi radar was going off.

Yes, you had a Mingi radar in your head. 

When you turn on your heel, you are greeted by his stoic features. Even without words, the tension was pretty thick in the air. “Anyways,” you mumble onto your bottle as you try to walk past him. 

“If you’re going to train in here too, being conscious of your noise would be helpful.” Mingi’s voice drips with deep annoyance towards you. You on the other hand, are trying your best not to do spiderman push ups so you just hum in response. 

“When I talk to you, you speak.” He says, rubbing his temple in annoyance. It was moments like this that genuinely make you wonder how he is the face of the school when his attitude was absolute horse shit. 

“Noted with thanks, Song Mingi.” You say simply. Yunho looks at the both of you in mild alarm. He was aware of your less than stellar relationship with his captain but he never saw how bad it was until today. Is it easy to keep your face from shooting lasers at the tall male? No but you were going to do your best. The two of you exchange steely gazes until both of you look away, stalking back to where your team was. 

“What took you so long?” Wooyoung asks as he watches the rest of the team clean the choreography, with San leading at the back. 

“Mingi tried to stall me.” You explain under your breath as you take your spot next to Wooyoung as your eyes keep an eye on their movements. With those who have been accepted, you weren’t as intimidating as you make yourself to be. You wouldn’t admit it openly, you viewed them as your family. You weren’t strict all the time, knowing when to have an iron fist and when to relax. Thoughts were drifting elsewhere that you found yourself gnawing mindlessly on your own water bottle as you watched everyone go through the choreography. Two blinks and you’re focused again. To the untrained eye, it already looked pretty good but to the three of you, you knew it could be better. The team holds the last post for a few counts before doubling over for air. “Catch your breath first then from the top. Seventy five percent energy but I want you guys to focus on your angles and extensions.” You state, much to the relief of some. 

“Does this mean you’re going to have to do spiderman reps?” Wooyoung asks, trying his best to not show his excited smile at seeing you struggle. Little shit. 

“If you’re looking forward to it so much, do it instead.” You shoot back with a smirk. You direct him to join the team in dancing with a quick jerk of your head to their direction. “Join the run. I want to see how you’ve been doing as well.” You stand up. “San! Join the team in the run. I want to see how the two do as well.” 

That’s how the rest of the night goes: repeated countings, claps, and feet stomping to the beat, with the occasional cheering from members to keep the energy up. Before you let everyone go for the day, you asked for one more run of the piece to record. The only issue now is who to ask to hold your phone because all possible places for your phone were either too low or too dangerously high to be on its own. 

You spot Yunho coming out of the basketball court with his bags. His training must have ended. “Jeong Yunho!” Your voice manages to surprise everyone with the volume. Who knew you could bellow at such strength? The tall male’s startled by your voice and walks over to you.

“I didn’t know you could yell that loud. Do you need help with something?” He notes bemused at such a feat. 

“Training can do that. Can you record our run for us, please?” You raise your phone up, hoping he says yes. Everyone’s tired and so are you. His hand is outstretched and it makes you sigh in relief. “You’re the best.” You say. “Start recording when I press play.” The tall male gives you the okay signal as he raises the phone’s angle to make sure everyone’s seen in the screen. Bless his soul. He does as you told him. The run goes without a hitch, by now everyone knows to give their all in the last run to which they do. As your team dances, you notice a familiar brown mop of hair in the peripheral vision. ‘Focus.’ You force yourself to do so as you do your segment, all while cheering for the others who were starting to lose breath. He stands next to Yunho, watching your entire team dance. A small part of you hopes that he’s watching the team as a whole. Once the run was over, a few of the members drop their sore bodies to the floor, relishing the cool feeling of the cement. You dismiss the team, telling them to cool down and stretch on their own as it was late. You walk over to the angel and the demon, both with different emotions displayed on their features. “How was it?”

Yunho hands your phone back and flashes two thumbs up. “That was really cool! You guys really keep with your team’s legacy.” 

Those words make you smile through the exhaustion that has set on your features. “Thank you, you probably have to go now since it’s late. Thanks again for helping us!” You wave him goodbye, doing your best to not look at the demon next to him that stares you down. Just as you were about to leave them be, he speaks up. 

“You looked tired the entire time.” Mingi says with a shrug. “Gotta be an example to your members, y’know?” 

Without looking back at the two males, you heave a sigh. You were tired and the stress for your team and academics was setting in. “Song Mingi, I really am in no mood to deal with your lack of a filter. Please just leave already.” Before you could stop yourself, you find yourself looking over the male. “You call yourself the captain when you’re here throwing unneeded comments. Please do reflect first on yourself before trying to fight me.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you take the chance to leave. 

You don’t see Yunho drag Mingi away before he could say anything. You do see Mingi greet some members of your team and your two best friends as if he didn’t just try to rile you up. You also do see Wooyoung and San’s concern for you. “Don’t do the spiderman reps today. Just do it tomorrow.” Wooyoung immediately pipes up. He knows how you get when you’re angry, the last time you tried to do something out of spite, you sprained your wrist.  

“Let’s just go grab some late dinner. I need food.” Your voice comes out breathier than usual. Too exhausted to bother keeping up a front as you wipe your sweat with the collar of your shirt.. 

The three of you were seated in a fast food chain, dietary plans be damned. You needed something filling and if it was going to be through nuggets, a burger and a big cup of iced coffee then so be it. You had your head in your hands. The two had taken cared of your order, both of them returning to your table with trays full of food and drinks. 

“This is just so shitty..” you mumble, staring at your nuggets. “I have to deal with the mess the alumni left the team with. I mean, I don’t mind covering the expenses from the gigs I’ve done but it’s not going to be enough. Not being in a studio is already so..” you couldn’t continue your thoughts so you shove the entire nugget into your mouth. 

“Don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing everything you can for the team.” San reminds you while he eats his burger. How he manages to fit what looked like a double decker in his mouth was still a mystery to you. 

“The team already knows of the issue since day 1 and they know you’re doing everything you can.” Wooyoung adds gently. He hated seeing you be so tough on yourself.  

Both of them were right but it doesn’t stop you from beating yourself up for having to do your best with tied hands. This isn’t a choreography where you could still move as freely even if you had your hands tied. This is real life with no practice. 

“I know you’re still annoyed at Mingi’s comments but come on, he doesn’t dance. So don’t pay attention to him.” San reminds you, already halfway with his burger. Boys with their almost insatiable appetites without gaining that much weight is something. 

You take a deep breath, pushing the strands of hair that cling to your face as you pull yourself together again. If you were going to cry, it wasn’t going to be here. “Fuck it. I’ll enjoy these nuggets. San, where are we training tomorrow?” 

“Studio. Yeosang got us a discount.” 

“Perfect. Also, make sure he stays in the team once I graduate. His strengths could be so good for house segments also that discount trick he has.” 

“Don’t talk about leaving us yet!!” The two of them cry out at the same time, and by chance they harmonize. 

“Don’t leave the dance team for the choir. Both of you are taking over my position.” You shoot back with laughter. 

The next training comes and it’s a lot more peaceful for your head. Your coach was back teaching another segment for the entire time. Whenever your coach was around, you cut back on your jokes and made sure that everyone didn’t go too out of line with their ways to keep the morale up. The training session leaves everyone much more exhausted as compared to yesterday. 

“Good job guys, you guys did a lot better compared to the last time I saw you. Let’s go for gold.” Your coach says as the three of you, along with Yeosang manage the payments. It’s that type of comments that make this entire competition season worth it. Once all the payments were settled, everyone was slowly going on their own separate ways to deal with their own requirements. Wooyoung and San were going to head to a computer shop to play for a game or two, how long that would be was unknown. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Don’t be late for our history class… Please.” You stated, knowing just how your professor was strict with attendance and tardiness. 

San whines at you. “We won’t! We promise.” 

Wooyoung interjects, “Call him an hour earlier, you know how he is in the mornings.” 

You shake your head at their antics and wave them off. “Fine, see you guys.” You readjust your bag as you slowly make your back to your dorm. A long shower and a hearty meal were needed before you could focus on your papers. After you freshen up, you pick up your laptop and other essentials as you make your way to your usual coffee shop. 

The staff in the coffee shop already knew you. The amount of late nights you spent here to catch up on your studies to the point where they have to tell you to leave as they were closing was innumerable. They also know your current situation just based on your orders. If your order of coffee is stronger than usual, you were most likely stressed. If you had a meal with your drink, you were going to be forcing yourself to finish your requirements. 

You ordered a macchiato with an extra espresso shot and a sandwich. 

By the time your orders came in, you were taking down notes from the reading on your screen. You thank the staff for bringing your order to you, probably having missed them calling your name from the adrenaline in your body to get all of these finished. It’s only when you look up that you catch sight of two familiar faces that were ordering. An exhale and you reach for your earphones. Once you find them you plug them into your laptop, going back to work. 

An elbow jabs his side, and he pulls out his earphones, looking at Yunho with a miffed expression. “What? Yunho, there’s barely any free table here. Let’s just get our orders and leave.” Mingi grumbles. The spare tables were outside but that also meant being in the company of smokers. Yunho pays no heed to his best friend’s complaints and gestures to the table next to yours. 

“That one’s free.”

“You’re insane.” 

“I’m just pointing it out! Besides, air con.” Yunho also adds with a grin. Since last year, his rivalry with you had become a little blurry. He doesn’t remember what the two of you constantly fought about at this point but he clearly knows he can’t stand your presence. His best friend on the other hand, wanted to change that before all of you go on your own lives. 

The air con point was a strong one to fight against. Instead of fighting against it, he just grumbles and lets Yunho do as he wishes. At least if a fight breaks out between the two of you, he could point it at Yunho. The logical part of his head also reasons that if a fight breaks out, his reputation along with the school’s would be destroyed. He couldn’t win. 

He waits for their orders off to the side, prolonging the inevitable of having to sit near you. Once their orders have arrived, he and Yunho carry them towards where you are. 

A hand appears at your peripherals and you look at the owner. The recognition taking a while to set in. The dazed look in your eyes after being disturbed was a little amusing in his perspective. 

“Hey, sorry for disturbing. Is this table free?” He asks with an apologetic smile.

Your eyes scan the entire coffee shop for possible places for them to stay just so they don’t disturb you. All tables were taken. “Uh yeah sure, go ahead.” With that, the two boys sit next to your table as you go back to your work. 

Thankfully, the boys leave you be as you continue to write and read. When you let own a yawn, you knew you had to give yourself a bit of a break. You pull out your earphones as you start eating again to give your brain a break. You look at your list of things to do and a little bit of relief sets in when you manage to finish a good portion of what can be finished tonight. 

“About time you ate.” 

That was enough to cause you to choke on your coffee. You look at the source of the voice and it was Yunho, who was obviously amused with your reaction. 

“Did I scare you?”

“You’re still here?!” You ask incredulous, when you shift your gaze to your front, you were greeted with the devil. Mingi obviously looks like the reading material isn’t much of an interest, not that you could blame him. A small tinge of sympathy sets in you when you realize his notebook was filled with calculations. Yuck. 

Yunho tilts his head in confusion then nods. “Yeah, we have an exam coming up.” The male peeks over his laptop to see that Mingi was on a different topic. “I thought you were studying for history.” 

“Marketing had more things for me to deal with.” The other states in a flat voice as he continues to spin his pen. 

That’s when you notice that there were some eyes on your table, to be specific, on Mingi. It made you a little thankful that you weren’t as out there in the public as he was. It didn’t change the fact that you feel a little bad for the both of them. “Is this under Professor Hwang?” You ask as you catch sight of a familiar reading on Yunho’s laptop. 

“Yeah! Did you take it already?” This causes both pairs of eyes to land on you. 

“I took it earlier today. Do you guys need help?” 

That was enough to make Mingi lean a little forward, for Yunho to look a little more awake. “Are you sure? You’ve been working hard with your own thing.” Yunho reasons carefully. Your to-do list reaches your view again and you take a moment to gauge how good you can juggle your work and theirs. As much as you despised Mingi, Professor Hwang’s anger was something you’d rather everyone avoids. 

“When’s your exam?” By now, your gaze has shifted to your laptop screen as you try to look at your schedule. 

“Friday..” 

“Give me your schedules.” You say, giving Yunho your contact details. “Both of your schedules. I’m already thinking of how to squeeze you into my schedule.” The two boys look at each other in surprise but they give you their schedules, your tone left no room for any opposition. No wonder you were the captain. No wonder people are intimidated by you. Mingi found it impressive. 

“I’ll message Yunho when and where to meet me. We can’t meet during the day, tell me immediately. If both of you want a study session after our respective trainings that work too. Just keep in contact with me with any update.” It wasn’t a request. It’s an order. 

You didn’t even notice that Mingi had pulled his hoodie down to look at you properly. Your attention was too focused on what Yunho was talking about regarding the coverage. None of you really intended to do so but you eventually were giving them tips on how to study for her exam, and they promise-- well more of Yunho promises to make it up to you after. 

“Excuse me, We’re about to close up for the day.” the staff informs gently as he goes to the next table that still had people poring over their books. 

With that, the three of you pack up your things. You finish the rest of your coffee. 3AM. You have 5 hours of sleep left to last through the day. “I’ll see you both depending on your schedules.” It was a reminder for Yunho to send their schedules and he does immediately. You bid them goodbye, as you leave the coffee shop on your way back to your dorm. 

“So they put away their rivalry with you, Mingi.” Yunho notes with a glance at the male who put his hood up once more. He hums in response. To others, he might as well have ignored his best friend for the comfort of his own thoughts. Yunho knows better. Mingi just wasn’t the type of guy who openly admits his thoughts. 

“If we’re studying with them later, can we choose a spot where no one’s looking at us.” He mumbles. Yunho felt for the guy. He didn’t want the role of captain, wanting to just play basketball with a team. Yet being the captain also meant that he would eventually become the face of the university and potential love calls from potential sponsors. The poor guy could barely focus on his studies without having strangers oogle at him when he was outside university grounds. 

“Will tell them.” Yunho returns as the two make their way to their own apartment. 

You reach your room after freshening up. 3:15AM. You were definitely going to need a strong cup of coffee throughout the day. A reminder to call San when you wake up was prepared. With that, your sleep was swift. 

The cursed wind chime alarm jolts you out of your slumber. 8AM. A curse elongated by a dry groan escapes your lips. As you wash your face, you call San’s phone. “Pick up the phone, you sleepy butt.” You mutter as you prepare for your day. 

He finally answers the phone though with a whine that pleads for more sleep.

“Get up. We can’t be late for class.” 

His whines could’ve been mistaken for cries but you hear the sheets ruffle under his movements. 

“I’ll buy you a donut, San. Just please get up and get ready for class.” The things you do for your friends. 

“I’m up, I’m up. Can you get the birthday cake version please?” 

“I’ll buy it after class, so you better show up.” You hang up just in time for a message to come in. 

[ Yunho ] we’re free at 2-4 pm and 10-2am later! 

[ You ] I can help 2:30-4 meet me by the benches near the chemistry department. 

The class goes by painfully slow but you give San the money for the donut. Before he could complain that he wanted you to buy it for him, you quickly cut to the chase. “I just need to help someone with their studies until 4. See you guys later.” 

You arrive at the benches with a sandwich in your free hand. No sign of the two boys yet, so you choose a bench away from prying eyes but visible enough for the two to see you. With some time to spare still, you take a few bites of your sandwich as you look through the notes as a refresher. The shuffling of feet against the pebbles and grass catch your attention. Did you expect Mingi to come first? Maybe this exam really meant a lot for him. 

“Yunho’s following shortly. He just had to use the restroom.” He explains when he notices your wandering eyes. That shuts you up as you give him a polite nod, letting him settle on the bench opposite you. 

“I think you forgot something.” 

When did he strike conversations with you? He hands you your earphones then rubs the back of his neck. 

“You left before Yunho or I could catch you.” 

Your jaw drops slightly at the sight of your favorite earphones. How could this have slipped your mind? This pair was your favorite and your most used due to your activities. “Oh my god. Thank you for taking care of it.” There was no hint of underlying annoyance in your voice as you kept them in your pocket. 

Just then, Yunho jogs towards where the two of you are, sitting next to you. “Sorry to make you wait!” Mingi lets out an exasperated sigh, as he brings out his notes. 

“It’s fine. Let’s get started now cause I don’t think we’ll have any strength to study later.” 

That’s how the ninety minutes go by. Quizzing the two guys on certain topics while giving them tips on how to do well for the exam. It’s not in you to spoon feed them the answers, and even if you did, the exam was half multiple choice and half essay. With every right answer they gave, you would smile brightly and nod. The smile seems a lot brighter around Yunho, when it came to Mingi your smile was a mix of pride and surprise. Not that you thought Mingi slacks off on his studies, he just seems like the type to not pay attention to things that don’t interest him. 

Mingi also notices how you seem to open up when things go smoothly. Almost the entire time, your eyes were on Yunho as he carried the conversation with questions and clarifications over the topic. When he hears his question on the connection of the uprising to succeeding events, he pipes up.

“Wait, Yunho. That’s not part of the coverage, also, a totally different event.. You confused it with the other one.” Mingi explains, brows slightly scrunched as he explains the event to the best that he can from memory. 

You look at him with an impressed smirk. He definitely had brain cells that give him the credit that he deserves. You gesture to him as you shift your gaze back to Yunho. “There’s your answer.” 

Just like that, the bell rings, telling all students that the ninety minutes is over. The broody male is the first to pack his things up, thanking you under his breath. The pink haired male on the other hand, thanks you profusely and waves goodbye to you as they head to their last class. 

You don’t realize the breath you were holding until they left, eyes drop to the earphones that Mingi had returned to you. It’s a nice change you suppose, as compared to all the daggers you’ve thrown at each other. 

Today’s training was held in the same place. Court 2. You could hear the basketballs bouncing against the court floor along with the squeaks of rubber shoes against the floor. If you listened carely, you could hear Mingi cheering for the other members as they continued with their drills. You had your own drills too. This drill being new choreography. The team was picking up the new choreography faster as compared to the past. Those who weren’t part of the segment your coach was teaching were off to the side, cleaning what they know. San and you were part of the group that was learning the new segment. Both of you being the centers. The choreography is admittedly trickier. You didn’t think you’d be doing krumping next to San but here you are. Your group goes through it over and over as your coach directs on how and where to execute the movements. Occasionally, your coach would ask some of you to try a stunt or trick. He wants the gold as much as the entire team and it sometimes reaches the point where he forgets he’s leading student-dancers. 

Your group was gasping for breath afterwards that you had to remind your coach to check on the others and teach the other segments that need to be taught. It worked and it gave your group some more time to breath and rehydrate themselves. Only five weeks left. Ideally, after this week would be intensive cleaning and minor editing. Everyone already had the mix but your coach constantly would try to change little things. Were you worried that this would be rushed and cost the team a place in the top three? Definitely. Being an overthinker and having a coach who was just as bad, if not worse wasn’t helpful. You thanked Wooyoung and San for reminding him of the logistics and reality of things. 

The next few hours go quickly and everyone is admittedly, surprised and relieved that they finished the piece. San gives you a quick massage to relax your nerves as your coach asks the team to do the entire piece, cleanliness not really being something he’d look into for now. The entire number goes by with a few road bumps, none of which he seems to mind. At least he had mercy after being reminded, and by the last run, everyone lets themselves crumple to the ground. Training was officially done for the day. Everyone pays their share for the coach for the day then leaves. Wooyoung and San help you gather the payments then leave quickly, both having to cram papers that were due in two hours. 

This leaves you and your coach alone.

“When is the team going to pay? I need the money too.” You knew where he was coming from. His family had some health issues that had to be dealt with, it was why he didn’t come the other day. You’ve been pestering the team the past few days in the chat for their share, some of them always pushing it back. Your body wanted nothing but to eat something then sleep. Even if you had your gigs as a source of income, it was enough to get you by. With how your coach urgently needed the money and how you couldn’t think clearly, you caved. You ask for his bank account details and right there, you transfer the money to his account from yours. You put the phone screen to his eye level to show the proof of transfer. 

“There.” You say, waiting for him to notice the proof before packing up your things. He nods and you try to keep a note to raise your talent fee in order to make ends meet. He thanks you for the payment and as he was about to discuss another matter regarding the team, he gets a call which you assume is from his family. 

“I have to go. Let’s talk tomorrow.” 

You nod, bidding him goodbye before packing up your things. Holy fuck you were hungry and stressed. Studies, dance and now money? Of all times it had to be when it was near hell week? You want to cry. 

“What are you doing here? It’s late.” Mingi asks, his tone clearly not helping you in your current predicament. 

“What, I can’t stay here now? Is this your territory, Song Mingi?” A groan slips from your lips, but at this point it just sounds like a growl. “I can’t let myself catch my breath here?” You spit out. For once, his eyes widen at your venom. 

“I’m asking because it’s already midnight. You know how the streets outside can be a little dangerous at this hour.” He’s exasperated. A small part of him can’t get himself to be his usual self around you after having helped him in his studies. 

You immediately stand up from your spot, about to give him a piece of your hazy mind. Only, when you stand up, you feel the blood suddenly rush and your head spins for a moment. You lose your balance in that moment and the man knows better than to say anything that could make this worse. 

Maybe it was because of his long limbs that you’ve come to be envious of, or his quick reflexes from his basketball history, regardless he manages to hold you up before you crumple to the ground. His finger gently pulls your lower eyelid down to peek at the color of your eyes. Pale pink. You need to eat and drink something fast. 

“You need to eat.” He states, holding your bag with his free hand as he tries to keep you up. 

You knew that you weren’t really fine but you still had some sort of want for self preservation that you let out a weak lie. “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t.” The chances of you putting up a fight were low so you let him guide you to the nearest food chain. 

It was the same fast food chain you go to with Wooyoung and San every post training. You couldn’t get yourself to look at the menu, the smell of meat, fried strips of potato and grease were overwhelming you. The bright lights made you want to shut your eyes. He notices this and brings you first to a booth far from the noise of people. “Stay here.” He doesn’t know why he said that, you were in no position to go anywhere else as you bury your features in your arms. He crouches down to your hunched level. “Do you want anything in particular?” You shake your head weakly. “I’ll buy you something okay?” You just nod. No strength in you to say that you didn’t want him to pay for you, that you were broke, that you just wanted to go home and sleep. 

The time he was off buying your meal, you were floating in and out of consciousness. You reach for your water bottle, to finish what was left before the food came. All that was left were two mouthfuls of water which you suppose could stave off the hunger pains. As you wait for Mingi, you fish your phone out from your bag as you message the team to remind them of their unpaid dues. Your next gig wasn’t going to be until after this competition. Could you juggle a gig within the next five weeks while dealing with your student duties? Probably not but it is being considered. 

Mingi arrives shortly with a tray full of food for you and him. “I owe you.” You mumble as you straighten up at the sight of food. He shakes his head as he hands you a double burger, orange juice, and ice cream. For him, a burger, nuggets, ice cream and coke. 

“You need this. Call it even, you’re helping me with my exam.” 

You stare at him for a moment then look at the meal. You were hungry and you couldn’t stop yourself from digging in anymore. The size of the burger makes it a little tricky for you to take big bites, forcing you to take small bites slowly. All of which was Mingi’s plan. After seeing how pale and weak you were, having you eat quickly all of a sudden wasn’t going to be good for you. 

“H-hey, is everything okay?” Mingi asks, alarmed as he hands you some tissue to wipe your cheeks with. “You’re crying.” 

The pad of your thumb brushes against your cheek and you could feel the wetness of your thumb. You take the tissue from his hands as you wipe your eyes. “I guess it’s the stress.” You mumble. It still hasn’t set in that you’ve reached your limit and you’re just wiping away the tears as they come. 

“Wanna talk about it?” He offers. For tonight, he puts aside the sour relationship he has with you. 

So you do. Through the tears and food, you share what’s been causing you distress. The internal issues of your team thanks to the alumni’s mishandling of the finances. The financial issues of having to cover some of those issues with your own money. Your academic workload. The pressure of being a captain when you feel like you just became one because there was nobody else willing to take on the role. Along the way, you ended up admitting your jealousy towards Mingi: how the school tends to favor the basketball team as compared to the arts and dance teams, how he’s doing so well as a captain, how finances is the least of his worries for the team. 

That takes him by surprise. The entire time he’s been giving you hell, you’ve been going through your own hell. The idea of internal financial issues never crossed his mind, though that was mostly due to the fact the school covers the expenses for travel and what not. Along with the sponsorships his team receives from sports brands. While he was so caught up in his own jealousy towards you, he didn’t realize that you had your plate just as filled as his, if not heavier. He says nothing, opting to eat his food as you unload everything you’ve kept from everyone. It was obvious from how affected you were, just how passionate you are for this field and to be disregarded, disrespected and be the one to clean up after the mess would clearly take a toll on anyone. He watches you carefully, you’ve stopped crying but your eyes were puffy. It takes a while before you take a deep breath and that was a sign you finished with your tirade. 

“Are you open for my own thoughts or is it better if I just listen?” He finally asks after finishing his burger. 

You let him take the floor this time as you continue eating your burger. 

Here, he admits his wrong doings to you. Just as you were jealous, so was he. Jealous of how you could keep a low profile despite having performed in front of so many people over the years. How he thought you were doing well in juggling your academics with your workload. How you could manage a team as the sole captain, even if Wooyoung and San were your co-captains. He also admits how he thought your team was doing well in terms of finances considering the clothes you have for the performances. Along the way, he apologizes for having added to your hardships. “If you guys need help with financial stuff, just tell me.” Maybe the words passing around of how rich his family was true. 

You stare at the male, your drink halfway to your mouth. That was enough to make him backtrack his words. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.” Instead of saying anything that could worsen the situation, he just opts to eat the rest of his food in silence. 

For the first time that night, you chuckle at his actions. Fingers brush through your hair as you push away the strands that block your vision. “I’ll think about the offer. Thank you though for it.” 

For the first time, he actually shoots you a genuine smile. He walks you back to your dorm, not minding to carry some of your things. It was a quiet walk, not that any of you minded, at least this silence was comfortable as compared to the tensed ones of the past. 

Once you reach your place, you take your bags from him. “Don’t forget tomorrow okay?” 

He stares at you, confused at what prompted you to say such. A few seconds pass and it clicks. “Ah! Yeah, we’ll be there, same place?” 

You nod as you unlock your door. “Get some sleep Mingi. It’s been a long night.” You bid him a good night with another smile before retreating into the safety of your abode. 

The male realized that your smiles seem to make him feel odd emotions. 

The following day goes by quickly. You manage to do alright in your exams and presentations-- though a good portion of your presentation being candid. You go through your usual routine of buying your lunch as you wait for the two in the same spot. 

You didn’t expect Mingi to call your name out, especially in disbelief. Yunho following him shortly. “What’s the occasion?” Yunho asks as he eyes your business formal attire. You look down at yourself and you realize that they are probably more accustomed to your casual wear and training clothes. 

“Oh, presentations. Some of my professors are particular about the attire so…” you trail off with a shrug. “Anyways, let’s get started before you need to go to your next class.” 

You twist your questions a little more this time, testing their memory and understanding of the events. They manage to answer your questions with ease, even going as far as connecting the events to events that happen after. Your heart swells with pride and confidence. If they pass the exam, they were going to do so with flying colors. 

The bell rings and it’s the same old once more. “That concludes our last session. You’ll do great tomorrow.” You say as you give them a standing ovation. Yunho was the first one to react. 

“Whaaat, it’s that fast?” He whines with a pout. With your attention sole on the faded pink male, you don’t catch Mingi’s mixed expression. Just when the two of you were getting along, both of you were going back to your own lives. “We won’t see you anymore?” He asks, almost like a child whose lollipop was taken from them. 

“Boys, you got class. You’re going to be late!” So you shoo them off. Mingi nods and stalks away, Yunho waving to you as he jogs after Mingi. 

“You think we’ll do okay tomorrow?” 

“We’ve been studying for this more than needed. We better, man.” 

You watch them jog towards their next class until San notifies the group chat of their venue for the upcoming days. 

[ Mountain ] Hey everyone! We’re using the studio for the remaining weeks starting today! ^^ 

[ Welsh Corgi ] fries are on us every pre-training so be there early!

[ You ] *only on wooyoung and san :p 

Who knew that today was going to be the last day you’d see Mingi and Yunho?

Part 2

[merlions]

in the past 2 weeks i

> got diagnosed w eds and pots

> also unrelated found out I have tourettes

> been on 2 planes

> did a family reunion

> helped my whole extended family b like "oh yeah i should probably get screened for eds and pots" which they have all had huge trouble w but never knew what was goin on w them (thank u friends w eds for helping me figure out that my body is a loose conglomeration of wet noodles and tachycardia)

> ran around on sand and hard floors and gravel without good arch support and usually without shoes period and fukt both my plantar fasciae again (NOICE)

> got only one very slight sunburn (he'll yea)

> got hives that i woke up scratching several nights which (tw skin related body horror) looked and felt like peanut m&ms under my skin

> carried my baby nephew around for long periods of time (BIG BABY......STRONG BABY....................heavy baby)

> for 7 days straight every day played games like the run and jump over waves game and the "throw a paper ball down the stairs and then chase it down and run back up and do it again" w my 4yo niece (i taught her the jumping over waves thing which makes them crash into her less hard bc she was scared of the ocean, which i didnt think was a game, but she definitely thought it was a game, i genuinely love kids :') ) (i was then inexorably trapped in every day playing the wave jump game w her) (it was fun but my body is a garbage fire) (stairs and jumping are so fucking awful for my heart/dysautonomia)

> for 7 days straight every day was helping w duties as a nurse aide for my grandfather (I'm certified) and spent a huge amount of time talking w him and helping him get exercise (he's 94)

> had brutal and intense conversations to facilitate repairing relationships between my aunts and uncles and grandfather

> powered thru on like 6hrs of sleep per night waking up at 9 or earlier every morning after months of waking up after 1p or much later

> drank starting at 11a for lots of the last 7 days

> took my adhd meds only 3x (a needed tolerance break and a break for my bod but a v hard willpower move)

> only ever had a chance to lie down while sleeping, no lying down during the day

> ate a flour tortilla I thought was GF right before getting on a plane bc this shitty restaurant didn't read my ticket (they look the same but I have celiac disease so they don't feel the same :) )

> barely checked my heart monitor (HUGELY difficult for me)

> carried 60+lbs of luggage while walking a few miles

> FUCKED up every joint lmfao im like in a full body cast made of bruises and braces and ice packs

> like half of my ribs are out of joint and I broke my wrist brace and strained my shoulders to fuck and maybe got a little whiplash from an almost collision on the highway while my roommate was driving me home from the airport (NOT their fault at ALL, ohio drivers are 100% willing and ready to die and take you with them to avoid extremely minorly inconveniencing themselves)

> my neck is crackling more than usual and the PPPD is STRONG baybey

> got! the! job! done!

tomorrow I've gotta start an extremely intense 2 days of moving bc my roommate wasnt able to get much done while i was away. then a couple days later im gonna start a job and then start nursing school in abt a month if the social security administration doesn't fucking destroy my life yet again (noice) so im just gonna try to pop some of these ribs back in and get some sleep. sorry this is incoherent I've been awake and exercising and running around and up and down stairs and traveling for 23 hours. chronic illness WHO???

fuck i need six weeks in bed

anyways goodnight

[twilightpoison]

Alright so I haven’t slept for 24 hours now because of Diabetes so why not use my frustrations and anger to ramble about fluffy diabetic head canons?

SO Obey me boy’s with a Diabetic MC. This is mostly based off of me and my friend. This is all unedited and there is mentions of needles.

Lucifer:

- Probably already knew about it when MC came into the Devildom.

- Has supplies ready and depending on if MC actually pays attention to their blood sugar levels I see him being the type to remind them constantly.

- Isn’t the type to freak out about highs and lows.

- He may not know the 100% procedures but he does know how to give glucagon or what signs to look for.

- If MC doesn’t have a ID bracelets you bet he’ll get one

- With him you are in good hands because of how prepared he is.

- Will probably push you to track your blood levels and carb intake to see patterns and such.

Mammon:

- Imagine him finding out as MC has to take insulin?

- Like out of nowhere they take out a medical pen and stab them self’s? I used to do that and let me tell you. It gets a mix reaction, but its funny.

- For Mammon though, its more the shock that MC did that without mention what the fuck they were doing.

- It doesn’t help that when explain he still doesn’t really understand it.

- Its literally that “he’s a bit confused but he has spirit” meme.

- Probably will start holding on to small candies, just incase.

- He wouldn’t know how to give glucagon or insulin but has them teach him.

- I dont think he would constantly worry about it but its also probably always on his mind when he is with them.

- Like after the first time he wont be surprised with you giving yourself injections or pricking your figure.

- Also would like to mention that Mammon would never sell any diabetic shit.

- Yeah it’s expensive but MC would die with out it and its his job to protect them so they don’t die.

Leviathan:

- I bet you that MC would probably do the same thing with Levi but he just doesn’t notice.

- Tbh if MC has one of those Blood sugar sensor or/and an insulin pump? Thats the shit he is curious about.

- You can’t look me in the eyes and say Levi isn’t interested in technology.

- He probably would find Anime Diabetic merch.

- Like if you need a make-up bag or some sort of pouch to keep your supplies in when your out? He got you.

- Probably the most anxious but thats just how it be with him.

- Would definitely remind you to check/take your blood/insulin

- If there is a app were you can organize everything to help track it he probably would find it and suggest you use it

- There are nights where existing with Diabetes is hard and you need to stay awake just incase it goes down or up, those nights he is probably alive because of video games and/or anime. His company makes the frustration a lot more tolerable.

Satan:

- Oh look another boy who knows what he is doing.

- Unlike Lucifer, I feel like Satan would read up on diabetes via medical books and such.

- So when he sees the ID bracelet/necklace he would ask what MC has as one does.

- He isn’t as prepared but he would make sure MC is.

- Definitely would track the levels for fun though. Its not everyday he can do it so why not make the most of it.

- Would there be any spells to help with Diabetes? That would be something he would look up.

- Satan is also not a panic boi. Maybe for like a second, but he knows what he needs to do and the steps to do so.

- He would probably carry around glucagon on him or extra syringes

- Probably would be amuse to MC just taking insulin during class.

- If some lower demon things its drugs then they better be prepared for a sassy info dump or a punch to the face or both tbh.

- Would probably be the only one to ask if you also have celiac tbh or took the test for it.

Asmo:

- oh dear lord. The first thing that came into my mind was him freaking out about MC’s finger tips and the scabs on them from pricking their fingers or any injection places.

- its something they cant avoid so Asmo would probably have them take extra care of their skin.

- If they have the Pod and sensor combo the most he is gonna be worried about is the adhesive making their skin rash up and the injection site.

- He wouldn’t even care that they have the machines on their body.

- In fact he would probably find some way to complement them, or he’ll try to make them look pretty if MC really that self-conscious about it.

- Probably second most to panic.

- MC usually would take care of everything so if there is some reason that something bad would happen. Asmo would definitely get help first.

- I dont see him as the type of person that can stab someone with a needle.

- But after the commotion he’ll definitely be comforting you for having to go through something like that. High or low its scary and stressful to go over in the danger zones.

- So self-care afterwards to relax is a must.

Beelzebub:

- Honestly he probably doesn’t see anything wrong with MC at first like Levi.

- He would however notice that they watch how much they eat and tend to stay away from sugary drinks and high carb foods.

- At first he thinks its a diet thing.

- Until at like 3 am he sees them downing a whole ass bottle of soda angry.

- Imma be honest here. I see Beel worrying more then Levi or any of the brothers.

- MC is literally can die if they eat to much or to little there isn’t any win to this.

- Beel would try to help, knowing that he can’t keep food on him because he will eat it. The next thing I could think of is him having MC work out with him.

- Diabetes is effected by working out it brings the levels lower. So He would probably help create a regimen that isn’t to labor intense, but can still help get the level under control. This would require the help of MC and Satan, since he would know more about the condition and what they can and cant do.

- When it comes to administrating glucagon or insulin, i see Beel being hesitated but would slowly ease into it. Hopefully MC doesn’t have that many accidents that he would need to get used to it but thats the idea.

- Definitely would cuddle after though. Like what I said with Asmo, wether your blood is super high or super low its stressful to deal with. Also your life is on the line in the worse case, so Beel would definitely cuddle. He doesn’t want to lose MC.

Belphie:

- Oh dear part 2.

- This boy wouldn’t care at first, like when he is in the attic? Doesn’t matter to him.

- But once that whole thing is over thats where the panic sets in.

- Now he doesn’t show that he is worried or concerned because that ain’t how he be.

- His sleeping most of the time, so when he is awake he would probably text them to make sure everything is ok.

- The text he sends would probably be like a normal ass text to make them reply back so he knows that they are alive.

- He wouldn’t do much in terms of helping out tbh.

- Maybe like post emergency he’ll do the same thing as beel and give cuddles, but i dont see him doing anything above that.

- Remember when I talked about frustrating nights? He makes them better when he is alive to spend them.

- Brings MC to the attic so the both of them can be alone. If MC is literally about to cry out of annoyance and tiredness he would definitely be able to calm them down. Words or reassurance isn’t his thing but his bluntness and being able to tease MC still helps break the tension sometimes. He’ll probably tell embarrassing stories of his brothers as a distraction too.

[whitehotharlots]

Liberal cruelty has consquences

This semester is winding down. As I am desperate to avoid grading student papers, I’ve spent the morning reading longish-form online articles. I just came across one that I feel very conflicted about. The online reaction to it as been troubling. So I don’t know if I have anything particularly coherent to say, but I’d like to talk about it.

The anonymously written piece is titled “What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt Right.”  It documents a young man’s journey from a garden variety, liberal-leaning goon to a frothing neo nazi mutant.

The piece is understandably sympathetic, seeing as it was written by the boy’s parent. The writer’s whiny and heavy handed tone caused me, and most of my e-pals, to dismiss it. If anything, the essay showcases an immense failure of parenting. If my child were to ask me to take him or her to a “Traditional American Culture” rally, I would slap the everloving shit of them. Lord knows how many times the kid’s parents had dropped the ball before it ever got to that point.

But then I re-read the start of the article, in which the parent identifies the trigger point for their son’s downward slide:

One morning during first period, a male friend of Sam’s mentioned a meme whose suggestive name was an inside joke between the two of them. Sam laughed. A girl at the table overheard their private conversation, misconstrued it as a sexual reference, and reported it as sexual harassment. Sam’s guidance counselor pulled him out of his next class and accused him of “breaking the law.” Before long, he was in the office of a male administrator who informed him that the exchange was “illegal,” hinted that the police were coming, and delivered him into the custody of the school’s resource officer. At the administrator’s instruction, that man ushered Sam into an empty room, handed him a blank sheet of paper, and instructed him to write a “statement of guilt.”

No one called me as this unfolded, even though Sam cried for about six hours straight as staff members parked him in vacant offices to keep him away from other students. When he stepped off the bus that afternoon and I asked why his eyes were so swollen, he informed me that he would probably be suspended, but possibly also expelled and arrested.

If Kafka were a middle-schooler today, this is the nightmare novel he would have written.

At a meeting two days later with my husband, Sam, and me, the administrator piled more accusations on top of the harassment charge—even implying, with undisguised hostility, that Sam and his friend were gay. He waved in front of us a statement from the girl at the table and insisted that Sam would need to defend himself against her claims if he wanted to prove his innocence. But the administrator refused to reveal the particulars of the complaint (he had also blacked out identifying details, FBI-style) and then hid the paperwork under a book. He declared that it was his primary duty, as a school official and as a father of daughters, to believe and to protect the girls under his care.

Eck… who edited this? It would have worked so much better without a fucking Kafka reference.

So, maybe it was the tone. I dunno. But most readers seem to regard this section as exaggerated, possibly fabricated.  The takeaway was “boo hoo, the nazi kid got punished for sexually harassing  a girl.” Heck: If a reader is truly dedicated to the #BelieveAllWomen mantra, then this description doesn’t warrant sympathy even if it’s entirely true. The kid said something that upset the girl. It wasn’t directed to her and it wasn’t about her. But still, he upset her, and she’s a girl, so he is bad and deserved whatever punishment was doled out to him.

And this got me thinking about my experiences in high school, as a student in the late 90s and a teacher in the mid-aughts. Administrators seemed to always be adopting some or other policy of harsh punishment for bad behavior: zero tolerance toward weapons, drugs, hats, disrespectful posture, electronic devices, swearing, Simpsons t-shirts, and mentally unhygenic reading materials. During dances and social gatherings, my middle school allowed students to bring in CDs from home. That was a decent policy, but anyone who attempted to play a “hip hop” track would receive an immediate suspension for “endorsing violence,” regardless of the track’s lyrical content. My high school adopted a firm anti-bullying policy, but once a boy came to school wearing a gothic dress as some kind of vague transgressive statement, and two separate male teachers called him a fag--out in the open, in front of everybody, as part of the official business of teaching.

Once, in 8th grade, two kids were caught taking over-the-counter caffeine pills. They didn’t get sick or anything; a girl saw them and she narced. They were arrested by the school resource officer, taken in a cop car to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped, and then summarily expelled, their young lives effectively ruined over 50 milligrams of a safe and legal stimulant. At an emergency assembly held the next day, the frog-faced principal croaked out a dire warning that the use of such drugs was strictly forbidden and we would all be subjected to the same fate, should we attempt to sneak in any No Doz. As he issued his stern warning, he slurped gluttonously from a 22-ounce mug of gas station coffee.

The point is, zero tolerance never really means zero tolerance. Rules are always--always, literally always, without exception in the whole of human history--enforced arbitrarily. Harsh policies rarely make anyone safer. They are employed instead to further humiliate and brutalize those who have already been rejected by the system. In my last two paragraphs, I cited the dumbest and most conspicuous examples of arbitrary cruelty that happened to pop into my head. This doesn’t cover the everyday, petty cruelties that teachers and administrators would exact upon kids they simply didn’t like. Without exception, these were the kids who were already marginalized: effeminate boys, masculine but unathletic girls, kids who dressed poorly, kids who spoke with accents, black kids, kids with learning disabilities or behavioral problems. These kids would be given detentions or even suspensions for minor infractions--looking away from the chalkboard, slouching, sneaking in candy, laughing at importune times, etc. It wasn’t the teacher’s fault, of course: zero tolerance and all that. But, strangely, the zero tolerance policies never seemed to apply to the popular, athletic, and/or well-connected kids. If Suzie Creamcheese was caught sneaking some Starburst during Algebra--well, she’s probably hungry, seeing as she works so hard. If Raul, Roofus, or Sheena were caught doing the same? God help them.

Some teachers were nicer than others, of course. Some were downright supportive. Others were simply evil. There was one, when I was in 7th grade, who was particularly repulsive and cruel--no kidding, his admiration of Rush Limbaugh was formative in my early-adopted hatred of American conservatives. He had matted red hair and teeth like a cracked picket fence and would wear a leather jacket out to lunch. Anyhow, he would prattle on about his hatred of kids who “Just. Refuse. To. Learn.” These kids were almost always black. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. He’d make a show of tossing them out of class--sometimes physically--for infractions as minor as getting an answer wrong when called upon. One time, a twitchy white kid who wore the same t-shirt every day called him out: It’s unfair, he said, that I’m getting thrown out of class for getting an answer wrong, when right before me another kid got several chances to respond.

The teacher turned beet red. He got on his knees and put his face two inches in front of the twitchy kid’s eyes. 

“I’m not throwing you out because you got the answer wrong,” he explained. “I’m throwing you out because you are you.”

Again, these are the conspicuous examples. The everyday stuff is harder to describe twenty-five years after it happened.  Most people were not brutalized and they didn’t have a single moment that ruined their life, but they were still exposed to a deeply unfair and cruel system, and such exposure naturally engenders feelings of betrayal, hopelessness, and anger.

Here’s my story--it’s particularly stupid. 9th grade. One day,  I walked into Spanish class, and the large woman who teaches in that classroom before my section grabbed me by the collar, physically lifted me out of my chair, and shoved her moist biscuit of a hand into my face. “What is this,” she demanded.

This was all very sudden. I could see nothing but her hand, which had a distinct fecal aroma.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She removed her hand. I looked down toward desk. She stood silently. I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

“You’re gonna tell me what you did, right now, or I’m gonna double the detentions.”

I was still silent. Seriously, no idea what was going on. This enraged her. She began to count upward, starting at 3 detentions and stopping at 10, by which point tears were welling up and my face was flushed. I said I seriously did not know. She pointed to a small pentagram someone had engraved into the desktop. The desks, by the way, were movable. Anyone could have done it. She blamed me because she didn’t like me. I served 10 detentions and had to pay over a hundred dollars (a shitload of money for a 13-year-old) to get the desk refinished.

This isn't the end of the world, obviously. But it really, oddly broke me. Before, I had thought that so long as I did was I supposed to and didn’t break any rules, I’d be okay. Now I realized that was bullshit, that any vindictive cunt with a few ounces of power could punish me for any reason, at any time, and I wouldn’t be allowed to mount a defense. That’s the sort of thing that fucks with a kid’s head.  I mean, christ--it’s 23 years later and I’m still kinda pissed about it. I hope that woman is dead.

I regained a sense of control by stealing books from the woman’s classroom. A few times a week, I would grab a textbook when I came in, use it during class, and walk out with it. At the end of the school year, some friends and I burned them in a glorious bonfire along the banks of the Mississippi.

My response was petty and destructive, but I don’t feel any pengs of guilt or shame in remembering it. I had to do something to reassert agency, to feel like I had some control, and I managed to find a way to go about doing it that didn’t hurt anybody or get me into trouble. Regardless of the morality of my particular response, we can agree that kids are now much more surveilled than they were 20-odd years ago, and that minor mischief is now much more harshly criminalized. If a kid finds themself on the outs within their school, there’s really no way they can push back. Their only available avenue of asserting control over their lives is to wander into welcoming communities elsewhere…

One more anecdote then I’m done….

My sister was in high school during 9/11. The attacks were on a Tuesday, and the whole rest of the week was assemblies and talking circles and other such activities meant to assuage fear and gin up the hatred of the dirty brown bastards that done this. Two of my sister’s friends, older boys, were the sort of kids who read Howard Zinn and listened to Jello Biafra’s spoken word records. During one meeting, they expressed exasperation at a girl who was sobbing because she just, like, didn’t know why anyone would do that. The boys certainly didn’t approve of the attacks, but they tried to explain the whole concept of the US being an unhinged and murderous imperial power that had done much worse stuff all over the globe. The audience gasped. The boys were hauled into the principal’s office. They were charged with verbally assaulting the crying girl. One was suspended. The other expelled.

So, I dunno… go ahead. If you think due process is evil, that all victimhood claims are valid and should be taken at face value, and that kids of lesser social status should be demonized and made into criminals for upsetting members of the fair sex, then you do you. That’s fine if that’s what you believe. But please don’t be so naive as to think that the bulk of these newly criminalized behaviors are going to actually be malignant, or that the genuinely malignant behaviors of secure kids will be curbed in any way. Please respect yourself enough to realize that school admins aren’t magic sages with mature moral compasses--a plurality of them were business majors in college, for fuck’s sake. And most importantly, don’t be surprised if the kids you dismiss wind up doing some crazy or awful shit in response.

[yandere-daydreams]

The Yandere games were lit man. Can we get like Bakugou or Shoto with their darlings in the yandere sport festival?

So… y’all just shouldn’t expect me to keep to a prompt, anymore. And for anyone who doesn’t know, this takes place in Yandere-verse (where the majority of the population has obsessive tendencies), and ‘darling’ refers to a non-yandere.

You swallowed dryly, keeping your eyes focused on the wall in front of you as Katsuki crossed his arms, huffing at nothing in particular, while Shoto took a more… ‘passive’ route, frowning as he tapped random, uncoordinated notes into the table top. You didn’t know who’s brilliant idea it was to put all three of you in the same locker room, especially during the hand to hand combat portion of a competitive festival, but you’d make sure to pay them a visit later. Probably Izuku. He was always so helpful, when it came to these things.

The two were in a stalemate, or as they’re affectionally called among the students, dead-locks. When two Yanderes were competing for one Darling, but neither is able to gain traction or proceed. Katsuki was a Protective, but he had a record of violence. Administration wouldn’t be eager to give him something new and vulnerable to protect, not if they wanted to avoid a lawsuit. And Shoto… after an Obsessive was found chained up and collared in his room, he’d been blacklisted among Darlings and staff alike. And who was the lucky, lucky love-interest stuck inbetween the two most unstable students you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting?

You. Duh. And all because you had the gall to be moderately polite whenever they talked to you.

“You got your ass beat in the last round, right?” Katsuki’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, your eyes darting to his face. He wasn’t looking in your direction, but the question was clearly aimed towards you. Reluctantly, you nod, much to Katsuki’s satisfaction. “Fucking perfect. You’ll be able to cheer for me from the bleachers when I kick the shit out of Pepsi, in the next match-up.”

You frowned, your gaze dropping back to the floor. “I’m not-”

Shoto cut you off, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. “I hope you know (Y/n) will be cheering for me. There’s no way my Darling would even consider pitying someone like you.” His voice was level, like always, but there were traced of emotion seeping into it, venom lacing every other syllable. You took a deep breath, fingernails digging into your palm for some sense of security, but Katsuki wasn’t as supportive as you hoped.

He wouldn’t lay a hand on you. But, to him, anyone else was fair game.

“What are you, delusional?” The question was asked lazily, Katsuki barely bothering to sit up, but that might’ve been worse expressing his involvement out-right. “You’ve gotta be joking, thinking anyone can tolerate your bullshit until you’ve got them gagged and bound. Let me break the news,” Katsuki paused, standing up. His hands were stuffed into his pockets now, posture as slouched and casual as it could be. You could already feel Shoto’s anger growing, if only because of Katsuki’s nonchalance. “I’m going to win. We’re going to go out, shake hands, and then I’m going to break everything I can reach until someone pries me off of you.”

Shoto scoffed, leaning over the table, glaring at the boy in front of him. They hadn’t been this aggressive since their first ‘confession’, when Shoto tried to kiss you. Hopefully, there’d be less blood this time. Hopefully. “You’ll last five minutes, and when I win, I’m going to make sure you never look at my-”

“Fuck both you!” You couldn’t stop yourself, at this point, you barely tried. You were shaking, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but that didn’t stop you from matching the glares suddenly burning into your skin. “I wanted to win! You two are supposed to care when I’m upset, but the only thing you can talk about is which of you gets to own me. I’m done with it, I’m done with this! I don’t want to be with either of you!”

Wiping away tears, you didn’t wait for a response before turning around, heading back towards the door. Contestants, disqualified or not, were supposed to stay in their designated locker rooms between matches, but you didn’t care about getting in trouble. You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew you didn’t want to be here.

Meanwhile, Katsuki watched you go, a tight, forced scowl painted over the concern he was trying desperately to hide. Shoto wasn’t doing much better, bottom lips caught between his teeth, twitching as he smothered the instinct to run after you. Oh-so-conveniently, a loud, deafening ring sounded throughout the room, a signal that they’d need to report to the field. 

They would fight, while you cry your eyes out in some dark, musty stairwell. Both of them knew it, even if neither was willing to admit how guilty it made them feel.

“Look,” Katsuki sighed, turning towards his rival. “Let’s get this over with. One round, no call-offs, no retries. Winner gets to go after ‘em, and the loser has to step-off.”

Shoto waited for a moment, before extending a hand to Katsuki. “Winner takes all?”

He shook his head, but accepted Shoto’s gesture nonetheless. As long as it meant getting to you faster. “Winner takes all.”

[bitchylittlepsycho69]

entry #1  - Him

Content Warning: suicide, depression and self harm. If you're sensitive to these topics, and you aren't a total masochist about it, maybe you should avoid reading this one.

this is my first entry.

 I want to know if other people feel the same way.  

         is it bad that he still says “kill yourself, look for a reason to” even if I turned a corner, stayed sober, stopped cutting, or had absolutely no reason to feel that way? It’s been since I was 10 that I felt the need to cut, the little voice inside my head saying do it, it’s worth it, you will be at peace, unfortunately I am not as selfish as I thought  and I think of my mom every single fucking time... I don’t really no what reason I had to cut myself at that age, but all I remember was the first time he appeared. the little voice inside my ear. Him.

   I wasn’t really a enjoyable person to be around growing up, always had problems with friends or my weight or just being able to communicate with people in a certain way, my mom used to say I was just quiet, but honestly I was being consoled by that stupid voice in my head

 ‘LIE, CUT, DON’T EAT, YOU WILL FEEL BETTER LISTEN TO ME JOANNE’.

 I don’t know why... but his voice sounded so soothing until you stop listening to him. then he gets violent and aggressive.  

 ‘MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE WORTHLESS AND YOU NEVER FUCKING LISTEN JOANNE

 ugh shut up guy.  

 After I went into high school. He broke loose. I was my own demon for a while, I started getting into things I never did in my life, (drinking smoking snorting fighting getting arrested the whole shebang) but it’s not like I wasn’t enjoying it. I would drink or do drugs with my new friends to forget about what I’ve been through. like turning over a new leaf. but that was toxic. and on a daily basis I would drink smoke cut repeat. day after day it was like an addiction for pain and forgetfulness. After grade 9 summer 2012, he came back. stronger. he knew every weakness of mine, I am him, he is me. he knows everything now. just when I thought he was gone. he came right back.

  I got expelled. sent a girl to the hospital, was arrested, charged. you know it. after that I was sent to counseling but still didn’t go so, I breached my probation, twice. all I remember is that giggle that me and him would do when we would get in trouble do something ridiculous like spray paint the water tower or steal from tip jars and from grocery stores, just stupid shit. I loved the attention and so did he. but he knew my future. and at that time, I didn't. he was up to something. but 16-year-old Joanne, was fucking clueless.

 years are passing by same old shit just a different day and my life got boring so demon left for a while, I stopped cutting got into habits like working ffs. my demon left for a while when it was 2015, when I first met the love of my life, knowing I’m manipulative I did everything in my power to keep him around, sometimes healthy, most of the time not. but eventually that relationship came to came to an end and we lost contact.  but HE came back. angry. and violent, and ready to play. I grabbed whatever drug I had in my cabinet, took it all. drank until I woke up in the middle of a park on the opposite side of the city when I was just drinking by myself at home, got a 15000 loan and spent it on blow Xanax bottles and cases of liquor, I paid last 3 months rent so I could pretty much trash it for 3 months then find another dump to live in. I drank and drove everywhere sometimes I was black out and still was lucky to make it home. but I didn’t care. I’m ready to die. he knows it, and I know it. and on that day in June 1, 2018 we agreed with each other for the first time. he knew everything now to get rid of me. he knew the alcohol would stay he knew I wouldn’t stop he knows I wouldn’t get help.

 ‘Now its time Joanne. now there’s nothing more you have left, you’re 20k in debt, your family hates you your friends tolerate because you have the money, you had the stuff, but where is everybody now? you were meant to die alone. Just fucking do it’

 “Okay”

 After that somebody called the cops on me, they showed up and I was there puking and passed out, only I didnt have any cuts on my arm, pills and cocaine were scattered and mixed together vodka was all over me and I had bleach; unopened, thankfully. Now if that wasn’t rock bottom. Then there is definitely a lot more to come... because I’m still falling.

 got on medication, trazodone mostly, some anti depressants, but I wasn’t allowed to have to many, because I am a substance abuser. I could hear him mocking me from the distant “fucking pussy”. He would say it to make me drink to taunt and every time that happened, I would drink and drive, and guess who has a DUI now. After the meds started kicking in, he fucked off. But I stopped taking my meds right after. Is it bad that I missed him?

 He left and I didn’t hear from him until September 2019. But that’s another story. Thanks for reading.

  my depression will always find a way back. there is no escaping my life. but at least I’m not alone, I have him. he will always be there when you fall, to cradle you in your darkest times, to eagerly make you want  feel the endorphins breaking through your wrist, that feeling you’ve been thriving for, the art painted with a blade that you found in your dads tool box, the tears that you shed of every minute of everyday, the things you go through. he will be right where he needs to be. With you. Always.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If any of you are going through something and need to talk to somebody or if somebody you know is going through something there are many support services that are here to help.  

IN CANADA:

Canadian Suicide Prevention Service (CSPS): French or English: toll-free 1-833-456-4566 Available 24/7

 Kids Help Phone is Canada’s only 24/7, national support service. We offer professional counselling, information and referrals and volunteer-led, text-based support to young people in both English and French.Whether by phone, text, mobile app or through our website, you can connect with us whenever you want, however you want. KIDS HELP PHONE (20 years or youngers): 1-800-668-6868 (Online or on the Phone)

UNITED STATES:

United States Suicide Prevention Lifelines are available 24/7 Call National Hope Helpline at 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433) or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255) or in Spanish, 1-888-628-9454.

Center for Mental Health Services (CMHS), of the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), maintains a mental health services locator, which you can use to help find services, facilities and resources in your state. 

[britishassistant]

Mr. Hale’s Art 301

August— Before Class

7 Months Earlier

Peter needed to remind himself more often that, high schooler or not, Lydia Martin was a force to be reckoned with.

She and the rest of the original Hale-now-McCall pack vowed revenge on him not long after he revived, but all went about it in different ways.

Scott McCall simply punched him in the face and left it at that.

Stiles Stilinski somehow managed to find and break into his apartment and sprinkle crushed wolfsbane into enough garments and towels that Peter was still wary when he was getting ready for the day.

When Allison Argent was alive, she repeatedly left arrows bearing her family sigil in both his home and places he frequented— presumably, like Stiles, to violate his sense of territory and just to show that she could.

Derek just brooded and looked by turns murderous and guilty whenever his uncle was in the room before he left town, though his stint as Alpha could be called punishment enough.

Lydia Martin, however, played the long game.

He still wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed it.

Somehow, despite Peter never sending in his resume or going for an official interview, Lydia Martin had arranged for him to become Beacon Hills Middle School’s new art teacher.

She’d even managed to have a touching, heartfelt story printed on the front page of the Beacon Hills Daily about the miraculously recovered coma patient attempting to give back to the community via imparting his gift to impressionable young minds.

How she’d found out he was capable of art despite all of his portfolios and most of his dissertation research burning in the fire was also a little beyond him, but he digressed.

Scott appeared so moved by the article that any attempts to suggest that Peter wasn’t actually going to take the job resulted in the alpha’s claws and fangs coming out in a way that promised either a maiming or expulsion from the McCall pack entirely.

And Peter had too many irons in too many fires to allow that to happen.

So he’s standing in the front office of Beacon Hills Middle School, contemplating the rictus of existential pain on the face of something he thinks is meant to be a beaver.

It’s one of the better methods that he’s devised so far of blocking out the scent of emerging hormones, social anxiety and too strong body spray belonging to over 300 adolescents that are sleepily beginning to shuffle into the halls of the building.

While waiting to meet the Principal and Assistant Principal of this farce of an educational facility at 6:30 in the fucking morning.

So yes, Lydia Martin needs to have a closer eye kept on her in future.

For the good of man- and werewolf-kind really.

Finally, finally, he’s able to hear a man’s footsteps walking towards where he’s been waiting and politely avoiding the leering gaze of the elderly secretary. For some reason the man’s heartbeat, as choked by cholesterol as it is, sounds vaguely familiar.

“Well, well, well. Long time, no see, Hale.”

A portly man with a large bald spot has swung open the door and stands there with his hands on his hips as though he’s in some kind of soap opera. He has the beginnings of jowls and a shiny badge with the words ‘Assistant Principal’ on it that smells like it’s recently been polished. He’s also got a look of cocksure smugness on his face that seems out of place for some reason—

Peter’s mind supplies an image of a gangly teenager with overlarge glasses, a perpetually resentful expression, one ill-fated month with a fedora, and several pathetic attempts at a beard.

“Tommy!” Peter exclaims, smothering as much delight into his tone as he possibly can. It’s galling that he has to work for this sniveling toad, but he’ll be dammed if he lets the scum of his high school know it. “It’s been ages since we graduated, how have you been? You seem to have done well for yourself.”

Tommy’s face drops into the nostalgic expression of sour resentment that Peter so fondly remembers. “It’s Assistant Principal Thorne to you, Hale.”

He turns sharply on his heel. “You’re late— not a promising start. Follow me.”

‘Because you kept me standing out here for 30 minutes while you primped for your grand entrance, you miserable tapeworm.’ Peter thinks, but does not say, plastering on his widest devil-may-care smile on his face instead.

Memory serves him well despite his brief sojourn into the great beyond, because Thorne’s face twists further in response before he feebly tries to not look like he loathes Peter’s guts.

He is lead into a warren of corridors that end in a door that is marginally nicer than the others, with the plaque ‘Principal Melinda Johnson’ on it.

Thorne knocks on it, and opens it when a pleasant female voice bids they enter.

The Principal is a professional, pleasant woman with cropped hair and prominently displayed family and wedding photos on her desk. She looks him in the eye when shaking his hand and tells him honestly that she is honored to have him on board her staff, without a whiff of arousal to be found in her scent to Peter’s subtle relief.

She is clearly more used to dealing with the administrative affairs of the school as her speech about her school and students makes it evident that she is laboring under the slightly misguided assumption that her successes as a parent have translated to successes as an educator.

Thorne continually shoots his boss dark glances that were overlaid with the warring stink of contempt and arousal.

Peter kept a disgusted snort to himself. The toad really hadn’t changed since high school. He’d been like that around Talia, loathing her for her position as Student Body President and objectifying her in the same breath.

It was one of Peter’s most cherished memories, watching his sister casually verbally tear the covetous little bastard a new one when he tried to suggest that she was somehow unsuitable for her position due to her “womanly concerns”.

It was just a shame she’d shot down his suggestions to tear Thorne’s gaseous black sedan a new one as well.

“And once again, Mr. Hale, may-I-say that your decision to come in so early for your new position shows remarkable promise for your future teaching career.” Principal Johnson enthuses, oblivious to the mutinous glares of her subordinate.

“Early, ma’am?” Peter inquires pleasantly, feeling the prickles of both righteous outrage and not-quite-so righteous homicidal urges at the sight of Thorne’s now sickly grinning face.

“Oh? Well, I thought Mr. Thorne had sent you the package that outlined the time slot for your class this year–1:30, wasn’t it Mr. Thorne?”

“12:30, Principal Johnson, just before A-lunch.” Thorne replies in a tone that does very little to disguise how smug he sounds.

Peter needs to clench his hands slightly to force his claws back in.

Don’t rip his throat out now. It’s too quick. Too painless. Wait until McCall’s pack is suitably weakened, then tear apart this farce of an educational facility while the toad whimpers, and string his guts from the rubble.

Maybe total his car beforehand just to rub salt in the wound.

Peter smiles sheepishly, making sure none of his intentions for the school or certain members of its incompetent staff are visible. “Unfortunately, my apartment’s mail system is a bit byzantine; it wouldn’t surprise me if one of my neighbors ended up with my packet and forgot to return it to me.”

“Oh dear! Well, I’m sure Mr. Thorne can easily print you off another copy, can’t you, Mr. Thorne?”

“Mr. Thorne” curls his lip and then attempts to straighten his expression into a genial smile at the small frown that flits across Principal Johnson’s face.

Peter keeps his look of boyish, charming innocence, and begins to plot exactly how he can have the assistant principal removed from office, and maybe even from the great state of California.

He’s got to amuse himself somehow during this torment, after all.

Peter wishes he’d been able to go home and at least nap for one of the six hours between his meeting with the principal and when he was due to start his class.

But no. Assistant Principal Thorne decided it was imperative for him to meet every member of the faculty that the school building had to offer.

After the third lunch lady and the fourth janitor, the adults began to blur together into an amorphous mass of names, ink and stress-soaked scents, and awful, awful fashion sense.

Really, Peter should be commended on his self-control for not ripping out Thorne’s throat in the boys’ locker rooms then dragging the body outside to claim that it was a random vicious mountain lion attack.

But he digresses.

A couple do stand out.

The gym teacher—Brody or something— who starts out acting like he belongs on McCall’s high school lacrosse team, before breaking down in hysterics over his ex-wife and children. The long-suffering faces of his students suggest that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

The mathematics teacher— a Ms. McGrath—who reeks unpleasantly of resentment and poorly concealed fear. She is in the Derek Hale School of trying to control people via shouting and threats, though hers are more geared towards grades than bodily harm.

The english teacher— Mr. Joshua Nord— is a name Peter takes the trouble to remember simply because he appears to be the least afraid of his own students. He could be tolerable company or the one most likely to stand up to Peter if he gets bored and decides to make his own fun.

By the time 12:00 rolls around, Peter already feels exhausted. He hasn’t even had to deal with any of the actual children yet.

He was suddenly very glad for Principal Johnson’s insistence that he only hold one small class this year, as though exposure to too many middle schoolers at once would send him back into a coma.

Still, at least the scents of paints, inks and clay was familiar enough that it loosens something in Peter’s chest a little.

Funny, the things you don’t realize you miss until they’re suddenly returned to you.

He decides to peruse the back rooms, see exactly what he’ll be working with and how much he’ll need to compensate for budget limitations.

It’s mostly cheap paints, crayola color pencils, crayons, markers, a few sharpies, and some watered-down india ink, but at least there’s a decent set of lino blocks, some traditionally “craft” materials, and several air-sealed bags of clay that make him grin in anticipation.

A pair of small footsteps approach his classroom, and the door creaks open.

Peter contemplates emerging, but none of his students should be here yet. The footsteps that creep into the room are cautious, hesitant, ready to turn and run at any moment.

There’s a couple of high-pitched whispers of “It’ll be on the desk!” and “Quickly, quickly!” and Peter shifts so that he’ll be able to spy on the intruders into his territory through the glass window in the back room door.

The brown hair that rests on the child’s shoulders reminds Peter of a beagle’s floppy ears. The bags under her eyes (it’s usually a her with that sort of hairstyle) only furthers the similarities as she looks around wide-eyed on her twitchy, overly-cautious journey to his desk, clutching a brightly colored piece of plastic.

There’s a scent of heavily applied makeup emanating from near the door, combined with high-pitched snickering, suggests that her lookout is most likely a girl as well.

The child finally gets to his desk, and Peter rolls his eyes at the sound of rustling papers.

Really, how does this child ever sneak anything past her parents or older relatives? It’s almost cartoonish how obvious she is— she makes Stilinski at his most discombobulated seem subtle and discrete.

There’s a soft scratching sound, and the scent of graphite. So a basic graffiti prank then. He hopes she at least does something more creative than a simple penis. Though it could make for a good first critique project...

The acrid burst of Sharpie ink gives him pause. Well, either she’s going above and beyond in the call of duty or, as the repetitive sound of the mark making suggests, she’s looking more to conceal something than to add.

Peter’s lips curl into a slow smirk.

The pencil scratches a few more times against the paper before the girl loses her nerve and barrels back towards the door of the classroom, bumping into her lookout, and the two sets of footsteps pound off down the hall, nervous giggles floating in their wake.

Peter lets himself out of the back room, and rearranges the freshly photocopied syllabi and scattered codes of conduct. He pauses to take in the results of the intruder’s meddling.

The smirk widens.

This promises to be interesting.

[professorxwolf]

TASK #19: THE INSTITUTE INTERVIEWS

@witchyveritty

IC questions:

1.   When you look in the mirror, what do you see? I see..a man who’s sometimes more human than anything else. Someone who makes and has made mistakes, done some shit that he really regrets and hurt people along the way. But I also see a man who tries. Who loves and protects fiercely, atones for his mistakes, and does the fucking best that he can. I may not like what I see every day, but shit..who does? At least I’m finally seeing someone that does deserve to be happy and loved.

2.   Do you believe it’s okay to tell a lie and under what circumstances? I’m trying to be a lot more open and honest. In the past, I’ve kept things from the people that I love, and it wasn’t right or fair. So yeah, truth is always the best policy, when possible. Little white lies though, they are sometimes needed. Like..I may tell the Administration that I’m gonna punish a mouthy slave, but everyone knows that’s bullocks. Sometimes you do gotta just tell people what they wanna hear.

3.   Are you an introvert or an extrovert? I think I’m a fair mix of both. I am a social person, you gotta be if you’re in the line of work that I’ve been in for decades. Plus I just like people, if they ain’t assholes. But when I want my solitude and a little peace and quiet, you best let me have it.

4.   If you could describe yourself in one sentence, what would you say? I’m a man who hasn’t always had an easy life and sometimes makes mistakes, but through it all I always try to be a good, just, and..fucking hilarious man.

5.   If you went to Hogwarts, which House would you be sorted into? Ah..I would say Gryffindor. I like to think that I’m strong, and brave. And I’ve had my share of incidents that started with ‘hold my beer’.

6.   What lie are you most likely to tell? Around here? That I’m gonna be a bigger asshole than I actually am, if it means that I’m getting to protect someone, somehow. Back in the real world? I don’t really know. But it would likely be something meant to protect someone as well.

7.   Which do you find more appealing: to be loved, to be admired, or to be feared? Why? To be loved. I don’t give a shit about being admired, or feared. But love..it really does give you a purpose. And at the risk of sounding sappy as shit, it does give life meaning.

8.   Do you have any pet peeves? Uh..embarrasingly enough I could list a bunch. I try to be a tolerant man, but there’s just some shit that gets under my skin, you know? Gum smacking, people who don’t take care of their pets or pick up their shit when walking. Drivers who have no fucking clue where their turn signal is or how to get out of first fucking gear. During the time of Blockbuster, assholes who never rewound the tape before returning it. Drunk people who think they know fucking everything, including how to walk when they clearly can’t. I could go on but I won’t bore you.

9.   If you could go back in time and undo one of your own actions, which would it be? Why? What I did to Atticus. I hurt him so badly, I completely broke his trust. And that’s something that I will regret for the rest of my days. If I could take it back I would, just so I could spare him that hurt. He did nothing to deserve it. ( @voulez-vousatticus )

10.What kind of people do you value more: those who are loyal to you or those who are useful to you? Why? Loyal. I like to think that I don’t use people, that’s crap. And it ain’t like I expect anyone to be loyal to me and no one else, or any shit like that. But aye, I do value loyalty.

11.Be honest… are you easily influenced by others? I try not to be. I’m a packless wolf, who’s always owned his own business and answered to pretty much only himself. So in lots of situations in my life, I ain’t ever really had anyone to influence me. But..I think it can happen to anyone, in certain situations. I’m sure I ain’t immune to it happening to me.

OOC questions:

1.   What kind of anonymous questions are your favorite? I like ones that are actually related to some kind of character development, or are more about Ciaran as a person than ‘ship/gossipy stuff.

2.   Are you prone to go a few days without responding due to life/personal reasons/lack of inspiration? Absolutely! I’m a mom with two boys, and things can get busy sometimes. Summer is an especially crazy time for me, but there are also a lot of weekends when I’m not able to get on.

3.   Have you ever deleted/abandoned a muse before? Sure have. It can be really hard, but that’s just how things work out sometimes.

4.   Do you listen to music while your write? I do, or I watch TV/movies, or YouTube videos with my kids. I’ve had to become a master of multitasking, or I would never get anything done.

5.   Are there any languages besides English in which you think you could comfortably roleplay? I’ve never tried but with the right resources I may be able to. There’s really no particular language that I think would be easier than another.

6.   How many drafts is a paralyzing amount? That’s a hard question because I’m used to a lot. Sometimes I can have between ten and twenty per character. So I guess anything more than that?

7.   What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not? His strength of character and protectiveness. And Ciaran would say the same. He’s certainly not a perfect man, he’s made his share of mistakes in his life. But one of the things that’s always held strong is that he is a good man and that he tries to do right. And if he loves you, he will lay down his life for you.

8.   Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most? I wouldn’t say that I particularly enjoy it all the time? But I think that it’s good for character arc/development, and it is needed to keep things realistic. Nothing is perfect and happy all the time! The thing that would break his heart the most though would be hurting/losing Kai, or hurting anyone that he cared about. ( @lvstwxtch )

9.   Is there ever been a time when you’ve had to drop a roleplaying partner because you’ve found their writing style exhausting? No, luckily I’ve never really experienced that. I consider myself to be a very patient and tolerant person, maybe to a fault at times, but I always try to be open and give people a chance, and to try and talk out any issues instead of just flat out dropping.

10.How much do you proof-read as you are writing vs. proof-read at the end? It’s a little of both. If spell check catches something, I do tend to correct it as I’m going. But then at the end, I do try to read things over as well unless I’m really pressed for time.

11.Is there something that you’d never be okay with writing? Anything that has to do with child/animal abuse are really hard limits for me.

[altheterrible]

I just want...a break.

Or maybe to go back in time 7 years and not go to pharmacy school. That would be ideal. That was the start of everything. Making the stupid decision to pursue my dreams was the first step in fucking up my life. I should've known better. But I was fed the lie that it was possible to escape poverty, and I bought it because I've always been idiotic enough to think I deserved better than what life had given me.

My therapist encouraged me today to believe that I deserve good things, but I fucking don't. Believing that is what got me into this mess.

My life is never going to get better. Even if I do get my license back this fall, I'm not going to be able to get a job as a pharmacist. Not when the pharmacist market is oversaturated with new graduates who don't have a black mark on their records. My brother in law thinks everything is magically going to work out, that the perfect job will just fall into my lap, but realistically no one is going to want to hire me. All my training is in health care, and I'll probably never work in health care again.

I can't go back to school because I'm in default on federal student loans. I'm maxed out on student loans anyway, so I couldn't pay for it. I can't get a job that pays well enough to cover rent, bills, AND loan payments, so I can't get out of default. So I'm stuck with a doctorate I'll never use again and no path to another career.

I've been applying to jobs that offer on the job training for other careers, like I was thinking of becoming a vet tech, but none of them have called me back. My education and work history are too incongruous. Even when I lie and leave my doctorate and any mention of being a pharmacist off, it doesn't add up. I don't know what lie will help me. The truth certainly isn't going to.

All I can do is retail because it doesn't require any specialized training. I've applied at libraries, but because I have a degree I'm too qualified for entry level jobs but because I don't have an MLIS, I'm not qualified for higher jobs. I've applied for jobs in education, but I never hear back. I've applied for innumerable administrative assistant jobs, but they all want previous experience. I'm stuck.

I'm stuck, and I don't see a way out, and every day I go work my shitty retail job, it kills me. It's physically exhausting. It's demoralizing being treated like shit by management and customers. Customers talk to retail employees like we're subhuman, and it's hard not to believe I am after a year of it.

And in addition to being stressed about being stuck in this position, about my shitty paycheck, about being sued by yet another credit card company, about being in default on my student loans, about working a job I hate...the only person who hasn't made it abundantly clear they don't want to hear about it is my therapist. Everyone else clearly doesn't want to deal with me and just want me to shut up about it. Basically, my stress is stressful to other people so I need to shut up about it and smile. And it's legit. Because as much as my therapist tells me I have value outside of what I can provide for other people, reality doesn't line up with that. The only reason people keep me around is because I can be of service, and the second I fail at that, they're done.

I wish I could just kill myself and not stick my sister with the cost of dealing with my body. That would be the best for everyone. No one actually likes me, they tolerate me, so it's not like anyone would be upset beyond the inconvenience of losing the various supports I offer.

Fuck, I can't even talk about how much I want to die without it getting turned around into being about other people, I just end up apologizing for talking about it. I can't even tell my therapist about it because she'll hospitalize me. So I just suck it up and deal with it.

I feel like I'm reaching the end of my ability to suck it up, though.

[theliterateape]

If Trust Builds a Society, the Absence of Trust Destroys It

by Don Hall

The Covid Policy That Really Mattered Wasn’t a Policy

That our political and social problems are maddeningly difficult to solve doesn’t make them any less necessary to at least try and ease. Whatever basket of pandemic policies the Biden administration tries — be they the vaccine mandates the Supreme Court just gutted, or new testing infrastructure, or variant-specific boosters — will not work if the social context in which those policies play out continues to deteriorate. And it is deteriorating: 88 percent of Americans say the pandemic has left us more divided, which is higher than in any of the other 16 countries Pew surveyed.

We erred this time by believing ourselves not just more capable, but also more united, than ultimately proved true. Now that we know the truth about ourselves, and the havoc our divisions will wreak on any pandemic response, the problem we need to solve becomes clearer.

What does good pandemic policy look like for a low-trust, high-dysfunction society?

Ezra Klein makes an interesting case in this article. He’s right about a lot of things. Our pandemic response resulted in more disease and more deaths from COVID than most countries in the world and there is a strong case to be made that it had more to do with our mutual distrust of the media, the government, and one another than any other single factor.

This is fucked up, gang.

Trust is a tricky thing. For the most part, we engage in a transactional model of giving and receiving trust. Do things I consider trustworthy and I give you my trust. Do something that breaks that trust and it is taken away until you do enough things to reestablish that trust. Until you break it again. In this way, we say, we earn the trust of others.

Like hope, trust is fragile and amazingly powerful. With it, relationships can grow, employers can instill loyalty, societies can progress in genuinely positive ways. Without it, we all become ineffective solo efforts without enough juice to move past the navel gaze or the frozen burrito wrapper that has been sitting on the coffee table since June.

It is also a reciprocal relationship within ourselves: if we are trustworthy, we are more trusting. If we are not trustworthy, we distrust more.

Tyler was my assistant for five years back in Chicago. I trusted Tyler despite a few red flags in his character because that’s how I roll. I believe trust is given rather than earned and have little faith in the tit-for-tat method of common trust transaction.Trust or do not trust, there is no try. Tyler, apparently, did not trust me. To be fair to him, I was pretty hard on him. He was an awful combination of incredibly ambitious and passively lazy. He loved the recognition but wasn’t willing to do the work. Consequently, I was on his ass a lot.

Those red flags became apparent when I found out he actively campaigned for the position and aggressively threw two of his colleagues under the bus to get it. When I found out about it, we had a serious conversation and I let him know that that sort of thing was not tolerated. Over time I realized I trusted Tyler but didn’t completely respect him much and the stage was set.

We were friends as well Director and direct report. We co-hosted a podcast together. We worked together on The Moth in Chicago. Hell, I officiated his wedding. Honestly, I have so many fond memories that reconciling them with the endgame is difficult.

At the tail end of those five years, I found out that he was actively campaigning for my job much in the same way he had knifed his colleagues previously. My trust in him — professionally and personally — shattered over night and, like a present I had given that had been tossed in the trash, it was not to be given again. Because he was essentially an untrustworthy person, I was blindsided and never caught up.

In hindsight, though, I can’t say I’d do anything differently had I to do it over again. The breaking of trust is always rough but, if you’re a grown-up, you find a way to forgive and still not forget.

The childish reaction is to state that Tyler was never really my friend but that’s, well, childish. Tyler was my friend until he wasn’t. That’s the way of things. Sometimes trust is broken and ends a relationship. Sometimes the relationship has more value and the adults in the room recognize that they need to do that thing the Zoomers reject as something toxically masculine but I view as absolutely necessary: they get over it.

Do I trust Klein in his assertion that the United States would’ve been more effective at mitigating the effects of the pandemic if we’d been, you know, more united? If we trusted one another? If we trusted our institutions?

I have a theory that, while there were instances of the government twisting the truth here and there (Trail of Tears, Reconstruction, Pearl Harbor), the moment the country was asked to swallow the hollow load of the Warren Commission, the cracks in our collective ability to trust the white dudes in suits, hats, and ties in the hallways of Washington power began in earnest. The Magic Bullet Theory is just fucking silly and to straight-face it to explain the assassination of a beloved president was just too much to ask.

Add to that the Watergate Scandal and the dice were tossed. Americans, who were always skeptical of politicians, started crossing over the Rubicon to complete and utter mistrust. I recall hearing stories about my grandfather — WWII veteran, blue collar oil rigger — railing against fluoride in the water as a government conspiracy to control the masses and I imagine that if he’d had a Facebook page at the time, he might have gone way down that rabbit hole and become a full-fledged crackpot.

Propaganda has likewise been omnipresent in this country but there was a time, long gone and evaporated like the smoke in the office of Ben Bradley, when most Americans at least trusted some of the news media of old to tell them the truth in the world. Today we have a lot of spin and with the presence of videos and tweets an almost pathological need to out the hypocrisy involved in the creation of Connect the Dots Narratives rather than simply reporting the news.

My mother’s neighbor has a “Let’s Go, Brandon” bumper sticker on his van and hates my mother because she flew a Black Lives Matter flag during and just after the riots of Summer 2020. I feel the sting of moral indignation when I see someone refusing to wear a face mask or wearing it improperly and I have to stop myself from minding his business rather than my own. I deleted all of my personal social media accounts because, in my widening distrust of those whose ideas run counter to my own, I found myself hating people whom I had never met and would unlikely ever be in the same physical space.

I want to trust my neighbors. I want to trust the news media. I want to trust the government.

But I don’t. And neither do you. Not really.

Whom do we trust?

Hell if I know. Maybe, in the pursuit of some sort of answer, whom do I trust?

I know who I don’t trust.

I don’t trust anything on FOX News. I also no longer trust NPR. Both are so loaded with promoting a specific and narrow worldview that I can’t simply watch and listen and not bend over backward to find what I believe is true versus the narrative that is being spun.

I don’t trust almost any politician whom I’ve heard of because the trustworthy ones are too busy working on solving problems to be seen much.

I don’t trust advertising of any kind.

I don’t trust Big Tech, Big Pharma, Big Oil, Big Auto, Big Agriculture. I trust Zuckerberg as far as I could pick him up and toss him, like the robot kid in AI, across the room.

I trust my wife. I trust my family. I trust most of my friends.

Reagan famously said “Trust but verify.” It’s a solid sound byte and decent advice. The difficulty is that with so many seeking trust, there isn’t enough time in any one day to both verify those threads of info and enjoy the streaming goodness of HBOMax. So we stop trusting one another and watch Peacemaker and The Gilded Age.

I’m an optimist at heart. I also believe without finding a way to trust a few more people today and a few more tomorrow, to openly seek out those we feel we can trust, we’re fucked as a nation. We have to trust some of us. We have very little choice but to trust some of the news and a few politicians or what the fuck else are we gonna do? We sure screwed up the pandemic response and millions paid the price in COVID deaths and at least a few years of completely fucked educational failure.

I also believe that trust is a choice rather than a challenge. Trust is given rather than earned.

So whom do I give my trust?

The aforementioned wife, family, and friends (most of them). Also, I give my trust to those in the media asking questions and using data to verify the answers. I give my trust to reporters who present facts, not narratives. I give my trust to those politicians who actually accomplish some modicum of governance for the people who elected them. I give my trust to those voices out there who are curious, aren’t angry, aren’t lecturing me, and do their level best to judge less and understand more.

I choose to trust Fauci but I understand if you don’t. I choose to trust my Apple device even if I’m leery of trusting the mega-corporation. I choose to trust the kid making my chicken sandwich despite all evidence that he may have pulled a Project Mayhem on me.

Like with Tyler, I might be wrong with some of these choices. Like with Tyler, I’m pretty certain I’ll survive if I am.

The Big Lesson is to give trust freely. Try to forgive when it’s broken and give it again if necessary. It isn’t a finite resource any more than hope. Scars happen because the wound healed and scar tissue is thicker and we could all use some thicker skin these days.