#i’m assigned to 6 rooms and teachers who aren’t on my list will call me because the other lady doesn’t help them

[iamcayc]

Chapter 2: Kids

Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Flirting, Developing Relationship, Original Character(s), Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Strangers to Lovers, annoyances to lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Vaginal Fingering, Heavy Petting, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit

---

The phone ringing startles you as you’re sitting on your couch, a true crime documentary on the television as the soundtrack to your night of grading essays. There’s still half a stack of essays to slog through, and only one more glass of wine left in the bottle on your coffee table.

You glance at the screen of your phone, frowning at the name you see.

“What’s up, Nanami?” The phone rests against your shoulder as you scribble a barely-passing grade on the paper in your hand.

“You busy?”

Well, this isn’t going to end well.

“I’m almost out of wine and have twelve more essays to suffer through before I can call it a night.” Nanami chuckles at your predicament. “So, yeah, I guess you can say I’m a bit busy. Why?”

Nanami sighs and you can just see him rubbing his temple as he tries to work out a way to ask you something he knows you aren’t going to like.

“Spit it out, would ya?” you probe with a sigh.

“Satoru wants your help with a mission.”

Your frown immediately deepens. “I already told him that I’m not a sorcerer.”

A muffled series of thwumps and thuds force you to hold the phone away from your ear before a new voice chirps through the device.

“Technically, you only told me that you have asthma,” Gojo says brightly. “You didn’t say anything about not being a sorcerer.”

Your eyes narrow at nothing in particular. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the kind of guy who likes to point out technicalities?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound a warm caress through the phone. You’re fairly certain that’s mostly the wine reacting, but you aren’t taking any chances.

“Regardless, let me make it perfectly clear to you: I am not any kind of practicing, jujutsu sorcerer,” you say slowly, clearly. “I received enough training to keep my energy in check and help out where I can as a Window since I work at a school and know what to look for. Now, if you’d be so kind as to return my cousin’s phone, I’d like to tell him to make himself available for you since he is sorcerer.”

A soft grunt sounds as you listen to the phone getting passed back to Nanami. “I’m sorry, Kaya. I tried explaining—where the fuck are you going? Satoru!”

As he shouts Gojo’s name, a polite knock sounds at your door. You leap to your feet, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Kaya? Kaya, are you there?” Nanami’s voice sounds tired. “Do not open that door. You give this guy a fucking inch and he takes a mile.”

“Are you telling me that the random-ass person knocking on my door right now is Gojo?” you ask tersely. “Because I’m pretty fucking sure I live a solid distance away from your school.”

Nanami sighs and mutters a series of graphic swears as the person at the door begins to knock on the door to the beat of “Mary had a Little Lamb.”

“I can’t tell you if he’s being so stubborn because he genuinely needs your technique, or if he’s only thinking with his cock, but you do not have to answer that door.” You snort, not buying for a second that Gojo has any intention of giving up so quickly.

“I’m never having dinner with you again,” you hiss into the phone before hanging up. As far as you’re concerned, this is all Nanami’s fault for allowing Gojo to crash their weekly dinner. You toss the phone on your couch before stomping towards the door and yanking it open to reveal a casually-dressed Gojo leaning against the jamb with a grin.

“What the fuck do you want?” you ask with thinly-veiled hostility. Gojo ignores the venom and grins wider.

“I have to say,” he remarks, “I think you’ve got the most beautiful eyes when you’re irritated.”

You haven’t wanted to throttle someone in so long, you forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil.

“What do you want?” you ask again, this time through gritted teeth.

“Your help.” Gojo tilts his head innocently as he looks at you. “Pretty please?”

The bubbling frustration with this man isn’t something you need your neighbors witnessing, so you step aside and yank him through the door, surprised that he allowed you to grab hold of him at all, considering what you know of him.

You ignore his chuckle as you stomp back into your living room and pause your documentary, knowing you’ll likely have to restart the whole thing since you missed so much thanks to the asshat currently making himself comfortable on your couch. He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, tilting his head back to look at you.

“You’ve got a nice place for a teacher.” You stare at him. He did not just backhand compliment you. “Though, the sound proofing tiles are a little odd.”

“You’re an asshole,” you tell him with a glare. “And now that I am fully aware of the fact that you have highly selective hearing, let me say this one more time: I have absolutely no interested in joining your mission.”

“Because of your asthma, right?”

Dear fucking god, you want to punch him.

“And the fact that I’m not a fucking sorcerer. I have never and will never work as one.”

“Why not?” Gojo watches you as you sink onto a pillow on the floor at the coffee table. “Nanamin isn’t anywhere near my level and he still makes a solid living doing exorcisms.”

You look at him as you pick up your red pen. “If you had to quantify the actual size of your ego, how big would it be?”

The jab is ignored with a dismissive wave. “Your cursed technique, it’s based on sounds that you personally create, right?”

“I mean, it’s definitely bigger than your dick. There’s no way that thing is bigger than a handful of centimeters, considering the way you carry on every time I have the displeasure of seeing you.”

“But that can’t be it, because if that were the case, you would be wreaking havoc on the populace if you so much as farted.”

“I wonder what that server thought when you finally whipped it out, after doing everything she could think of to get your attention? Ha! I bet she was so disappointed.”

Gojo leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he grins at you. His aura is practically dancing around him; he’s loving every second of this.

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

“I really didn’t care either way.” Half-truth, but who’s counting? “I just got tired of seeing her tits every time she came to check on us. That, and her aura was starting to make me motion sick with the undulating and buzzing.”

He raises a white brow. “You can see auras?”

“I heard them first. I’ve always been sensitive to sounds.” You frown at the introductory paragraph of the paper in your hand. Did you students even read the assignment? “I only started to see the auras after training with Nanami.”

“I’ve never heard of someone hearing an aura... what’s mine sound like?”

You look up at him, surprised to see that he’d taken off the sunglasses he’d been wearing to pin you with those eyes. Why is someone so far up their own ass this hot?

Setting down your pen, you take a breath to center yourself, allowing your own aura to reach out to his. You let your eyes guide the edges of your aura along the edges his, like a bow across a string. If Gojo feels anything, he doesn’t say; he just watches you with an intense expression.

At some point, you let your eyes meet his, and that’s when his aura begins singing to you.

“You sound like a cello’s mid-range, that sweet spot of notes on the G and D strings.”

“What does your sound like?”

The question throws you off. No one has ever asked about yours before. It’s not that you don’t know how your aura sounds, but rather, you aren’t sure how to explain what you hear.

“It sounds like me,” you reply plainly. “I sound like... just me.”

He regards you quietly before letting his cheek rest on his fist. His gaze softens as he looks at you, sending whatever traces of annoyance you feel towards him scattering into nothing.

“There have been reports of a cursed human loose in a residential area outside of Hidaka. Some sightings have it listed as a child, others say it's a few adults. But all the witnesses agree that whatever it is, it’s luring children from the area into the woods.”

“Is this the part where you tell me why Six Eyes needs me to find some cursed human in the woods?”

He shrugs. “I’m not good with kids.”

You snort. “You’re a teacher.”

“And you’ll notice that my students are well above the age of 6 years old.”

“So are mine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Pot, meet kettle.” You set down your pen and look at him seriously. “And before you throw my whole aura-sight at me, I’ll point out that you seemed to have no idea that I could see auras until a few minutes ago. So, tell me why you want my help on a mission you and your students are more than equipped to handle on your own?”

Gojo leans back against the couch once again and sighs. You let silence creep into the space between you. His aura isn’t singing anymore, but it isn’t agitated, so you haven’t totally pissed him off. Yet.

“I want you to lure the curses out and get them to bring the missing kids with them.” One of his hands slides through his hair. “At least, that was my initial idea. But, if you can see and hear auras, that might help us get the kids out before shit goes south with the curses.”

You frown. “That original plan assumes that I can control more than one curse at a time, which isn’t the most fool-proof, either. I’m not being modest when I say that I’m not a sorcerer, I’m being honest. Your dark-haired student’s aura is more powerful than mine, and he wasn’t even trying to let me see his aura.”

Gojo considers you quietly, his blue eyes shimmering in the artificial light of your apartment. You’re tempted to examine the shifting colors of his irises up close, until you remember that you know better than to let your body anywhere near a man that self-confident.

“I’d say you’re an upper Grade 3, just as you are now. Properly motivated, maybe a Grade 2. Still, that’s more than enough to draw out a few curses. I don’t need you to exorcise them, only get their attention and make them a bit more docile for the kids to take out.”

“You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?” you ask him, sighing as you rest your chin on the heel of your palm. He flashes you a bright grin, sending an armada of butterflies up your stomach and into your throat.

“Nope.”

You lean back on your palms as you look at him. You have no interest in telling him that you’ve already decided to help since there are missing kids involved, so you let him watch you watch him. Because, maturity.

“And what do I get out of this? Other than a potential asthma attack?”

His grin slips into a smirk. “What do you want?”

You raise your brow, knowing full well what he’s insinuating. “I don’t touch sloppy seconds, thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of a few bottles of really nice wine, or maybe an expensive whisky. Or, if you’re feeling really guilty about triggering my asthma, never asking me to help with your job ever again.”

“Since I’m feeling generous, why don’t you decide after you’ve helped me out? You know, see how much effort you have to put in and get the most reward for your buck.”

You don’t trust that new sparkle in his eyes as you agree to his terms.

You only agree to meet Gojo and the others after school the next day because the sooner you’re done with this favor, the better. Then, you can get back to watching Netflix specials on serial killers and grading piss-poor essays on the Baroque movement in peace.

The grounds of the Tokyo Jujutsu High School are well kept, despite there being so few students enrolled. The spans of the campus practically begged to be bustling with chattering students, but all it gets is the occasional grumpy alumni and sporadic admissions.

It wouldn’t hurt to plant some flowers either.

“I told you she wasn’t going to show up with a flute or drum!” You glance over your shoulder and see Gojo leading the two boys from before and a new addition, a girl with down-turned eyes and a bored expression.

Gojo inclines his head towards you by way of greeting. “Kaya, you saw these two yesterday, Yuji and Megumi.” His thumb points out Pinky first, then the dark-haired kid whose temperament you like. “This is my other first-year, Nobara.”

You wave with a polite smile, your teacher’s smile. “Nice to meet you all.”

Nobara peers at you a little longer, her eyes sweeping up and down your outfit with analytical eyes. You couldn’t wait to hear what a sixteen year old has to say about your clothes. You chose to swap out your black jeans for a sturdy pair of athletic leggings to increase mobility, though you are acutely aware of how tight the pants are, especially around your ass.

You pick at an invisible lint on the sleeve of your jacket. Gojo is doing a marvelous job of surveying your… assets.

“I want you to design our new uniforms,” she declares boldly. You blink in surprise since that is definitely not what you were expecting. Not sure what’s so stunning about leggings and a rarely-used running shirt, even if it has Gojo eyeballing your butt with enough heat to send his aura in languid waves around him.

“Thanks, I think.” You slip on your leather jacket and look over at Gojo with an arched brow. “Are you finished gawking? I have classes to teach tomorrow, and there’s nothing worse than trying not to make a bunch of teenage girls cry when you’re too tired to tell them their god-awful piano composition sounds like something out of a third-rate anime.”

If they thought Nobara offers up some hot takes, they need to see you with less than six hours of sleep and a full day of classes on the horizon.

Gojo chuckles as he rubs his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. There is something unfairly sensual about the motion, and extremely predatory. Frowning slightly, you turn away and hand the kids the the earplugs you had stuffed in your pocket before you’d left the apartment.

“What’re these for?” Yuji asks, inspecting the bits of foam like you just handed him cocaine. .

“Maestro, here, uses a cursed technique rooted in sound.” You feel Gojo sling his arm around your shoulders. “Though, seems like she didn’t bring enough for me to get a pair, too.”

You shoot him a look. “You know precisely why I didn’t bother. Now, can we please get a move on?”

Wordlessly, the kids gather around and latch onto Gojo’s jacket, and you brace yourself for the gut-punch that comes along with teleporting. Nanami graciously informed you of Gojo’s aptitude for warping after a series of threats of bodily harm that exponentially increased in severity the more he dodged your questions. In that time, you realized that Gojo’s perpetual use of Limitless could stop your technique without a thought.

You’re in the midst of replaying a particularly entertaining memory of Nanami squealing like a pig after you started to make him juggle kitchen knives when you feel a strong hand press you against Gojo’s chest by the small of your back. Sputtering with utter indignation, you glare up at the grinning man, wishing with every fiber of your being that your knee could make contact with his balls at that moment.

“Ready, maestro?”

“Fuck off, Gojo.” Yuji snickers from behind him. Gojo watches you expectantly and your glare deepens. “I’m ready.”

“There’s a good girl.”

“Dude, keep that shit up and she’s going to find a way around your Limitless to kick your ass,” Megumi mutters from the right. “And Lord knows, the majority of us will sell tickets to that show.”

You don’t hear Gojo’s reply as you're lost in trying not to hurl all over the man as he yanks your body through space. The surrounding trees whisper and rustle in the evening breeze, the low glow of the sunset making the setting feel eerie. You hope the missing kids are okay, but you’re jaded enough to know better. Rolling your shoulders, you shake off the creeping shadows of memories you’ve worked hard to ignore on a daily basis.

“You’re up, Kaya.” Gojo nods at you as he removes his blindfold, his eyes more aquamarine in the dying light. “Think you can tag the auras for me?”

“Everyone got their earplugs in?” you ask the teenagers behind you. They all respond with solemn nods, their expressions resolute. You glance at Gojo, his eyes unseeing but all-seeing as he looks out into the forest around you.

“When I start singing, Six Eyes should pick up any auras my technique hits, like sonar.” It’s been over a year since you last sang, but you’d prepped your vocal cords most of the day with hot tea and a couple shots of bourbon before heading to the school. “I’ll also be willing whatever hears me to come to me as I sing.”

He looks at you with slight concern. “How long can you sustain that?”

You set square your shoulders and look back out into the darkness ahead. “As long as I need to. My priority will be the kids, you guys can deal with the cursed human.”

He nods as you take a deep breath to settle the flurry of nerves in your stomach. Why are you so nervous about singing in front of Gojo, of all people? His opinion has never mattered to you, since the moment he crashed your dinner. Who cares if he doesn’t like the song choice or if he thinks your voice is garbage?

“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors is a go-to warm up song for you. It sits right in your chest range, so it’s easy to project as you start walking slowly into the woods. Besides, you know how it feels to beg someone, anyone for help but end up ignored instead.

Gojo’s footfalls are nearly silent as he stalks behind you, but your voice makes his aura pulse against your own. It’s a comforting feeling, lending you more courage than you were feeling, that’s for sure.

A sharp rustling to your left makes you pause, the movement too harsh and erratic to dismiss as an animal. The icy blue of the aura halos around a tiny form, the fear tinkling like a shrill bell being shaken by a child. Gojo stiffens behind you, but you raise your palm before shooing him back.

Without faltering in the song, you crouch down in the direction of the stumbling child, pulling a small handbell from your other jacket pocket. A steady, calming beat in time with your singing pulses forward, coaxing the child out slowly as her aura shifts from pale blue to a saturated cobalt.

A little girl, no older than six or seven, flies into your arms, making your stumble in your singing. She’s coated in dirt and gods know what else, clutching your jacket so tight that her tiny knuckles turn white.

“You caught the culprit’s attention,” Gojo chuckles as you soothe the frightened child into letting go of your jacket. She clings to your leg when you stand, her snot and tears soaking into your leggings. You try not to cringe, but Gojo catches your obvious distaste and laughs, earning him a glare.

“There’s a cluster of black auras there,” you tell him quietly, gesturing further into the woods, to the east. “I can see them, but they’re silent.”

He hums as he nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully before he looks at you again. His eyes flick to the little girl, whose grip on your leg is starting to get painful, and it’s in that moment you realize two things.

First, that you get to tell Gojo, “I told you so.”

Second, in relation to the first, the tiny girl death-gripping your leg has an aura that is shrieking and melting into an opaque black.

Fuck.

Without a second thought, you send a surge of your cursed energy into your aura, ballooning it up rapidly. You swing the handbell down sharply, a clear, piercing note with the demand to be let go striking the tiny cursed human, tossing her away from you a good 30 yards.

A dull ringing pulses in your ears as you struggle to keep your balance. You shouldn’t have used that move so soon out of semi-retirement.

Arms scoop you up before you hit the ground. Muffled voices bicker as you barely hold onto your consciousness, but they fade away quickly as you’re overtaken with another bout of nausea that pulls you back towards consciousness. You try to move, but the arms hold you tighter against what you learn is Gojo’s chest.

“Easy, easy.” His breath warms your face as he calms you. “Shocked you’re not passed out yet.”

You don’t have the energy to remind him that he’s the pot and you’re the kettle when it comes to stubbornness. Based on the bits and pieces of the room you can see through still-blurred vision, he had warped you both back to your apartment.

He lays you down on your bed, checks your pulse, then slips out of the room long enough to get you a glass of water and a banana.

“I told you I wasn’t a sorcerer for a reason,” you mumble as you push yourself up slowly. The dizziness is gone, but exhaustion presses against your bones at this point. Gojo sits on the edge of the bed as he watches you sip at the water and peel the banana.

“Your stamina is shit, yeah. But you know what you’re doing.” You break apart the banana bite by bite. Like hell you’re going to eat an obviously phallic fruit in front of a man with the maturity level of a teenage boy. “I’d say with a bit of training, you could hold your own without passing out again.”

You shoot him a look that hopefully conveys how little interest you have in making that a reality. He only gives you a small smile before he stands.

“Better go check on the kids, make sure they didn’t completely fuck that simple exorcism.” He pauses at the bedroom door, lifting his blindfold just enough to look at you with one eye. “Thanks for your help, maestro. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll be in touch.”

He winks at you with that one azure eye before he just blinks out of sight. Your thoughts start replaying your time in his arms, a coveted location, you’re sure. He smelled like cedarwood and eucalyptus, but on the designer fragrance side of the spectrum, which surprises you considering how boring his attire generally is.

Sighing, you fish your phone out of the inner pocket of your jacket and swipe it open. No new messages, but a couple of missed calls from Nanami. You’re too tired to both giving him a lecture, so you just tell him he’s your personal chauffeur tomorrow until you can pick you bike up from the school.

And if you even THINK about sending Gojo in your place, consider yourself a eunuch the next time I see you, got it?

You don’t bother to see if he responds. Instead, you shed your clothes and crawl back under the covers, setting a few different alarms, just in case. Yawning, you curl onto your side and let your eyes drift closed, willing your brain to just shut the fuck up with the semi-intrusive thoughts. Falling asleep now would get you a solid 7.5 hours, more than enough for another round of compositional reviews.

I wonder what he thought of my singing…

[adhbabey]

hi. im really sorry for bothering you. this is also a long ask so im really sorry. and im sorry if im ranting. i feel like i need to explain and give the entire story and everything. it ends up leaning to overexplaining. and im already doing it. ok. so sorry. so, for the last few months (six or seven) ive been questioning if i have adhd. i show many symptoms such as sensory overload, hyperfocus, emotional dysregulation, rsd, delayed sleep phase syndrome, inattention (1/6)

hyperfixation and emotional hyperarousal, some problems with memory and object permanence, a selective memory like i memorized an entire 369 page book but i forgot where my phone was when i put it out of my direct line of sight, 

i stim (drawing, moving, humming, etc) and i need stimulation or i die, I’m bad with remembering to shower/eat/brush my teeth and i will forget to change my outfit for days on end, 

I have trouble controlling my volume and all of this: ( Do you feel like you’ve ruined everything when someone tells you that you did something wrong? Do you think you’ve offended people when you haven't? Do you have a hard time judging reality correctly (like you think you’ve offended or hurt someone and you feel awful but it didn’t bother them that much)? ) But I still don't show the "normal" signs of ADHD. 

I’m not loud or disruptive in class. i get excellent grades. i took the act in 7th grade and got a 23 (good for a seventh grader).

i don’t struggle with getting things done, if they have a deadline. no deadline, never even going to start. but i’m known in school as the smart kid, with perfect grades and in the gifted program. when I’m at home i get all my homework done immediately. everything is turned in one time or before the deadline. 

I don’t have time blindness unless I’m hyperfocusing. otherwise I’m way too acutely aware of time. i can guess what time normally within two minutes without looking at a clock. 

I’m constantly stressed about making it to places on time and am never late. and ADHD is a disability, but I’m doing fine, it hasn't affected me really at all, so i don’t feel like I’m valid enough to talk to people about getting a diagnoses or even talk to people that i might have it. i don’t even think they'd believe me. they'd just brush it off that i was lying, i was trying to justify why i forget what I’ve just been told or why i disrespect the teachers by drawing instead of looking them in the eye.

I just don’t know what to do, and so I’m asking you, do you have any advice? should i talk to someone? 

It’s not affecting me really. I’m not struggling. i have friends, social skills and i do great in school, i turn things in on time and all that. i don’t have major issues that a lot of ADHD people face. You have to have at least six symptoms interfere with your school, home, social life before you’re 12. I’m 14. but i show so many now i don’t know what to do. sorry for the rant. any advice?

I’m so sorry I didn’t answer this sooner, by the way, I’ve not been able to get on my computer in the past couple of days, so I deeply apologize. But for first looks, by the fact that you made a wall of text, in which I edited down for an easier time reading, you absolutely have ADHD. 

I’m going to say this, one thing, it absolutely affects you. Just because you aren’t having bad days, doesn’t mean you never will. And it’s likely that you’re not struggling so much, because you are currently in a structured environment. I was in a similar position when I was still in public school. I didn’t realize that I had ADHD until I was 20 and entered an unstructured environment for college. It was then I began to struggle so much that I wasn’t able to clean my dorm room and had an ant infestation. 

And you don’t need to be disruptive to have hyperactivity symptoms, especially if you are assigned female at birth, afab people are taught to mask things, and tend to end up being called drama queens, chatty and daydreamers. So if you feel the need to brush off your symptoms, its because we are unfortunately taught that. 

With executive dysfunction, its literally about having a hard time starting tasks, thats what they mean. Also many neurodivergent people can relate to the “gifted kid syndrome”, you are not alone in that. 

For time blindness, being stressed about the time or hyperaware can be a sign of overcompensating for the fact that you may not have an internal clock. Time blindness is when you are doing something and next time you check its 2 hours later but it felt like 15 minutes. If you have anxiety about the time its a sign you experience time blindness. 

Also its a neurodivergent thing to hate eye contact, and with us who have ADHD, it helps to focus on something visually to listen to them. Stimulating certain senses can be important for not getting distracted, because its a controlled thing to keep you occupied, so your other senses can be used better. 

You should talk to your school counsellor and parents if you can, tell them that you relate to specific symptoms on this list. Say you think you deal with executive dysfunction and all this stuff. Because while you may not struggle as much right now, you may struggle worse later and its important to start managing it now for the future. 

I hope this helps. Sorry for taking so long!!!

[purplesurveys]

1124

survey by nadine07

Three Names You Are Called:

1. Robyn, by virtually everybody. 

2. Byn, by close family members.

3. For some reason I have some friends who call me Bynbyn? even though I never established it as a nickname?? but they use it as an affectionate nickname so ultimately I don’t mind it. It just takes me aback sometimes, lmao.

Three Colors You Are Wearing At the Moment:

1. Red

2. White

3. Pink. Or light purple, depending on how you see it.

The Last Three People To Call You:

1. My mom, though I missed the call because I was at work earlier.

2. I just saw that Ysa, my director, also tried to call me. This story is so fucking stupid...I physically went to the office last Wednesday to pack some groceries, and all day long I had been leaving the door slightly ajar every time I had to go out because I haven’t had my biometrics enrolled yet and I don’t hold the keys to the office (and I was the only one who requested to go there for that day).

Of course, knowing my luck, the door slipped while I was out (I had to very briefly hand a package to a courier), locking me out of the goddamn office with all my shit inside. Even worse, I had a meeting going on with a client – I had speaking parts assigned to me, and I got locked out like 30 seconds before my part would start. I’m guessing Ysa called me during the time I disappeared but I obviously couldn’t have answered the phone. It was infuriating, especially since my manager had to cover for my slides which she didn’t practice for.

I’ll no longer get into how I managed to get back inside since it’s another embarrassing and complicated story altogether, but suffice it to say I was really upset about the whole thing and I still feel uneasy imagining how that meeting could’ve gone down with my disappearance.

3. A courier. They usually call when they’re already arrived where you are, so that they know where exactly to meet up with you.

Three Days You Look Forward To Each Year:

1. My birthday, because it’s kinda cool turning into a different age.

2. Whenever Wrestlemania is scheduled, which is usually late March or early April.

3. ...I don’t have any either favorite days/dates.

Three Jobs You've Had:

1. PR associate.

2. That’s my first job. I’ve had two internships before that, and they were both at PR agencies.

3. -

Three Bands/Singers You Love:

1. Paramore

2. Beyoncé

3. The Japanese House

Three People You've Talked To Today:

1. It’s exactly 7 AM. I could’ve talked to my parents when they headed downstairs earlier but I pretended I was still asleep on the couch so that they couldn’t, hahaha. They’ve since gone out to jog. I don’t think I’ve said a word at all yet this morning, actually.

2. -

3. -

Three Things You Could Grab From Where You're Sitting:

1. My phone.

2. The other end of this table.

3. My vape pen.

The Last Three Things You've Had to Drink:

1. I most recently had a glass of water after I finished my bag of salted egg chips.

2. I finished off the last of my coffee.

3. I also drank soju last night as an impromptu thing because I saw that I still had a peach-flavored one (my favorite) in the fridge.

Three People You Can Always Count On:

1. Angela.

2. Andi.

3. I’m also gonna name Pia even though we aren’t the closest. Girl has been crazy supportive over the last few months.

Three Places You Want to Go:

1. That I haven’t been to yet? Seoul in South Korea.

2. Thailand.

3. Morocco.

The Last Three Places You've Gone:

1. Other than places in the house – the local coffee shop inside my village.

2. The office.

3. The Starbucks beside the office. I had arrived a bit early so I had some time to walk over there and order something.

The Last Three Non-Relatives You've Hung Out With:

1. Angela.

2. Hans.

3. We were 8 in the group the last time we went out lol. But aside from the above, Pia (a different one) was the one who made the most effort to talk to me as well.

Three People To Be Stranded On A Desert Island With:

1. Angela.

2. Kate.

3. Not sure. Maybe Al for some comic relief while we try to survive there?

Three Smells You Love:

1. Cookies being baked.

2. A hotel room.

3. Seafood.

Three People You Look Up To:

1. Angela’s mom.

2. Andi.

3. My manager, Bea. Well she just got promoted, so I guess I’ll call her my director now, hahaha.

Three Places You've Lived:

1. The duplex where I mostly grew up, just a village away from my current one. I got to experience living in either house, as well.

2. Tondo, Manila. With my dad’s family.

3. Sampaloc, Manila. My parents briefly had an apartment and I was there for like a few months as a newborn.

Three Good Teachers You've Had:

1. My music teacher for the entirety of high school.

2. My professor in international relations.

3. My professor in my social history and history of Filipino women electives.

Three Things You're Good At:

1. I gotta say I’m great at parking, hahaha. Backward parking, parallel parking, you name it.

2. Going through my to-do list and finishing off every task by the end of the day.

3. Reflexes, or reacting/responding immediately, especially in games.

The Last Three People You've Kissed:

1. Gabie.

2. -

3. -

The Last Three People You've Dated:

1. Gabie.

2. -

3. -

Three People With Whom You've Shared a Secret:

1. Andi.

2. JM.

3. Jo was the first person I informed about my breakup, and I didn’t even reveal it publicly until like three months after. I didn’t expect to confide in her especially since we aren’t the closest, but I think I was just desperate to tell someone then to finally acknowledge reality.

Three Irresponsible Things You've Done:

1. Vape.

2. Road rage.

3. Leave my laptop in a classroom as I left to go to another class, in another building.

Three Movies You Love:

1. Two for the Road.

2. Revolutionary Road.

3. Room.

The Last Three People You've Gone to the Movies With:

1. Angela.

2. Leigh.

3. Gabie.

The Last Three People You've Ridden in a Car With:

1. Laurice.

2. Kuya Toby.

3. Lui.

Three Facts About Your #1:

1. Can I name my best friends instead? Angela is in her final year of college taking up architecture.

2. She has two shih tzus, Hailey and Kennedy.

3. Her mom is a pediatrician and has her own clinic in their home.

Three Places You've Gone With Your #2:

1. I haven’t been too adventurous with Andi...most recently we’ve gone to a Korean barbecue joint for a one-on-one catch up date.

2. TK.

3. Rita’s house.

Three Things You've Done With Your #3:

1. Kate works for the government.

2. Last time I talked to her, she’s still set on retake a law school exam after not getting admitted to her campus of choice last year.

3. She had a bad habit of dating orgmates.

Three Things You Have in Common With Your #4:

1. Laurice is great at debate.

2. She lives in the south, so I don’t get to see her a lot.

3. She has a cute habit of calling many of our friends by their respective honorifics, even though they’re the same age or even when she’s literally older than some of them.

Three Things That Annoy You:

1. Making the effort to go to a store and seeing they’re closed for the day, even though they didn’t indicate it in their social media accounts.

2. Offices of government agencies and their ever-grumpy staff.

3. Filipinos’ tendency to turn 3 lanes into 6 during a traffic jam.

Three Things That Attract You To The Opposite Sex:

1. Asexual. Pass.

2. - 

3. - 

Three Material Items You'd Save If You're House Was On Fire:

1. My laptop, since all my work files and a whole ton of memories are in here.

2. My phone, so I can update family and friends.

3. My glasses. Realistically, I wouldn’t care about any of these and would jump up to grab my dogs instead.

Three Careers You've Considered:

1. Journalist.

2. Lawyer.

3. Historian.

Three Things You Wish You Knew About Your Future:

1. Whether marriage or kids will be part of mine.

2. When I’m dying, and what from.

3. Where I’ll end up living, and what kind of housing.

The Last Three Songs You Listened To:

1. Wait On - Hayley Williams

2. Good Grief - Hayley Williams

3. Over Those Hills - Hayley Williams. Stream Flowers for Vases, friends.

Three Things You Consider Lucky:

1. I don’t believe in lucky charms.

2. - 

3. - 

Three T.V. Show Characters You Wish Were Real:

1. Mr. Peanutbutter from BoJack Horseman.

2. Chandler Bing from Friends.

3. Glenn Rhee from The Walking Dead.

Three Issues You Have Strong Opinions On:

1. Racial equality. 

2. Gender equality.

3. Abortion rights.

Three Things You Wish You Could Change About Yourself:

1. That I wasn’t so clumsy at work.

2. That I wasn’t too selfless all the time to just about anyone.

3. That I had a better hold of my finances and keep spending just because I’m still within budget, heheh.

Three People From Your Past You Wish You Could Spend a Day With:

1. My grandpa, who passed away before I could properly grow up and shoot the shit with him over some beer.

2. Nacho.

3. Sofie, so we can properly catch up, just the two of us.

Three Famous People You'd Like to Meet:

1. Beyoncé.

2. Hayley Williams.

3. Leni Robredo.

Three Things You Are Wearing:

1. A t-shirt.

2. A pair of shorts.

3. Underwear.

The Last Three Places You Went That Were More Than 2 Hours Away:

1. Tagaytay.

2. My dad’s family’s home in Laguna.

3. Those are the only places we’ve been to where we had to travel for a while.

The Last Three Reasons You Went to the Hospital:

1. Blood and urine test for my ~mystery illness~ last year.

2. I had to be confined for a couple of days because of low platelet count.

3. ...I was born. I haven’t made many trips to the hospital. 

Three Things You Are Addicted To:

1. I’ve never felt comfortable using the term addicted because it’s an actual condition...but if you mean to ask for what I’m hooked to at the moment, I’d go with coffee.

2. And salted egg chips. I literally bought five bags of chips yesterday and I’m already finished with my third.

3. Anything Korean, tbh. Korean food, shows, music, etc...the Korean Wave is very strong over here and I’ve finally been reeled all the way in.

Three Favorite Colors:

1. Baby pink or pastel pink.

2. Mustard yellow.

3. Maroon.

Three Things You Will Do Now That This Is Over:

1. Find another one to take for later.

2. Finish my breakfast, and maybe heat up some leftover pasta because I’m still hungry.

3. Maybe get my embroidering template so I can make some progress today.

[littlemissagrafina]

Hi! If you feel like it, can you please do Irondad 8+2 from the angst/fluff prompt list?💕

Here ya go!

You can also read it here on AO3 if you'd like:)

~~~

Peter knew that things would be different, had known it since his return.

How could it not be?

He was dead for five years. Half of the universe had been decimated too, and the world had to pull itself together and move on.

It was hard coming back to so much change, so much that was just wrong, and Peter hated feeling like that. He hated feeling like an outsider.

He was so grateful that he came back, he truly was, but sometimes he wished that he hadn't.

He hadn't had a thought like that in so long, even longer now that five years have gone he supposed. The return of the haunting, swirling darkness scared him.

Peter wished he had stayed dead. His soul crying out for rest, for comfort and rescue from the black cloud of loss that followed him around.

He called for help but no one heard him. No one saw him.

He was alone.

-

Peter wished he could go back to the time before Thanos, before the snap, he wanted his old life back.

He wanted his family back. But he couldn't have them, it wasn't his place anymore. Mom and Da- no, Pepper and Tony had their own child now, a real child who shared their blood and didn't have the baggage that Peter had brought to them.

He wanted to be asked about his day and actually have his answer heard. He wanted to spend time in the lab with Tony and not have the man rush off because of Morgan. He wanted to sit and read with Pepper like they used to. He wanted them to help him with homework and come to his school events.

Peter just wanted them to notice him, to care like they used to.

And he understood, he really did. They had to take care of Morgan. She was their priority and she needed them. She wasn't a teenager like Peter, she was just a kid. Morgan could go to her parents when she had nightmares or hurt herself, she could go to them with anything and they would stop what they were doing and just care.

Morgan could do that because she was theirs, not Peter. 

Morgan was a daughter. She was their blood.

But Peter?

Peter was a burden, an outsider, and it hurt like hell.

-

"Did you ask Tony and Pepper to come?" Ned asked Peter curiously while they were setting up their booth for the science fair.

Peter knew he was lucky. He still had Ned and MJ, and quite a few of his classmates had returned with them as well.

It didn't take away from the sadness he felt.

"I told them about it." Peter eventually answered his friend, words and tone purposefully vague. He hoped that Ned wouldn't pry and was grateful that MJ wasn't there at that moment because he knew that she wouldn't accept his answer.

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Ned went back to fixing some of the wires that had come loose while they had transported their project and Peter was left with his cloudy thoughts.

The finished the last preparations for with their set up and by then parents, teachers, and scouts started drifting from booth to booth.

They came in second place.

Tony and Pepper never showed.

Happy was the one to pick him up and Peter couldn't wipe the hurt from his expression quickly enough when he saw the older man step out of the car instead of his parents.

"Why didn't they come?" Peter's voice was no higher than a whisper.

Happy could only look at the boy who had practically become his nephew in sadness. "Morgan wasn't feeling well." The man answered reluctantly, wincing when Peter's shoulders slumped. He didn't understand how his friends weren't seeing what they were doing to this boy.

"Okay." Was Peter's only response as Happy pulled the car away from the curb. The quiet acceptance in Peter's voice piercing straight into Happy's heart.

-

Over and over Peter was placed second to Morgan, with Tony not even coming down to the lab with him anymore and Pepper barely greeting him when he got home from school because she was busy getting Morgan bathed and her teeth brushed after dinner. Dinner that Peter never ate with them because he got home too late for the younger girl.

For the last two weeks he had eaten leftovers alone, the food feeling like lead in his stomach and ash on his tongue.

Peter stopped telling Tony or Pepper when he needed something for school or when he had any events. He didn't tell them when he went to and from group projects and presentations with Ned and MJ. His test and assignment results stayed crumpled at the bottom of his backpack next to the suit that he hadn't worn since he was brought back.

The report card with his slowly falling grades was shoved in with them.

Tony and Pepper never noticed. They didn't see the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and nightmares. Didn't see his shaking hands or blank eyes.

They never saw as he faded more and more each day.

-

Peter walked through the front door and dropped his bag next to the coat hanger. Everyone around him was fuzzy and distorted like he was 5 seconds behind and only observing his actions, not in control.

Peter was so tired. For the last week of finals he had been running on 6 hours of sleep and the utter exhaustion was finally hitting him.

He heard a voice behind him but he ignored it and walked off to his room. He just wanted to sleep and let the cloud of blissful nothingness finally consume him.

So he did.

-

Peter didn't remember changing his clothes. He didn't remember getting into his bed or falling asleep he must have because the clock next to his bed had 6:15pm displayed across it.

Peter could feel his attachment to reality returning and he fought it. 

Suddenly feeling restless, he got up and left his room. He grabbed a banana from the kitchen and shuffled down to the lab where he sat staring at his old web fluid notebook.

He drifted again and never heard Tony come in.

He only came back a bit when the man shot him a vague greeting as he crossed through Peter's vision on the way to his own workbench.

The loneliness and hurt he'd been feeling over the last month suddenly bubbled up.

"Do you hate me?" Peter blurted out before he could stop himself.

Tony's head shot up to look at him, a horrified expression twisting the features that were so much the same but so different to Peter.

"Why the hell would you even think that?" Tony exclaimed as he abandoned his bench and walked to sit on a stool in front of Peter.

Tony lifted a hand as if to rest it on Peter's shoulder but he froze when the teenager flinched. "Peter, why would I hate you?"

Curling in on himself slightly, Peter's eyes feel to where his hands were twisted together in his lap. "Because I'm not Morgan." He eventually murmured out, almost too low for Tony to hear. "Because I'm not your real child and she is more important."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face in disbelief. "She isn't more import-" He was cut of by Peter lifting his head up and looking at him with broken eyes.

"She is!" Peter cried out. "She is because you don't care anymore!" The total despair written over Peter's face made Tony feel as if his heart was being twisted in his chest.

"If I was important then why didn't you come! Why don't you spend time with me or talk to me?" Peter sobbed out, the tears he had been trying to suppress for so long finally overflowing.

"Why didn't you come to my school stuff or eat with me? You don't even care when I'm in the lab anymore!"

Peter's sobs were becoming hysterical now. "I don- don't unders- stand! Was I bad? Did I do- do something wr- wrong?" He stuttered through his tears and it broke Tony from his shock enough that he surged forward and pulled Peter tightly into his arms.

"No! You are not bad and you are not doing anything wrong, you hear me?" He held Peter closer to his chest when the boy's cries picked up again. "I screwed up. Big time. I didn't see how all this would affect you and I ignored the times that I did."

"I don't have an excuse. I am so, so sorry, bubba. I'm so sorry that I pushed you aside and that I didn't see you."

Peter curled into his dad's chest and suddenly realised that this was the first hug they had shared in weeks which sent him into a new round of tears. "I thought I was losing you!"

Pressing his lips into Peter's curls and running his hands across his back, Tony squeezed his eyes shut. How did I not see?

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry that I hurt you like this." A tear fell down Tony's own face.

"Please don't leave me again. Please." Peter whimpered. "Please be my dad again."

Tony felt himself crumbling, both physically and mentally. He heafted Peter up into his arms and carried him to the couch where he sat with Peter curled in his lap.

"I'll never leave you again, bubba, I promise. You are mine, I don't care if you aren't my blood. You're family, Peter. You're my son."

He would listen. He would care and he would love. It didn't matter how long it took but he would get his son's trust back.

"I love you, Peter. It's okay if you can't say it too, I just want you to know that I do. I've been a shit father to you but I will change. I promise."

There was silence for so long that Tony was starting to think that Peter had fallen asleep.

"I love you too."

The words renewed Tony's tears and he vowed to himself that he would do better. He would ask Peter about talking to Pepper. He would talk to him about everything he had missed over the last months. But that could wait a few more hours.

For now he just held his son, trying to show him the love that he so deserved.

[itsclownhours]

merlin as tumblr posts again because when i edited a typo in the original it fucked up the formatting

everyone: you have to make time for yourself

morgana: *stays up until 1 am every night crying* me time

.

morgana: ohhhh so the pain is forever and endless i get it now

.

young!mordred: once i learn how to read and write it’s over for you hoes

.

lancelot, in cursive: i can’t read cursive handwriting

gwaine: what does this say

elyan: i can’t read cursive handwriting

gwaine: bitch me neither that’s why i asked

.

arthur, to merlin, about lancelot: is he...y’know…*gestures downard to super hell*

.

uther, straight: hey what’s up guys do you want to go get some food

arthur and morgana, gay: ??????

uther: oh sorry i mean asgdhjdhs guys do you??? want some food??? lmao ashdjdjhs

arthur and morgana: oh! agshdjjshsj yeah lmao agshdj

.

morgana: do you ever associate the word “girlfriend” with wlw so much that you forget straight boys have girlfriends

.

gwen: am taking care of a tiny kitten. have given it an excellent name. dad thinks i’m calling her “minty” but this is actually short for The Government

gwen: The Government bit my finger and pooped on the floor

.

gwaine: peak art is when you were like six and you scribbled all over ms paint and then carefully paintbucketed in all the different shapes in the scribbles to make “stained glass”

.

morgause: forcing my car to commit sins so it goes to hell with me when i die

.

leon, after arthur gives the knights a pep talk: so motivational...time to drill a hole in my skull

.

morgana: i want to be a she really did that!! kind of girl but i don’t do anything

.

arthur: pros and cons of being my friend:

arthur: pro: you have a friend

arthur: con: it’s me

.

gwaine, to lancelot: bro let’s watch a horror movie together...bro you look scared do you wanna share a blanket dude? if you wanna hold hands it’s ok. if you wanna rest your head on my shoulder it’s alright bro...bro if you wanna kiss that’s understandable that was a scary movie...we can keep cuddling after the movie is over it’s alright dude…

.

lancelot: old town road but he just keeps listing all the places he has horses

gwaine: i got the horses in the back

gwaine: horses on the track

gwaine: horses in the shack and i got horses fetching snacks

gwaine: i got the horses in earth’s core

gwaine: down under the floor

gwaine: horses in the store and i got horses on the moor

.

gwaine: died and came back as a cowboy i call that reintarnation

.

morgana: *shows up at college* excuse me will someone please direct me to the leftist brainwashing class? i’m here for the leftist brainwashing class

.

merlin: finally found someone i was more disappointed in that myself: the entirety of america camelot

.

morgause: customer (derogatory)

.

arthur: business major (derogatory)

.

leon: leonardo dicaprio date a woman over 25 challenge

gwaine: thought that said “leonardo da vinci” and was confused since da vinci was gay and also since you were calling out someone who’s been dead for well over 7 years

leon: well. da vinci has been well over 7 years, i’ll give you that

.

morgana: the retirement age needs to be lowered to 25. i’ve had enough

.

gwaine: i’m fucking in luigi’s mansion

leon: who?

gwaine: some italian freak

gwaine: oh you meant who am i fucking. your mom

.

leon: stop setting things on fire because you’re curious about what will happen. what will happen is fire

gwaine: but what if...something else happens. just this 1 time

.

morgause: bored? burn an orphan. who’re they gonna tell? their parents?

.

morgana: due to personal reasons i will be a serial arsonist

.

mithian: fruit (affectionate)

.

arthur: going to the fruit (derogatory) store do you want anything

.

gwen: fruit (salad, yummy yummy)

.

morgana, to gwen: i’m allergic to hookup culture and too weird to participate anyway. die in my arms

.

kilgharrah: i am fast and full of teeth. i will die in a barn fire

.

morgana: not evil anymore i want to be loved now

morgana: evil again

.

morgause: every day i put on my evil little clothes and do my evil little tasks

.

percival: megan thee stallion and timothee chalamet are the same age

gwaine: megan thee stallion 🤝 timo thee chalamet

.

morgana: hey how many swords do you have

morgause: sword of a lot

morgana: blocked

morgause: parried

.

morgana and gwen simultaneously in 1x10: *chanting* girls with swords girls with swords

.

morgana: the more knives you have the more valid you are

.

kilgharrah: blocked. blocked. blocked. you’re all blocked. none of you are free from sin.

.

morgana: seven deadly sins speedrun

.

gwaine: i want 6 pet sloths so i can name them after every sin except for sloth

.

merlin: the eighth deadly sin is networking

.

arthur: online school culture is constantly wondering if there’s a sneaky little assignment you missed...is it tucked under modules or assignments or heaven forbid, announcements? who’s to say?

.

gaius: asynchronous learning

merlin, a clown: mmmnaptime

.

arthur: have you ever just cried because you’re you

.

elyan, to percival: bro, we are teens . it’s ok to cry around me . i’m your best friend . i love you … bro we are kissing now … no don’t stop bro … bro …

.

morgana: mad bc i was told as the bride my wedding would be “my day” but actually where will be a whole other bride there and we will have to share it

.

leon: i’m disgusted every time someone does a gender reveal and it’s about a gender i already know about, what kind of reveal is that

.

leon: gender reveal party??? no, this is a gender repeal party. we out here revoking genders

.

gwaine: you’re laughing. i asked you who sings party rock anthem and you’re laughing

.

gwaine: make no mistake not only am i party rocking but i’m also in the house tonight

elyan: are you shuffling?

gwaine: everyday

.

morgana: lung extensions

morgana: with extended lungs you can: scream longer, breathe harder, brag about extended lungs

morgana: this procedure is not legal but i will do it for you

morgana: do not tell the police or morgause

.

morgana: i’m so sick of dna, i’m going to have all mine removed

morgause: good news! this is a real thing that can happen to you

morgana: perfect, sign me up

.

morgana: if YOU die because i poisoned you...how is that MY fault like i’m sorry you aren’t immune to my poisons i think that’s genuinely something you need to work on. fix yourself before blaming others

.

arthur: my body is NOT a “temple”...it is a CLOWN CAR and NONE OF THESE BITCHES KNOW HOW TO DRIVE

.

morgause: live

morgause: laugh

morgause: l u r k

.

mcdonald’s employee: please sir get off the table

gwaine: I ASKED FOR TWO LARGE FRIES *dumping bag of fried out onto the floor* BUT INSTEAD GOT A HUNDRED FUCKEN LITTLE ONES

.

merlin: i relate to vampires because i too must be clearly and specifically invited in before i have the audacity to try to participate in anything

.

gwaine: it can’t be september, just yesterday is was marchgustuary

lancelot: today’s date: [REDACTED]/[REDACTED]/20

.

gwaine: why are internet friends not normalized. it’s 2020 they’re probably making robots that will wipe your ass for you and i can’t text grace in the uk and tell her to have a good day? fuck you

.

percival: imagine if halsey was in beauty and the beast

elyan: are you insane like gaston. been in pain like gaston. bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like gaston

.

arthur: my dad is learning about pronouns/gender identity and he called me in the middle of the night to tell me he is cis

.

merlin: ough. those first 400 bites of dirt were not so good. maybe the next one will be better

.

morgana: i’m at the dark candy store, buying sorrowful ranchers

.

merlin: i’m surprised no one has ever punched me in the face

.

gwen: i want a gf so i can send her memes about loving my gf

.

morgause: oh to cook with my wife and stand directly in front of cabinets and drawers she needs to open

.

morgause: decided i will no longer be paying taxes. what are they gonna do, tax me more? go ahead. i won’t pay those either. oh i’m going to prison? the one paid for by my tax dollars? sorry, didn’t pay em. now there is no prison. i am at least 3 steps ahead of the government at all times

.

merlin: lab safety but the teacher just wants to you die

merlin: lab safety: 1. drink whatever’s in that beaker. i know you fucking want to

.

morgause: my therapist is selling her house so i’m gonna find the listing online and make her living room my zoom backgrounds before our next session. you wanna get in my head? ok well i’m in your home babe. i’m in charge now

morgana: yeah i see why you’re in therapy

.

morgana: i hate it when people ask me to “explain my thought process” like hell if i know

morgana: what’s going on in that head of yours?” nothing i want to be a part of

.

mordred: hey girls what’s the hot gossip what’s new what’s the 411

morgana and morgause: everything is bad and getting worse by the day

.

morgause: common letter greetings from 1889

morgause: dearest my-soon-to-be-enemy

morgause: salutations and i hope you enjoy contact prison

morgause: i hope this letter finds you in a ditch

.

arthur: *highlights all the wrong and unimportant stuff with full confidence*

.

merlin: i’ve tried opening my mouth and saying words before and i’ve gotta say, i’m not a fan

.

morgana: a large group of humans is called a fuck that

.

website: synonyms for blood: juice

mithian: thank you thesaurus.com, that is absolutely not what i was looking for

.

gwaine: gen z humor was single-handedly cultivated by the zoo wee mama comic and you can’t convince me otherwise

.

morgana: screw this it’s halloween now *turns into a swarm of bats them consumes the moon*

.

morgana: i can’t believe the heterosexuals are gone. they’re gone

uther: we’re still here

arthur: who said that

.

gwaine: no more france

gwaine: society has progressed passed the need for france

.

morgause: girls night out (of body experience)

.

morgana, to morgause: what do you mean “what have i been up to”...i’m out here ruining my own life as always bitch

.

merlin: stop complaining about your life. there are literally people living in camelot

.

arthur, trying to find new knights: oh so you’re a human? name three pictures with traffic lights in them

.

gwaine: we mcfreaking lost her doctor

.

morgause: looking for a wife in the walmart

.

morgause: arrested for visiting www.killing.com/murder

.

gwaine, to merlin: no bro this isn’t a date listen bro

gwaine: it’s bruhnch

.

morgause, to cenred: if you think i’m not interested, you’re right

.

gwen: put a pancake on a girl’s head when she’s asleep to keep her warm and safe

.

morgana: idk what mad scientist needs to hear this today but your goggles and lab coat are incredibly flattering and all your experiments will block away the scientific community who called you a fool

.

morgause: i’m gonna fucking die disease

morgause: symptoms: back hurts a bit too much for a bit too long

.

arthur: if you think i’m annoying now wait until i get over my fear of being perceived as annoying

.

merlin: sorry if i’m bothering you

surgeon: how do you keep waking up and saying that

.

gwaine: home depot needs more small tunnels for me to crawl through tbh

.

percival: hot tip: soup is customizable! go wild but know your limits

.

morgana: brains say “i know a spot” and take you to a traumatic memory from 2011

.

mithian: “can you multitask” yes actually i am losing my mind and chilling at the same time

.

morgana: quarantine schedule to keep you on track

morgana: wake up

morgana: neglect online school

morgana: yearn (ongoing project)

morgana: again!

.

mithian: if cats don’t want to be held like little babies maybe they shouldn’t be roughly the size and shape of little babies

.

morgause: fuck this pandemic i could’ve ruined 2020 on my own

.

morgana: a cute girl told me she has lots of plants in her house and i told her for some fucking reason “damn the oxygen at your place must be mad crisp” and somehow still got her number so. chase your dreams. nothing is impossible apparently

.

morgana: oh to wear a knife strapped against my thigh beneath a silk dress

.

morgana, running off with morgause at the end of season 2: i hate this place i want to go to build a bear

.

morgana, at work: i’m evil

morgana, 1 second after clocking out: not evil anymore i want to be loved now

morgana, the next day at work: evil again

.

season 2 morgana: i am fine thank you for asking! though recently there has been a darkness growing within me

.

morgause: *thinks about love* okay well i am just losing my mind and being insane now

.

arthur: you think you can hurt my feelings? i’ve been the least favorite in every single friendship group i’ve had since i was 8

.

morgana, staring out the window at arthur and merlin: look at them plotting my downfall

.

mithian: i wanna buy clown noses in bulk and start sticking them on every person i see whose mask is pulled too low

.

mithian: oh to be a tiny cat whose biggest concern is the looming threat of being gently picked up and kissed on the head

.

morgana: i deserve to be kissed

.

morgana: did you have a homoerotic friendship with a girl in high school that ended in tragedy and you two are never talking again or are you normal?

.

mithian: just diagnosed with forehead kiss deficiency :/

.

morgana: i think i’ll continue to wear a mask when this shit’s all over, and huge sunglasses. my face is none of your business

.

morgause: my therapist told me that sometimes when a person consumes the same piece of media over and over they may be unconsciously coping with a mental block so now i’m trying to figure out what the fuck i was going through that made me watch ratatouille 8 times a day for a solid month in middle school

.

morgause: opposite of depression nap. depression awakeness. refreshing the same three websites over and over. there’s nothing new on any of them. eight seconds have passed and it feels like a century

.

morgana: very homophobic that my head is not laying on the chest of my maidservant as i am drifting off to sleep

.

merlin: no no, it’s fine, i’ll text myself back

.

morgana: *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns*

.

arthur: i’d have to be a fool not to? being a fool and not doing things are my top two activities

.

gwaine: you think it’s easy to be me? you think it’s easy to get up every. single. day. and be an industrial grade dumbass? well it’s not. but that’s what i do. and i’ll never stop.

.

morgana: ah shit i’m sorry man, my schedule for the week is all booked

sunday: yearn

monday: pine

tuesday: long

wednesday: ache

thursday: sigh

friday: lament

saturday: crave

.

morgana: talents include: being a public menace, denying God’s will, petting dogs, yearning, being dramatic, witchcraft, quoting classic literature when no one asked, napping, befriending a murder of crows, being gay, covering up my emotions by being “the funny friend” when in reality i’m really going through it, wistfully staring out the car window

.

merlin: *doesn’t even do the bare minimum* all in a day’s work

.

cenred: a “period” is not an excuse to have an attitude

morgause: i miss the times when men would go to war and die

.

morgana: the cheap halloween vampire fangs stay ON during sex

.

gwen: maybe i pspspspsp’ed you because i love you. did you think of that? huh?

.

morgana: mom said it’s my turn to hand out the ominous and vague warnings

arthur: that wasn’t mom

uther: she JUST SAID it was her turn

.

morgause: i’m a chill person but if my back doesn’t stop hurting i’m going to take out my spine and beat God with it

.

mithian: one of these days i’m going to say the f word

mithian: then you’ll all be sorry

.

morgause: 3 words every girl wants to hear

morgause: club penguin membership

.

morgana: hmm, yes.

morgana: time to s i p

morgana: some *~crispy~*

morgana: d i h y d r o g e n m o n o x i d e

.

morgause: roll call! raise your hand if you’re in the following fandoms:

morgause: 1. suffering 2. the pain of living

morgana: *raises both hands and a leg*

.

leon: it’s so hard being a single mom when you have no kids and are a male teenager

.

merlin: yeah bro hit me up and we’ll cancel some plans sometime

.

morgana: my brain, or as i like to call it, the suffer contraption

.

morgause: my circle so small i almost cut myself off

.

morgause hyping herself up before entering any public area: i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i���m normal i’m normal i’m normal

.

arthur: today in french we learned how to say “what’s in the bag” and i couldn’t stop laughing because

arthur: swaggity swag qu’est-ce qui dans le sac

.

merlin: even when i am not speaking, know that horrible sentences are raging within me

.

mithian in 5x04: sorry bro i can’t go out tonight. i’m stuck in an eternal state of melancholy

.

morgause: shower gel label: immerse yourself in this new “Me Time” luxury frooty tooty. abandon all sense of identity and dissolve your memories into this soothing chemical broth. one billion melons are in this tube...use them wisely

.

leon, writing a headline about the most recent knights’ mission: local dumbasses knew that what they were getting themselves into and did it anyways

.

morgana: *feels random pain in body*

morgana: kill me

.

mithian: *slowly inches closer to your pet*

.

morgause: *refuses to look at texts* i love conversation and communication

.

arthur: cute gender neutral things to call your partner

arthur: significant annoyance

.

leon: the most unrealistic fantasy trope is the one where half of the pair works in some sort of shop and one is a customer because i have literally never thought about a customer with anything other than contempt

.

gwaine: why is everyone talking about 1d all of a sudden did one of them die

elyan: they’re 10 years old now

gwaine: i wish them luck 4th grade is tough!!

.

gwaine: must i pursue a career? is it not enough to be passionate about tv shows and snack foods?

.

leon, aroace: cool date idea: me eating oatmeal by myself

.

morgana: i have no self of steam

.

gwaine: i hate wearing a mask. i miss being able to gently kiss my trader joe’s cashier on the lips after they ring up my $8 box of blueberries

.

morgana: committing acts of violence today…*pushes morgause’s glass of water off the counter*

.

gwaine: mario will do anything to put a smile on your face

.

morgana: haha we get along so well...our brains just work the same way

morgause, after changing her entire personality to match morgana’s after analyzing the way she talks and texts: haha yeah it’s incredible

.

gwaine: covered in sauce, trembling

.

arthur: *says the vaguest most incoherent shit ever*

arthur: you know what i mean :/

.

[online]

morgana: *screenshots things her girlfriend said to her so she can read it again later* yeah i’m not gay

uther: dude no offence i don’t want to sound like an sjw or anything but if you have a girlfriend you’re straight. that’s just how it works

morgana: i’m a girl

uther: what the fuck

.

morgana: the second you say “family group chat” i know we are not the same

.

gwen: what if early in the morning after buying groceries we got caught in the rain and i used my jacket to cover your head ut we still got soaked and we made a fire at home and brewed tea and sat together watching the rain as our cats hid under our feets at each sound of thunder and we ate stew for dinner and watched tv until we fell asleep on the couch with your head resting on my shoulder

.

gwaine, to percival: hold my hand bro we’re crossing the street

.

percival: imageine if we all just started ignoring celebrities though

percival: i can’t stop thinking about how funny this would be. imagine kyie jenner posting a selfie and it gets 12 likes

.

morgana: this isn’t fun anymore i need a kiss

.

morgause at 1159 pm: life’s great lol

morgause at 1201 am: does anyone really know me? most importantly do i really know me? what if life doesn’t get better than this?

.

merlin: king i needbfjdjgnjfg qldkr snmsmdjgjt ….. .. i need--fjrjkrhgphpqn dd

arthur: huh *dunks merlin’s head back underwater*

.

morgana: i don’t go to therapy or take any pills i just rawdog life and let my brain turn into soup

.

mordred: dark emails

morgause: to whom it WILL concern

morgana: now that this email has found you

.

gwaine: hi waiter could i get the spaghetti i promise i’ll behave this time

.

merlin: the sexiest thing about me? everything hurts my feelings

.

gwaine: how is sex fun if i have to remove my crocs to have it

elyan: if he makes you remove your crocs for sex he isn’t the one

.

morgause: a motherfucker could use an embrace

.

morgana: every night after 10pm my feelings start crawling out, starved, as i beat them with a moderately large stick vigorously hissing “stay back” until i inevitably fall asleep

.

fanfiction: there’s only one room available…

morgause, who specifically chose a rated m and explicit story: oh my gosh there’s only one room they’re gonna share a bed what’s gonna happen next

.

morgana: i can have a little unrealistic romantic fantasy. as a treat

.

arthur: some of y’all weren’t asked out as a joke in middle school and it shows

.

morgana: how is everyone doing. i’ll go first i’m doing badly

.

morgana: being a kid was so fucking funny we’d just go around lying to each other’s faces constantly to impress each other one of the knights told me he was the first person to visit the sun and when i asked him what it was like to prove he was lying he said he didn’t remember because they sent him there when he was a baby and to this day the mental image of nasa launching an unsupervised baby into the sun still makes me crack up

.

elyan: do you wish you were seeing somebody

leon: a therapist

.

morgause: when you see someone from high school and they don’t recognize you that’s the exact opposite of the mortifying ordeal of being known. the gratifying relief of being forgotten

.

[texting]

morgana: you seem hard to kill

morgause: aw thank you

morgause: i haven’t been killed yet

morgana: to your knowledge

morgause: what

.

morgana: just truly bonkers how much i love lying down……..like being horizontal? Unparalleled

.

arthur: when i was younger i really thought that piranhas were going to be a bigger issue for me than they’ve turned out to be

.

morgause: filling out the depression and anxiety checkboxes at the doctors is always so sad but also very very funny

morgause: i am handed a piece of paper. i check off a box that says “every day i wish i were dead”. i hand back the paper. the paper and its contents are never again discussed.

.

morgana: unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, i cannot just “walk up and join the circle of people talking”, but it does sound lovely thank you

.

morgana: if california is so expensive why don’t you move to somewhere like ohio

morgause: full offense but i’d rather be dead in california than alive in ohio

morgause: ugly and uninspiring--review of ohio

.

morgana: staying up late not even fun anymore it’s just sad

.

morgause: everyone should be comfortable in their own skin :)

morgause’s brain: except for you

morgause: except for me :)

.

mithian: please peer pressure me into finishing projects

merlin: do it or you’re straight

mithian: i said peer pressure not threaten

.

morgause: the year is 2030. bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. the uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. i go to hug my wife for comfort. she is cake.

morgause: i sob in despair as i eat my cake wife. she is delicious

.

gwen: do ladies love stupid men or do they just love men who don’t exhaust every opportunity to feel smart

gwen: “i used to think that melancholy was a vegetable” that’s incredible, let’s hang out more

.

morgause: basically i accidentally listened to a song a few years ago and it led to this

.

morgana: *desperately tries to romanticise her homework*

.

uther: do i have to be pretty? is it not enough to simply be the loudest person in the room with the worst opinions

.

morgana: oh i can’t possibly study, i have allotted the next six hours to yearning vaguely

.

morgause: allow me to de-introduce myself

morgause: my name is [redacted]

.

arthur: i have no good posts today i’m sorry guys

merlin: haha “today”

.

mordred: “do we perhaps use magic because we were bullied and needed blah blah special interest blah blah” shut the FUCK up i use magic to see my anime husband’s big fucking honkers. sorry you got pantsed in front of your crush

morgana: i came here to bully people

mordred: is it because you got pantsed in front of your crush

morgana: no it’s because i’m deranged

.

mithian: pretty sure seven deadly sins is a bit excessive

mithian: just combine wrath and gluttony and make hangry

mithian: sloth and pride make Bottoming

.

morgana: despicable me ruined the word minion whenever i become a supervillain i’m just going to have to call them my homies or whatever

.

gwen: as a bisexual i am attracted to lanky boys with dark hair, girls who look like they could kill me, and anyone wearing vampire teeth

.

morgana: if someone tried to assassinate me that would make me feel so important and valued and beloved

.

gwaine: turn down for whom?

.

mithian: fact: usage of the word “the” has begun to decline. this is because as more and more people become educated, usage of the word “thoum’st” has become more common.

.

morgana, kidnapping mithian in 5x04: truth or dare? uhhh i dare you to………………………………..fall in love with me. haha i’m just joking bro………………..unless…………………………?

.

gwaine: my thoughts are like a clearance sale

gwaine: once it’s gone it’s gone

.

morgana: *pronounces “hors d’oeuvres” as “horse divorce” specifically to piss off morgause*

.

gwaine: do you prefer women or men?

leon: death

.

morgause: honestly no offense but i love falling asleep and sleeping. it’s like. ok goodnight

.

morgause: ngl it’s kinda difficult to be the moody and mysterious background character in everyone’s life when you’re quarantined at home

.

morgause: i need to get laid

morgause: --to rest. put me in a coffin, let my soul ascend

.

gwaine: it takes a lot of heart to be this stupid

gwaine: it takes real strength not to know shit about fuck

.

elyan: what’s your favorite anime?

leon: i’m a christian

.

arthur: just bought this tapeworm from etsy!

lancelot: where are you gonna keep it

arthur: :)

merlin: i don’t like this conversion very much

.

gwaine: i’m home alone with the tv repair man

gwaine: i’m no fool, there are only two possible outcomes of this scenario

gwaine: porn or murder

gwaine, an hour later: apparently there was an unforeseen third outcome where he fixes the tv and then leaves

.

morgause: well tomorrow fucking sucked

.

morgana: dark brunch

morgana: *mixes a mimosa with evil intent*

morgause: this is just what being gay is like

.

gwaine: movie idea: guy finds a stone tablet engraved with a mysterious alien language and gets caught up in a national treasure-esque adventure to decipher its meaning, only to learn that it’s just an alien “live laugh love” decoration

.

arthur: sorry i didn’t mean to open your ig story 20 seconds after you posted i’m just unemployed

.

arthur: why do you say men are objects? that’s not true and hurtful

morgana: men are on sale at the grocery store for a few dollars

OR

cenred: why do you say men are objects? that’s not true and hurtful

morgause: men are on sale at the grocery store for a few dollars

.

morgana: wow would you look at that. it’s already that time of the night where i move the stuff on my bed to my chair. can’t wait until tomorrow when i move the stuff from my chair back onto my bed

.

gwaine: hi i’m bethany with girl defined ministry and today we are going to be talking about how to stan my chemical romance in a God-honoring way

.

morgana: bottom: ,,, !!! ;;; vers: …. top: no punctuation whatsoever

morgause: tops are illiterate

.

morgause: i slept for almost 12 hours but i might still be tired so let’s go for 12 more just in case

morgana: morgause that’s a coma

morgause: sounds festive

.

mithian: i am a simple woman. i enter the kitchen. i eat four servings of bread products. i leave.

gwaine: it’s one serving if you serve all of it to yourself

mithian: i like the way you think, friend

.

gwaine: spencer from icarly and rodrick from diary of a wimpy kid are on the opposite ends of the same spectrum

elyan: the gay older brother scale

.

merlin: i found a rock :)

merlin: my troubles will soon be over

gwaine: parasite (2019) dir. bong joon ho

percival: uncut gems (2019) dir. josh and benny safdie

elyan: cain

.

morgana: social distancing is okay for me bc i’ve been touch starved since the 15th century. i’m used to it

.

mithian: fanfiction hits different when you’re gay and yearning and haven’t experienced an ounce of romance in your life

.

morgause: callout for rude baby seen at grocery store

morgause: i’m calling out a baby (approximately 12-14 months old) from the grocery store due to its rudeness. i’m guessing its age based on appearance, motor skills (atrocious) and whatnot. anyway, i smiled at this baby and it just stared at me. as soon as i began to move on, though, the baby said “no!” and started giggling when i turned back around. this happened multiple times. the baby’s actions were toxic and manipulative. the baby was also manhandling a package of dried fruit which wasn’t yet paid for (quite minor) and was just generally sitting around and not helping

.

gwen: we need to melt down all the pennies and make the statue of liberty a girlfriend

.

morgause: had a realization in a dream i just had that this isn’t real and i can just do whatever i want and so i started shrinking the face of this guy that was talking to me and then once it got real small i woke up sleep paralyzed

morgause: i was given godlike powers over the universe by realizing it’s all in my head and the first thing i did was use them to torment the nearest man

morgause: and the actual God woke me up and put be into a 5 minute timeout to lay frozen and think about what i’ve done

.

morgana: does anyone else feel an awkward tension whenever you see another person your age in the grocery store

.

gwaine: the number 87 kinda looks like a plague doctor

percival: you’ve just changed the fucking game

elyan: [|87

.

morgana: a lonely bitch...a loner...i love isolation AND detachment

.

gwaine: i will not call the judges “your honor”. in america we don’t have titles of nobility. they will get a simple “yes dude” from me

gwaine: calling big bird just “bird” because i do not respect him

.

morgause: *photo of a pizza in a bad* caught the bae sleepin

mordred: now why would you waste a perfectly good pizza :(

morgause: that “waste” happens to be my wife getting her beauty sleep. think before you speak

.

gwaine: *finishes wedding vows* don’t forget to like and subscribe

.

morgana: *is bitter but is also right*

.

morgana: how dare you not notice me when i’m ignoring you

.

morgause, killing cenred: men be like i’m bilingual i speak english and over women

.

gwaine: after i move i really wanna get a used roomba

percival: i love that you’re adopting instead of buying from a breeder

.

mordred: joking about a kink is a gateway drug into developing said kink

morgana: my kink is mental, emotional, and financial stability

morgause: unrealistic, settle for choking like normal people

.

gaius: gay people use halloween props as home decor year round

morgana: shut up shut up this black jar with a raven painted on it is holiday-neutral

.

[texting]

morgause: can you come out?

morgana: yeah gimme a minute

morgana: morgause, i’m gay

morgause: i know that. come out to the car

morgana: car, i’m gay

.

morgause: God FUCKING damnit i’m such a hopeless romantic one day someone’s gonna say “i love you” and i’m just going to let out an agonized scream so horrible that they immediately change their mind

.

gaius: i’m not wearing glasses anymore i’ve seen enough

.

morgause: sorry my battery’s on 96% i gtg

.

morgause: you hate me? wow you think you’re hot shit and original huh well i hated me first so you can go grab a number and wait your turn

.

morgana: don’t ignore me ?? i despise being ignored ?? i mean i’m ignoring like 8 people right now but still ???

.

morgana: shoutout to my favorite coping mechanism, isolation

.

morgana: the concept of physical beauty is a scam unless you’re calling me cute in which case it is valid, actually

.

merlin: oh, so when other people go outside it’s “good for their health” and “highly recommended”, it’s only when i do it that it’s a “containment breach” and a “high-level threat to public safety and security”, huh?

.

gwaine: a charming photo of young john mulaney, seemingly celebrating the kennedy assassination

merlin: princess diana wasn’t john mulaney’s first kill

.

morgause: hate when i got out in public and the public is there

morgana: it seems the public is no longer in the public

morgause: i’ve won...but at what cost?

.

morgana: girls will see a chance to commit arson and be like “sorry, i have to take this”

morgause: girls will see a building that’s not on fire and say “is anyone gonna burn that” and not wait for an answer

[tuckermouse]

OHSHC x Reader: 1

It was inevitable, sure. But it wouldn’t be taken lightly.

My dad was transferred to Japan for his job and frankly, it’s been hard to adjust. I mean, come on. The culture is so different-cool and fun too, but I’m not quite ready to admit that yet-and the language? It took forever to learn. Despite all that, moving wasn’t unfamiliar to me. This was just a level up, after all those years of only moving state to state. I was disappointed, as my parents promised that we would no longer move once I was in high school. Yet here I am, ready for my first day at Ouran. I’m not one to brag or anything like that, but I was luckily accepted into the school on scholarship. This scholarship covers tuition cost and books, but not uniforms. Frankly, I am not disappointed in missing out on that. Those banana peel dresses would be the death of me, and I’m not quite ready to die (despite the numerous jokes I may or may not make).

My phone buzzed and I looked to see a message from Mom. “Thanks for making lunches, sweetheart!” my mom texted. I already forgot that I made lunches for my siblings-two of them. My third sibling is only a toddler so she doesn’t have school yet. The other two are 8 and 6, making me the oldest. I replied, “no problem,” before getting into my car. It’s old, but it works. That’s all that matters to me. I started the car and drove to school...with all those damn rich people.

Once I got there, I parked and gawked at the size of the building. That, and the fact that it was pink. That’s...interesting. Before I could even stroll in, however, two people linked their arms with mine. “Hello, scholarship student,” they began, “welcome to Ouran. Need a tour?”. I glanced to my left and then to my right. Identical twins were wiggling their eyebrows back at me. “Not right now, but I do need to get my class schedule fixed. Can you two lead me to the guidance office?”

They looked surprised for a moment. “It’s unusual for Ouran,” began one, “to screw up a schedule,” finished the other. “Let us see!” They snatched the paper away. “Hey, we have the exact same schedule! There’s nothing to fix here!” I laughed at their antics. “Well, I’ve already taken Biology and Geometry, and I don’t plan on taking either again.” They stared at me like an animal at the zoo and said, “Wow, you really ARE an honors student.”

“Thanks...can you take me now?” I responded a bit nervously. I don’t need recognition, it’s embarrassing! Kinda! “Absolutely!” they exclaimed as they began to drag me to the office. “Woah woah woah, guys that’s okay, I can walk myself-”

“Here!” they interjected. And here it was. “Thank you both so much, I’m sure I would have gotten lost.” I looked at the one to the right first and then the left. The one to the right responded by smirking, and the one to the left responded through his eyes widening. I already can tell a difference between them, point (Y/N). “Of course, it’s always pleasure-”

“-to help a maiden in need.”

“Need a hand with anything else?” they said in unison while getting way too close to my face. “Anything at all?” they asked, winking. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be off now. See ya!” I said rather loudly before rushing into the office. I felt how hot my face was. Gosh, they push my buttons.

“And what are you doing here?” an old voice croaked rudely. I looked up to see an elderly woman sitting at a receptionist desk and glaring at me. “Oh! Good morning, I’m new here and I needed my schedule fixed. Is there a way that I can-”

“Oh, you Americans think you’re so smart and entitled. Psh, you go on now before you keep wasting my time.” I was so shocked at this small woman’s harshness. “I-I’m sorry ma’am, but I need this fixed-”

“You’re still here? Go to the other office. This isn’t the right one for that nonsense,” she spat. “Oh, o-okay,” I mumbled before sprinting out. I slowed to a walk and became consumed in my thoughts. How could I find the other office? This place needs one of those maps like the ones at the mall. How can I possibly find my way around-

“Hey!” a male voice rang as I felt a force hit my front. I ran into a person on the first day. A rich person, probably. Oh, no. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I was lost in thought and I wasn’t paying attention and-”

“It’s okay, princess. It was only an accident. What had you worried so?” I followed the smooth voice to the owner and saw-wow-a tall blonde looking at me with his blue eyes. Who knew so many handsome young men went here? “Well, I was led by identical twins to the guidance office so I could get my schedule fixed, but the woman there was super rude to me and basically called me a stupid, entitled American and coldly told me to find the other office. Now I’m here,” I concluded, smiling up at him. “Those shady twins! They should know by now where to take you!” the boy began, “I’ll take you to my father, he’s the chairman. He’ll be able to help you and take care of that mean lady!”. He grabbed my hand and led the way. I blushed at the gesture but decided to ignore it. It’s friendly, just as the twin’s teasing was. When we finally reached the chairman’s office, the boy knocked on the door. “We’ll get this solved, princess” he smiled at me. “Thank you so much,” I replied. The door opened to reveal a man that did in fact look like the boy’s father. “Why, hello, Tamaki. I see you’ve befriended the new honors student.” Before Tamaki could respond, I said, “So your name is Tamaki? I’m (Y/N).”

“My boy didn’t introduce himself?! Oh my, how rude that is. Did I not teach you better?” the older man cried. Tamaki sulked as he tried to explain, “I was too busy trying to help her! She needs her schedule fixed and the receptionist called her mean names!”. The chairman looked a bit surprised. “Is this true?” he questioned, looking at me. “Yes, she said that as an American I am stupid and entitled...but I don’t want any trouble! I just want a corrected schedule.”

“Well then, step inside my office. I’m Mr. Suoh, and as you already know I am the chairman here. I will surely have that woman out by the end of the day, and we’ll get you a schedule right now. Good thing you came in early, (Y/N)-chan.” The chairman offered a rose to me. I took it, a bit shocked that he used “chan” to address me and wondering where he got that rose from. Seeing this, Tamaki pouted. I chuckled at his reaction before saying, “please, I really don’t mean any trouble with the woman. Maybe she was having a bad morning.”

“She spoke rudely and unprofessionally to a student. Regardless of where you are from, you are as much of a student here as anyone else. You’ve gained entry on wit and intelligence alone, and you deserve to be recognized for it. Her behavior is not tolerated here,” Mr. Suoh spoke, suddenly serious. I nodded and whispered a quick “thank you,”.

“Now about that schedule...”

“So you have every class with us except math and science. You’ll be with the year 2 students!” the twins exclaimed, gazing at my schedule. “I guess so. Would it be alright if you two allowed for me to join you on your way to classes?”

“Of course, (Y/N)” the twins responded. They’ve already introduced themselves, but I couldn’t help but to continue to scroll through the list of characteristics I’ve taken note on so far. Hikaru has a deeper voice and Kaoru has a raspier voice. Hikaru tends to be more mischievous and starts sentences first when the two aren’t speaking in unison. Kaoru is a bit calmer, quieter, and more observant. The homeroom president began announcements. “...and welcome our new student, all the way from America: (L/N) (Y/N)!” I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard my name. Crap! The president gestured for me to come to the front. I sighed and walked up to the front of the class. “Hello,” I said, mustering as much confidence as I could, “I look forward to learning more about you all, the culture, and the school. I’m sure we’ll have a great year!”. The class clapped while some people started to whisper to one another. Great...

The first few classes were...interesting. It was the first day, so I wasn’t assigned much homework yet. However, now it’s time for the twins and I to go our different ways. “We will miss you greatly, (Y/N),” they whined. “Oh, hush. I’ll see you two at lunch?” They brightened up, “yeah! See ya!”, and off they ran. I chuckled before realizing that I had no idea how to get to my next class. Naturally, I was just a few seconds after the bell walking into class...which is full of second year students. This is exactly what I fear in life. “Nice of you to join us, miss (Y/N),” the teacher said. “I’m very sorry, I got lost,” I explained, a bit flushed. “It won’t count against you as you are new here. While you’re up here, introduce yourself.”

God, no. “Okay...” I said despite my inner thoughts screaming to just say hi and sit down. “My name is (L/N) (Y/N) and I am a first year here. I transferred from America if you can’t tell from my accent. I look forward to getting to know you all and having a great year!” I said, smiling at the end while hoping to win some people over. Wow, I need friends. “Thank you, now please take a seat next to Tamaki,” the teacher gestured to the blonde waiting at his seat in excitement. “(Y/N)! That was great!” Tamaki said to me. “Thank you, I was pretty nervous.” I glanced around the room and saw people occasionally looking at me before whispering to a companion. This is my worst nightmare. As I was looking around the room, my eyes met with grey ones looking intently in my direction. There was a boy with raven hair and glasses perched a bit too low, perhaps for dramatic effect. He then turned away. “Oh, that’s Kyoya! Wanna go meet him?” Tamaki asked enthusiastically. “Um, okay. If he doesn’t mind.” Hearing my confirmation, Tamaki grabbed my hand for the second time that day and led me over to Kyoya. “Kyoya, isn’t the transfer student cute? She’s gonna do just fine here, isn’t she?” Tamaki said dramatically. I blushed at this and said, “Hey, I’m only a transfer student. Thanks, though.”

“Ootori Kyoya. Pleasure to meet you, miss (Y/N),” the raven haired boy spoke while smiling rather...artificially. His hand was held out towards me, so I shook it firmly and said, “The pleasure is all mine, mister Kyoya.” If he was going to be purely professional, maybe that’s how he liked his friendships. So I thought I’d give it a try. “(Y/N)...”

“Yes, Tamaki?”

“Call me mister Tamaki! Just once!”

“What? No!”

“Oh, come on! Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaasssse!”

“Pllllleeeeeeaaaaassssseee!”

This boy with his damn puppy eyes was about to break me. “Fine! I don’t know why you’re being such a weirdo about it...mister Tamaki,” I grumbled. “Yes! The princess finally did it! Just for me!”

“Actually, she called me mister Kyoya first. It was originally just for me,” Kyoya said, smirking at the elated blonde. Just like that, Tamaki deflated. “You’re so mean, Kyoya!” Tamaki claimed before pouting. I laughed and said, “Good one” to Kyoya. He smirked at me as well. When Tamaki didn’t move for a solid minute, I went over to check up on him. “Tamaki, we’re going to be late for lunch! Let’s go eat,” I said, touching his shoulder as he crouched. Suddenly standing up, Tamaki was filled with determination. “To the cafeteria!” he pointed heroically. I wasn’t falling for it. “Let’s go. Romeo,” I said, beginning to walk with Kyoya.

Once we were at the cafeteria, I was shocked at the sight. School food never looked better. I was so used to seeing the gross pizza and slimy fries that I grew accustomed to just bringing my own lunch. Regardless, I probably couldn’t afford the food here anyway, so a packed lunch still served a purpose. “Aren’t you coming?” Kyoya asked. “This is just...bizarre,” I said, still dazed. “This is quite normal here at Ouran. After all, this is a highly elite school,” Kyoya responded rather posh-like. I rolled my eyes at this and scoffed. “I promised Hikaru and Kaoru that I’d have lunch with them. Do either of you know where I can find them?”

“We eat with them, princess. Come with us!” Tamaki said, pulling me along. This made some girls turn and glare. Jeez...it seems he has a fan club. “Oh, (Y/NNNNNN). We miiiissed yoooouuuu,” the twins said as Tamaki, Kyoya, and I approached the table. “Leave my (Y/N) alone, you shady twins!” Tamaki exclaimed, launching the three into a little debate. I turned to Kyoya and asked, “Are they always like this?” Kyoya then replied, “Usually, but it’s best to ignore them. This is Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai, two third years. Honey-senpai, Mori-senpai, this is (Y/N). The new transfer student.” I saw the two third years as they sat at the table. The smaller boy cutely said, “Hello, (Y/N)-chan! I’m Honey! Would you like a piece of my cake? Oh, and can I have the strawberry? That’s my favorite part. Maybe we can go halfsies?” I smiled warmly at the boy and said, “Thank you, Honey-senpai. I would love some of your cake.” Then I looked up at the much taller and much more stoic boy. “I assume you’re Mori-senpai?” I asked. He nodded and said a small, “yes”. I smiled at him and I swear I saw the smallest bit of a smile on his lips. This made me smile more. “Speaking of senpai, (Y/N), you should call ME senpai! It only makes sense, as I am your strong and noble upperclassman! Now go on! Call me senpai, princess!” Tamaki exclaimed whilst gazing at me in anticipation. “Sorry, Tamaki, but I don’t think I should feed your ego that much,” I said, jokingly. Tamaki began to sulk as the twins began to laugh. “That was-” “-too good!” they said. Tamaki snapped, “You two hush! She will call me senpai one day! I know it!” and the three launched into another playful argument. I laughed at this. “Here’s your piece. (Y/N)-chan! It’s not really halfsies...I got too hungry while you were talking. So it was quartersies until I got even more hungry...now its eighthsies? I’m sorry...” Honey said, sadly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Honey. Thank you for sharing! It means a lot to me,” I said genuinely, smiling at my upperclassman. His eyes widened a bit until he giggled said, “No problem!”. Mori gave me a pat on the head. Huh, those two are quite the duo.

It was about time to leave lunch, and on the way out I spotted a girl without a uniform eating alone outside. Perhaps she’s also an honors student? “I’ll catch you guys later,” I said before walking up to her. “Hello,” I said, “I’m (Y/N). What’s your name?”

A bit taken aback by the sudden visitor-aka me-the girl said, “Haruhi. I’m in your homeroom.”

“Really? Cool! Do we have any other classes together?” The girl nodded, “Every class you have with those twins, I have with you as well.”

“I’m terribly sorry I haven’t spoken to you before, but at least we know each other now! Us ‘commoners’ have to stick together!” I said. Haruhi laughed and replied, “You got that right.”

Glad to make a new friend, I suddenly remembered that the bell will ring soon. “Now let’s get to Literature, I heard the teacher is super strict.” And so the two girls walked to class, happily chatting along the way.

Note: None of these characters are mine, I just want to write about them. I thought this chapter was getting a bit too long so I cut it off there, even though it’s a bit of an awkward place to stop. Each line is a text break that means that a period of time has passed. 

[teacherkmd]

Struggles of teaching in China

If you’re in a TESOL prep program, you’ve likely run across articles that talk about the challenges of teaching in China. Well, at the special request of a previous professor of mine, here’s my version.

There are some very good things about teaching in China. For example, it is literally culturally ingrained in the fabric of society that teachers will be and are respected. It means my word will not be questioned (even though sometimes maybe it should be?). What I say goes. Classroom management issues (at least at the collegiate level) do not exist. My students are highly motivated and disciplined. I do not have to worry about attendance; they will not skip. This being said, here are 10 very real struggles I’ve had to face in the classrooms here.

1. The classrooms do not belong to the teacher.

One of the biggest differences between China (and Taiwan) and the United States is that the classrooms do not belong to the teacher. In the US, we often think of the teacher as getting to design their own classrooms and buying materials and decorating it and being the perfect “pinterest” teacher. The students tend to rotate and switch classrooms when the bell rings. Here, that is literally impossible (which might actually be good since I’m poor, not artistic, and don��t have much free time). Teachers are the ones who rotate and the students stay in their classrooms. This set-up means I would have to buy or create duplicates of anything I wanted to hang on the walls. It is good in some ways (gives students ownership of their space, they have a space to study after school hours, they’re responsible for cleaning and maintaining it, etc) but it is also bad because I can’t take up all the wall space. I am sharing with all the other teachers in the department. If I want a vocabulary word wall, or want to put giant “I am thankful for...” turkey’s on the wall or display student work... I’d need to make sure it didn’t bother the other teachers first. If my vocabulary word list would be seen as cheating or distracting for another English class... well it can’t be there. It also means that if teacher’s aren’t cleaning up after themselves a lot of crap ends up laying around the podium. I remember walking in and being annoyed at all the random textbooks, pens, pencils, paper clips, scraps of paper, tea, and other junk in my teaching space. Oh, and don’t think about rearranging the desks... that doesn’t go over well. Not ideal at all. I’ve never taught in a place where I have gotten my own classroom to decorate and create the environment I want, so I guess I don’t really know what I’m missing. I can imagine all the cool things I could do if I did though. 

2. Poor study skills for Western educational expectations

Another issue I’ve come across is what I consider “lack of common sense” when it comes to studying and taking notes. I have to be VERY explicit about literally everything. Do my students need to bring paper to class? Then I better tell them ahead of time. Do I think they should have a place to take notes? Then I better tell them to buy a journal for my class. Do I think they should have a place to put handout? Then I better tell them to buy a folder. Do I think something is important and they should write it down? Better tell them to write it down. I’ve had to give pop quizzes on things I’ve said in class multiple times to prove to the students that they should be taking notes in class. I’ve had to tell them that maybe that random page in their textbook isn’t a good place to put notes. I’ve had to say so many things where I know in America students would be like “duh”. But, that's now how teaching and learning work here. They take notes by taking pictures of my PPT and that is about it.

3. Poor communication styles for Western educational systems

China kind of skipped over e-mail. They went straight from fax to WeChat (a social media platform this is kind of like What’s app and instagram all rolled into one). Therefore, when I tell my students they need to turn in their homework via email, a whole truck full of problems crash into my inbox. No subject line. No names. No attachments. No message. I have had to show them exactly what I want them to write in the email so I know who they are, what class they’re in, and how to formally address a teacher. I haven’t let them vary their emails yet, but if any of them plan to study abroad in America or to teach students who wish to go to the US for schooling, they really need to learn how to write emails. I just wish I had time to cover everything. 

4. Fear of speaking up

“My students are smart. They understand what I am saying. It isn’t my fault they aren’t answering.” -- I constantly have to remind myself of this. I can put them in groups and have them discuss a topic. If I walk around and listen, I hear them all on task, on topic, and answering and sharing opinions correctly in English. Then if I bring them back together as a whole class and ask what they talked about or for examples of what they discussed: dead silence, heads bowed, avoiding eye-contact. It is the most frustrating thing. I know they know the answers, I heard them talking about it, and I literally went around the room telling them good job while I was listening. The cultural expectation that the group is more important than the individual causes a standstill. Almost no students will volunteer an answer freely. They don’t want to be seen as immodest or like a know-it-all. They would lose face if they did so. But, if I call on them, it isn’t them choosing to answer, they will answer correctly and accurately. They’d lose face if they didn't answer a direct question. They can’t be the peg that needs to be struck back down. My classes are slowly getting better.. they know I will hold them over the end of class time if they aren’t responding to me. I’ve reminded them that there are no right or wrong answers. I’ve told them if they don’t know the answer then I need to know they don’t know. I can get group responses quite easily, but class discussions that include the teacher just aren’t happening. I’ve gotten them to speak up by asking them things and saying “I don’t know the answer, so I can’t tell you if you’re wrong. I just want to know what you think”. We had a pretty good discussion on cultural appropriation and halloween costumes. 

5. No concept of plagiarism 

“The right answer is the only answer” and “Imitation is the best way to learn” are common beliefs of my students. If you don’t know how to write or say something, say or write the exact same thing as someone else. Shared knowledge is better than individual knowledge. Nevertheless, 0s have been given out already this semester along with in-depth discussions about how I don’t want perfect work turned into me. If it is all perfect, I could go back home. 

6. Fear of failure to the point of not following instructions

The all important grade. It doesn’t matter if they feel more confident, or if I tell them I see significant improvement. They are only focused on one thing: their grade. They focus on it so much, that if I give them instructions like “don’t write down your conversation and read it for your homework recording”, they will completely ignore the instructions if they think their grade will be better. They were shocked when the recording that was perfect with good intonation, proper grammar, native like pronunciation, etc got a 0. When they asked why, I said they didn’t follow instructions. They wrote down their conversation. How could I tell? Not once did they hesitate, not once did they act interested or surprised by what their fellow classmates had said. It was all scripted. And they can’t understand me if I ask a question, so how would they understand their classmate without having to pause and think about it? hmm? I will say this issue has been very quickly solved. They’ve come to realize in my class that I want them at the level they’re at not at some superficial level they want me to think they’re at. 

7. Highly stressed students

My students have absolutely no free time. They take 18 hours of class a week. Some of them are in military training still. Some have other clubs. Every weekend there are at least 6 or 7 competitions for them to compete in. I assigned a speaking homework and all the responses were about how tired they are and how they can't sleep because they’re so stressed. It broke my heart. The following week, I asked them to take 30 minutes to draw minions in halloween costumes for homework to make relaxation mandatory. I sat outside with a group of them after an English Corner event for 3 hours and talked with them about their lives. They feel so much pressure to conform and meet expectations. Their other teachers yell at them and shame them for being wrong. The foreign teachers are the only ones who encourage them or try to get to know them. I recently boycotted the crappy computer labs they had me teaching in on the 6th floor. I taught in their classrooms on the third floor instead.  The other foreign teacher came in during break and said how nice it was to have me teaching across the hall from her because she could hear them laughing and sounding like they enjoyed learning. I hope my small amounts of encouragement help them. 

8. Poor teaching materials and environment

I know no textbook is perfect... but these are exceptionally bad. All the foreign teachers are from the United States, but the textbooks all teach British English which means there are lots of things in there that I disagree with. The topics aren’t interesting. They’re the same thing they’ve been learning since 3rd grade but with more complex, technical vocabulary that native speakers wouldn’t casually drop into a normal conversation anyway. It just bad. Trust me. The building is also falling apart. The computers don’t work half the time. The software isn’t up to date. The chalk boards are so old you can’t see what you write on them anymore. Just not good for learning. 

9. Poor teaching pedagogy

Another reason my students are stressed is because my teaching style is completely unknown to them. They’ve never been asked to analyze or explain how they know something. The other professors mainly expect them to memorize a passage and spit it out verbatim. They don’t have to understand what they’re reading or saying. They just have to be able to do it. There is an old quad on campus and in the courtyard, we call it the hive. Every student is out there whispering and reciting passages to themselves. The drone of their voices sounds exactly like bees. In my class, they can’t get by on memorization. I make it almost impossible to prepare for class. They have to be ready to use what they’ve learned and apply it in practical situations and discussions. This is naturally very stressful for them. They would do much better if I taught in an audio lingual style or grammar translation style like the other teachers. But, if the school wanted that they would have hired a Chinese national and asked for a foreign teacher. 

10. Class schedules that focus on quantity not quality  

I see my students once a week for 2 hours for 14 weeks. Think back to college.. you had class three times a week for 50 minutes, or twice a week for 75 minutes. Or grad school, I had class twice a week for 2 hours each time. The contact hours I have with my students are very limited. They want to get as many students in there taking as many classes as they can. They all get exposed to the foreign teachers and they cycle them in and out. There is no buy-in, no investment, and no way for me to get to know all of my students. I feel a lot of pressure to cram in as much as I can in the 28 hours of class time they get with me. It is hard to remember that they have 16 other hours of class a week, and that I’m not solely responsible for them learning English. It is just hard for me to imagine that they’re taking away anything from my class. If I didn't have these textbooks dictating the topics we could cover, I would cover much less and slow down and make sure each lesson was in-depth. Instead, I have to make judgement calls about how much time we can spend on each thing before  moving on. 

I don’t want you to see this list and think I am complaining. I am not. I enjoy my work greatly, and I feel very lucky to be working here at QuFu Normal University. My students are brilliant, and I appreciate them daily. However, these are the things I have to keep in mind when I am making lesson plans, working on curriculum, and deciding what to include in teacher training workshops. A lot of these difficulties stem from cultural differences and require me to adapt and change just as much as I am pushing my students to bend. I am becoming a more flexible, more capable, and more opinionated educator. I just hope my students are learning as much from me as I am learning from them and this teaching context. 

[imaginekpoplikethis]

Mixing it up - Troublemaker! Min Yoongi X Reader - Part 2

Sorry for taking long to update but I just haven't really found the time to write recently. I'm sure since summer is basically over I'll have to get back into my normal routine so it should become more consistent. Gonna call this MIU now, just letting you all know.

Love for all of you 💖

Preview  Part 1  Part 2 - Here  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11 - Final

"Good morning girls. As you know, we have decided to take in half of the students from our neighbour school so please make them feel welcome. You would want the same, wouldn't you?"

No. No you would not. At least not from these students. Honestly, you would be lucky to not get fire crackers in a classroom as a welcome. You had to admit, half of them didn't even look like bad students but your mother always taught you to 'not judge a book by its cover'.

This was when you realised you were being unfair. Maybe the ones who looked like bad students weren't bad students. You could only pray but judging by the smirks and squarely shaped bulges in their pockets of what you could only assume were boxes of cigarettes, they did not look like the type of people you would want to linger around.

Perhaps the worst thing about this whole situation was the fact that all your desks had practically been squashed together to make room for the new students and you were someone who liked having space. Or at least enough to be able to not turn to the side and accidentally butt heads with someone.

"Make a note of the students you will be sharing your class with and try not to forget them." Your teacher proceeded to call out a small list of about twelve names and you leaned forward, making sure you were not going to hear the dreaded name 'Min Yoongi'.

"And finally, Park Jimin. Now girls, I expect you all to show your temporary classmates around until they get accustomed to the schools layout." A sigh of relief escaped you and you slumped back into your seat. Looks like God was on your side today.

No Min Yoongi. Hopefully he wasn't in your school at all.

Upon making eye contact with Suhyun, she flashed you a thumbs up and you grinned back at her in return. A knock at the door caught your attention and your teacher called the person standing outside in.

"I'm looking for class 2-b, can you direct me to it?"

You should have expected as much. Min Yoongi stood at the entrance of your classroom, bag slung over his shoulder, uniform barely passing the line of presentable in all his stoic glory. He gave your teacher a once over and scanned his classmates, only acknowledging the boy named 'Jimin'.

"Er- down the hall and up the stairs. Second classroom to your right." He nodded once in thanks before slowly turning around. You shrunk down, hoping to avoid catching his eye but it seemed as if your luck had run out for the day. Instead of immediately exiting the room, he stopped in his tracks and stared at you. All was silent for a few moments until he cracked a smirk and clicked his tongue.

"Well aren't I lucky? Didn't expect this to be your class..." As his sentence trailed off, he slowly inched back out of your class, taking a second to glance at your classrooms sign before setting out on his way.

Your teacher cleared his throat and you were surprised to find him watching you with slight curiosity.

"Ah, Y/N you should have let me know you were friends with a student from our fellow school. We could have organised you to be in the same clas-"

"No. We are not friends. I don't know him." You were certain your reply would increase the curiosity that was poorly hidden from those around you but you could not care less. The last thing you wanted was to be mistaken as a friend of Yoongi. Judging from the type of person he seemed to be, you could possibly be a victim of revenge violence just for being acquaintances.

You shivered at the thought.

"Oh... well moving on. I will assign your seats now."

Focusing on Suhyun once again, she pouted at you and this time gave you a thumbs down.

That was a poor representation of how you actually felt.

You were definitely close to flipping a table over. Why were you so annoyed?  The answer was simple. You had a gut feeling that now that Yoongi knew which class you were in, you would be seeing a lot more of him and there was no doubt in your mind that he would bring his bad ways with him.

Were you judging a book by its cover? Yes. But you felt that this particular boy could be understood just by reading the blurb of his book and you sure as hell had.

It didn't cross your mind that the 'blurb' you had read was not all there was to Min Yoongi. Not in the slightest.

-

The past week you had grown somewhat used to sharing your classes with the new students and, to your relief, you had not spoken a single word to Yoongi at all. The only times you ever saw him were the intervals between when one class would end and another would start.

You had gotten to know a few of the new temporary students: a girl named Mi-Rae and, surprisingly, Yoongi's close friend Park Jimin. You initially tried to not associate yourself with him but soon discovered that he wasn't even half of what Yoongi seemed to be. He was a soft spoken and kind hearted boy who never failed to greet you whether it be through an exchange of a few words or an adorable grin. Those were only two of the reasons why you deemed him nice to be around.

Mi-Rae was one of the few students who was always smiling and not in the malicious way you noticed some of the others carried. She had approached you on her second day and joyfully introduced herself to both you and Suhyun, much to your surprise.

From that moment onwards, you decided that you would give all of the students a benefit of a doubt. Maybe even Yoongi because, in all honesty, he hadn't actually done anything to you. However, the chances of that happening were pretty slim.

You were currently sitting in the lunch hall, patiently waiting for Suhyun to arrive with her tray of food. Whilst you were waiting you let your eyes drift around the room, taking in the different students.

Most of the girls had welcomed the new students with open arms thus the reason why so many had merged with the usual lunch groups. Yoongi was not included, unsurprisingly. He managed to scare off a group of girls within the first day and stole their table which he was currently sitting at with his friends.

As you were about to set your gaze elsewhere, Jimin noticed your stare and enthusiastically waved at you, drawing the rest of the boys attention towards you. You being the polite person you were, shot a smile back at him and waved despite the smirk that was resting on Yoongi's lips.

"Who're you waving at? Yoongi?" Suhyun had joined you, questioning your actions. You almost choked on the drink you took a sip of. Almost.

"What kind of stupid question is that? Maybe I'm waving at Jimin, who happens to be waving back." Suhyun made a noise of realisation before beginning to dig into her lunch.

"Ah... but then why is his friend walking in this direction?" Just as Suhyun had said, one of Yoongi's friends was currently on his way towards your table, a polite smile spread on his face. When he reached the table, he sat across from you, his smile widening for some odd reason.

"Hello, you're Y/N and Suhyun right? My name is Seokjin." You weren't sure what you were supposed to do with that information so you merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"Would you like to join us over on that table?" He proceeded to point towards the table the rest of the boys were situated at, all of which were staring in your direction.

"Um... why?" He began chuckling and you couldn't help but wonder if it was a fake laugh. It sounded like a window screen wiper in action.

"Oh, you don't have to be scared! It's just to meet new people." Evidently, this 'Seokjin' person mistook your distaste for the idea as fear.

"I've met you, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and unfortunately Min Yoongi. We are acquaintances and I'd rather not be anything more than that." He leant back in his seat and presented you with a small smirk.

"Don't you want to meet the other three? We don't normally ask people this." You could have scoffed at that. Honestly, who would care to meet them? Certainly not you.

"Maybe you shouldn't ask people this, meaning don't ask me. Why're you placing yourself on some kind of pedestal? Are you that special?" Seokjin looked somewhat taken aback by your brutally honest thoughts which caused you to feel bad. He was just trying to be nice in a weird way and you completely shot him down. Your conscience wouldn't allow you to be so rude without reason which is why you immediately dismissed what you had said.

"I'm sorry, please ignore what I just said. It was really rude of me." His smile resurfaced and you felt the guilt ebb away slightly.

"It's okay! So, are you and your friend going to join us?" Well you were back to square one. You couldn't really stand the thought of sharing a table with Yoongi but then again, he was just one person. Who's to say the rest of his friends were like him? Jimin obviously wasn't.

"Yep, we will!" Your head snapped in the direction of Suhyun and she giddily smiled at you.

"That's great. Come on!" Your head whipped back towards Seokjin, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. It seemed you were having trouble comprehending what had just happened in the space of ten seconds.

"Wait I-" Suhyun nudged you below the table and leant towards you to whisper. "Hey, honestly this is better than being on Yoongi's bad side. Just go along with it." She had a valid point. From what you had heard, Yoongi's bad side was something many tried to stay away from and you were sure you were on the brink of crossing over towards it, no matter how playful and indifferent he may seem.

"I'm sure he'll forget about your previous impressions if you just bare with me and be polite." Holding back the words of protest you could sense forming, you simply nodded at Suhyun, picking up your tray of food and standing from your seat. Seokjin had left you  both just after Suhyun had agreed to his proposal and was standing by his table, beckoning you over.

A deep sigh escaped you and you trudged towards the table, a tight smile plastered on your face. You had already planned out what you would do and what you would say. That's why it didn't take you any less than a second to seat yourself down in front of Jimin, your smile turning genuine. Suhyun sat beside you, greeting everyone at the table before pinching your leg.

"Ow! Er- hi guys, nice to meet you." You couldn't believe something so awkward had left your mouth. You were lucky that Taehyung was as bubbly as he is since he immediately diverted the attention towards himself with his greeting.

"Hey, Y/N! You're actually sitting with us! I thought you hated us or something..." You quickly bit back the 'I do' sitting at the tip of your tongue and let out a nervous chuckle.

"What? What reason would I have to hate you?" Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Yoongi raise an eyebrow in amusement and his smirk widened. He knew how you felt. That much was obvious.

"I don't really know... ah- wait, let me introduce everyone!" The next ten minutes consisted of Taehyung introducing and describing the personality of the six other boys seated at the table with you and Suhyun. By the end of it, you were confident in your ability to write personal statements for each of them due to the detailed introductions Taehyung had provided.

"I hope we can become good friends." You slowly turned towards the person who had spoken only to come face to face with a smirking Yoongi. He was resting his head on one hand and staring straight into your eyes, though it was anything but romantic.

You couldn't stop your inner self from voicing how unbelievably handsome he looked which caused you to knock yourself on the side of your head.

"H-hey! Are you okay?" Taehyung's worried voice went through one ear and out the other.

You were too busy telling yourself that it was just the light that was playing tricks on you.

[teresatranbooks]

Dear Blog,

Prompt: Write a new blog post with your reaction to the Beuhler chapters that you read for task 3 this week. How does Beuhler's work match with how you view your new role as an English teacher? What experience did you have with YAL in middle or high school? You will go more in depth with Beuhler and YA pedagogy in the fall. 

Beuhler’s Chapters 1 and 2 discuss reading YA books with passion and purpose, and viewing YA literature as complex texts as teachers who will one day teach and share YA books with their students. 

One of Beuhler’s tenets is in order “to learn, grow, and thrive, what all of these students need is...a wide landscape for reading” (Beuhler 3). That is, most students view reading as a chore, because for many of them, it is something they have to do, over something they want to do. It is an assignment. It is an expectation. It is another box they have to check off the list or a line they have to cross of on the agenda. And because they’re required to read mostly classics written by dead old white dudes, they’re “cut off from the larger world of literacy” (Beuhler 3). Because students aren’t directly told or handed diverse reading options, they fall out of love with reading and don’t develop that muscle of reading for later on. That is why many students, my friends, and myself included, over the years, began to repeat the sentiment of “I’m not much of a reader anymore.” It’s depressing!

But as Beuhler states in his chapter, students must be given a balanced reading diet. They need room (specifically time and space) to discover new books written by people who aren’t dead old white dudes. They need motivation to seek out those books. They need to hear from their teachers that them reading for “fun” and as a “hobby’ is not only good for them, but also encouraged in their ELA classroom. There needs to be room for students to develop their own reading tastes and reading stamina, but they can’t do that if they’re not allowed to employ a sense of agency within their choice in books. It is only through this sense of agency and a diverse palette of YA books will students begin to see reading as less of a chore, and more of a fun activity they can’t wait to do. 

This text also made me think about the multiple ways I, as teacher, can do to encourage this love and space for YA literature in the classroom. First, I want to create a space where students who already possess a love for reading YA books outside of the classroom don’t have to steal time to read inside the classroom. In other words, I want my classroom to be a place where students will have a dedicated time to read their contemporary YA titles and keep reading logs about them and talk about them with their peers. I don’t want my students who already consider reading as a hobby to ever feel like they have to sneak around me and the state-mandated curriculum to read their YA books -- and then be afraid I’ll take their books away from them, like the many times teachers did this to me. (I still think about these moments all the time...even in college. I lowkey have some trauma from that LOL).

Second, I want to create whole entire units around YA literature. But this might require going against state standards and school subject departments. So how can I make the case for YA lit in the classroom? Beuhler suggests marketing them as an outlet and/or case study for students’ personal and academic growth. The thing about YA lit is that it is entirely written for them. “YA list offers a way to meet students where they are now -- not just as readers, but as teens who are still figuring out their place in the world...YA lit honors that process of self-discovery” (Beuhler 3). When students read YA lit, they grow as the main characters grow. When students read YA lit, they see their personal journeys and feelings of adolescence (going from young child to young adult) paralleled in heightened and relatable ways. When students see themselves reflected in the literature they read, they end up feeling less alone in the world and develop a sense of community with other students who feel similarly. 

When we think about young adult students, we also think about puberty. We think about the multiple weird strange awful beautiful changes that happen physically, emotionally, mentally, and socially for them. We think about our own experiences during that time and how equally tumultuous it was for us. YA lit offers itself as a space for students and people in general to put their feelings and weirdness somewhere, where it’s private and peaceful and doesn’t make adolescence any more more embarrassing than it already inherently is.

In addition, when students read YA lit, they grow as readers. “If students in our classrooms might not have been readers in the past, but they can become readers now -- if we create conditions that support their individual development” (Beuhler 6). When making the case for YA lit in the classroom, I will emphasize how YA lit creates that confidence within students to believe that reading is something they can do. YA lit inherently has qualities that push students to motivate themselves to continue reading and develop a stronger reading muscle for heavier, longer, and more complex YA texts. YA lit makes reading accessible, breaks down barriers, enhances reading comprehension and critical thinking skills, and promotes a sense of creativity, all of which are qualities state standards try to achieve for students but can’t. 

And third, Beuhler talks about how his favorite YA novels are “those that defy categorization” (Beuhler 27). I think about how not only young teens, but kids and adults and seniors are reading YA lit more and more over other categories. Why? It’s because YA lit does so much at once to fulfill their reading and personal needs. They’re complex and rich and tackle so many relevant themes and experiences, but probably most importantly, they model a development arc that many folks are always secretly seeking. That sort of adventure of becoming into one’s own and developing confidence as a person with better informed opinions and forming new friendships and relationships with people. For kids and teens, it’s the excitement and hopefulness of growing older and breaking away from adult authority and becoming your own person. For adults and seniors, it’s the nostalgia and also hopefulness of returning to what youth was like and experiencing new things again. Because there is so much complexity in YA lit, it will require a complexity when teaching YA lit. 

As a teacher, I want to change the conversation about YA lit, dismantling the idea that it’s a category mainly for teenage girls, which, btw, what the hell is wrong with THAT? So what if it is mainly saturated with stories for and about teenage girls? Most of the books students have had to read have been led by boys and men and written by men -- and students of all genders have had no trouble reading them. But when suddenly girls’ and women’s perspectives are prioritized in narratives, or a category is predominantly centered around the experiences of girls and women, suddenly it’s beneath people and not as complex as other categories? Can someone say SEXISM?. While some people might argue that that is not why they view YA books as not nearly as “complex” as the classics, I think there’s no mistake that gender plays a big part in informing that particular mainstream point of view about YA lit. 

Furthermore, alongside Beuhler, I also believe that “sometimes calls for increasingly complex texts are really code for keeping classic literature at the center of the curriculum” (Beuhler 28). More specifically, I believe that most people’s calls for “complexity” in their reading, what they’re really calling for is either 

(1) books written by dead old white dudes about the American Male ExperienceTM where they find excuses to be racist or sexist or BOTH (fun!) and argue that it’s a relatable part of being an American Man (which ew! and wow, the bar is low), OR 

(2) books written by BIPOC authors that focus on the “Authentic” experience of being BIPOC, but mostly as a vehicle for white folks to fetishize the trauma and pain of BIPOC, without neither the actual empathy and compassion for BIPOC, nor the active commitment to creating systemic and individual change against the trauma and pain that BIPOC often face living under the white capitalist patriarchal police state that these books are often thematically preaching about.

Here’s the thing. YA lit definitely can perpetuate those same harmful practices that the classics often do. In fact, some YA novels already do. I can point to many of the YA Book Twitter drama that rightfully calls out problematic books, such as The Black Witch, on the daily. However, YA lit has shown over and over again that it can reach far beyond its intended target audience and tackle complex themes without infantilizing, again, their intended audience...which is young teens. The thing about literature and education and the passing on of information in general is that if you are an academic or a student or a teacher or an individual and you can not relay your perspective and/or argument in such a way where another person can understand it (even if they might disagree with it)...you have failed. 

YA lit is an example of when perspectives and themes and experiences that are often considered “complex” is successfully communicated to a young teenage audience because of its accessibility. If a classic cannot reach a bigger audience or in this case, reach a young teen demographic, it’s not because of a complexity that YA lit “lacks,” it’s because of the unnecessary, often racist and sexist gatekeeping in classic literature that privileges upper class white folks and their experiences which are often communicated in a language only other upper class white folks can speak and understand. Think about how many classic books are written in AAVE, aka African American Vernacular English? Most people will think of Toni Morrison or James Baldwin...but those are only two Black authors. Two. Out of how many white authors? However, I can think of countless YA lit books written not only in AAVE, but also different Chinese, Spanish, and African dialects by Chinese, Spanish, and African authors. As a teacher, I want to use all of these arguments and evidence I’ve just laid out to argue for the case of YA lit in the classroom. 

I always viewed my role as an English teacher as one with deliberate purpose. I’ve always wanted to be more than just an English teacher. I wanted to be the one person whose students would go to when they finished a book and wanted someone to listen to them rattle off about the parts they liked and didn’t like. I wanted to be the one person whose students would look to when they got bullied by other students or teachers and protect and comfort them, especially my fellow students of color. I wanted to be the one person whose students would ask for book recommendations and ask to read over their writing projects because they trusted my opinions. I wanted to be the person I needed when I was younger. If I can’t go back in time to the past, I’ll make sure I become that person in the present for the kids of the future generation...

And I’ll start with introducing them to YA lit.

[fullmetalgunfire]

The eighth and final-ish chapter of my gift fic for @blackwolfchimera. Final-ish because this shouldn’t be the final version... At all... Basically I got a bit sick and it’s turned my brain into utter mush, which has made this not only the worst chapter I’ve written but left me with basically no brainpower to fix it. I mean it doesn’t even really end properly it just sort of stops...

Anyway, Eurydice offered to do a rewrite so this actually has a proper ending, but unfortunately that’s not finished tonight and I’m not 100% positive when it will be (hopefully tomorrow, but she’s got other stuff to do so I’m not positive... And I don’t want to pressure her because boy does this need a lot of work...). It just feels wrong to leave the story where it’s at in the meantime, though, so I’m posting this... Basically unedited bad version just so there’s something. Promise to post the final version as soon as I can, though!

...And hey, handy links to the other chapters, I guess?

Chapter 1 (plus explanation) | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

The weekend passed in a blur, and so did the handful of school days until the callbacks. It was harder for them to meet with their friends once the weekend was over, but they still did their best to cram as much prep and practice into those few days as they could.

“Ready for this?” Roy asked as he and Ed met outside the theatre.

“More worried about you, you’re the one with a game to get to,” Ed answered, “How about you? You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be, I think...” he sighed, looking nervous, “I’ve got my uniform in my bag, all ready to go, just in case I have to run to the game.”

“Surprised you’re not already wearing it,” Ed replied with a slight laugh, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him down into a brief kiss, “Relax. We can do this.”

“I know...” he murmured in reply, looking more relaxed when he pulled back, “Shall we?”

Ed just nodded in response, and they headed into the theatre. There wasn’t many people there... Ling and one other guy who were their competition for the leads, and a handful of others being tried for other parts. Ed doesn’t remember who’s who, except for their direct competition... He’d been too busy to pay much attention to the other people on the list.

He and Roy wandered in quietly, taking seats next to each other near the front just as Mr. Garfiel came out.

“Well, I’d like to welcome you all the the call backs...” he said, “All of you are in the running for some of the biggest roles in this production, but I need to decide which of you will be best for which role... I’m planning to start by pairing you up and having you each do a scene involving characters I think you’d do well with. When I call your names, please come up here and I will give both of you scripts to use...”

Ed waited, completely relaxed, for Garfiel to call him and Roy up... Then froze when, instead, he calls up Roy and Ling.

“What?” he said under his breath, looking to Roy, who looks just as surprised and panicked as he does. He wanted to ask why, he really did, but... They’re on thin ice as it is. If it seemed like they might be protesting in any way...

Luckily, Ling decided to ask for them. Ed’s almost grateful if he wasn’t sure Ling was behind their sabotage.

“Sir? Why aren’t we being paired with our previous partners? I was prepared for-”

“I might cast any combination of you in either role,” the teacher interrupted, giving Ling an unimpressed look, and Ed has to stifle a snicker at how the tables have turned, “I need to know you’re prepared for that, and to see which of you would work best in which role...”

“Guess that’s a valid reason...” Roy mumbled with a sigh, suddenly taking Ed’s hand. He blinked at him, confused by the sudden gesture, before realizing Roy’s seeking out some level of reassurance and squeezing his hand briefly before Roy stands and breaks away to get his script and meet Ling without another word. Ed and the guy who’d been practicing with Ling get called up a moment later, and he goes up to grab their scripts and meet up with the guy. He... Doesn’t look at that happy to be there, to be honest. More resigned than anything... Ed wonders why.

“So, uh... Who’ve you been practicing for?” Ed asked, deciding to just cut to the chase.

“Oh, uh... The tutor...”

Ed cringed. “Oh. Shit. So have I...”

“Oh,” the other boy said, looking toward the teacher with a thoughtful frown, “Maybe we should ask if we should switch partners with-”

“Nah,” Ed cuts off before that thought can get fully formed... He doesn’t want to risk his partner even thinking like that. “I’ll just switch roles. Shouldn’t be too hard, I’ve been reading the whole script, I can come up with something...”

“Oh. Thanks...” the guy says, offering him a small smile, “I’ve only been thinking about the one role...”

Ed eyes him for a moment. “Seems like that’d be a bad idea. I mean, if you want to get cast.”

“Well... I... Kind of don’t. Not really.”

Ed’s eyebrows shoot up. “Then why are you here?”

The boy shrugged. “Ling’s a friend, and... I guess he assumed he’d get lead, but he needed someone to be opposite him that wouldn’t be too terrible, and... Well, I tried theatre years ago and I was alright, I guess, though I don’t really like it much. Ling remembered, though, and... Well...”

“Asked you to audition as his partner,” Ed supplied, “To make him look good.”

“More or less.”

“Right...” Ed said slowly, “So... You want to go over the scene?”

They discussed what they were going to do for a bit, and went over the dialogue a couple times, but then it kind of dies out. It’s a simple scene, after all, and this guy isn’t exactly the type to offer a lot of ideas of what to do with it...

Ed let his attention wander, drifting around the room. They seemed to be taking their time getting through all the scenes... He can see Mei talking to Mr. Garfiel, pointing out little things and trying to get him to make the people on stage do the scene over. That was one of her little delays she’d planned, he figured... He winced, though, when a moment later the teacher clearly ran out of patience before she could draw things out any longer and called up the next pair.

It made him nervous, and he automatically looked over to Roy, who seemed to be arguing with Ling, looking frustrated. Oh that wasn’t good... Ed took a deep breath, trying not to think this was starting to turn into a disaster. There really wasn’t any evidence of that yet... Or not much, anyway.

They get called up to do their scenes a moment later, Roy and Ling going up first. It’s not bad, but it’s not great either, each of them clearly struggling to make their interpretation work with a new partner. But at least both of them were rough, so Ed doubts Roy will be knocked out of the running for it... He and his partner go up after them, and Ed thinks it goes slightly better, though really that’s only because his partner is so flat that Ed can pretty much do what he likes and it’ll work about the same.

“That went well...” Roy drawled sarcastically as they rejoined each other after Ed’s scene.

“Yeah... I mean, I know he’s trying to throw us off, but fuck, how would that help him decide anything?” Ed replied, keeping his voice low, “How was working with Ling, anyway?”

“He’s... Not as much of a diva as I was expecting, given what we’ve been hearing,” Roy said slowly, “But he’s got his own ideas about how to do everything, and trying to get my ideas in...”

“Yeah, you didn’t seem to be getting along that great,” Ed hummed before Mr. Garfiel cut off any more conversation.

“Alright, well, that was good... I’m going to move on to the next segment. This will only be four of you in the running for the leads, I want you each to sing a solo from the character you’d prefer to play...”

Ed freezes. That wasn’t something they’d expected... Judging from Mei’s reaction, she’s just as surprised, so this had to be a last minute addition. They were lucky she’d made them be familiar with. The whole script and all the songs, but...

She recovers though, and waves to get the teacher’s attention. “Sir, if we’re making the leads do that, why not everyone? It’d only be fair...”

Ed smiles a little at that, thinking it’s a perfect opportunity to delay the choreography a little more, but then there’s a chorus of protests across the theatre.

“Well, it doesn’t sound like anyone else is prepared for that, and it is admittedly a surprise...” Mr. Garfiel hums, then gives him and Roy a pointed look, “I hope our potential leads are prepared anyway?”

“I’m sure we can manage something,” Roy says smoothly a moment later.

They each get called up in turn, and it goes... Alright. He and Roy are unpolished, not having practiced the songs at or or decided how they’d interpret them, but thanks to Mei and her prep they’re far from bad. Ling does about the same as them, too, but the fourth guy... Well, it’s clear he just copies what Ed does, and not quite as well, which leaves the teacher grimacing and clearly displeased. The guy doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, though... Ed hopes that, however the casting goes down, this kid gets to get out of it. He clearly doesn’t actually want to be there.

Unfortunately, even with making all four of them sing, it doesn’t take nearly as long as he’d have liked. He can see the girl who’s doing the choreography preparing to come out, and it just... Seems too soon. There’s still way too much time left where the teacher can wear Roy out...

“I know we’re waiting to do the duets until the end,” Mei pipes up suddenly, “See how they can handle it after the choreography, but maybe we should have them try a little piece of it first? With each possible combination. To make sure we have the best two pairs try at the end...”

Mr. Garfiel looks thoughtful, and Ed stiffens, waiting to see if he takes it. They need any kind of delay, any at all, right now...

“I think that would work,” he finally says, “If you could sing in the pairs that I assigned for the scenes, just the chorus will do...”

It’s not much, but he’ll take it. Each pair sings the chorus together and it’s... Well, it’s about as good as the scenes they did. And when the teacher makes Roy and Ed switch partners, it doesn’t go any better. Finally, he reluctantly tells them to go into the pairs they’d been practicing with, and it goes much, much better. Ed thinks that he and Roy sound fantastic, and way better than Ling and his partner, who still falls flat.

The teacher sighs, looking resigned, like he kind of hoped that a different set would be surprisingly good. “Well... Moving on then,” he said, gesturing the the choreographer, “We’re going to be doing a dance audition next, you’ll be taught a crowd dance from the show, and we’ll have you all perform at once...”

There were some scattered protests, but they were quickly silenced by one look from the intimidating looking girl doing the choreography. Still, it’s clear that a lot of people are unprepared, expressing confusion over why she’s leading them through stretches (she briskly explains that it’s to prevent them from hurting themselves) and some of them not quite doing them right.

The confusion gives Ed an idea. He starts doing some of the stretches slightly wrong himself... Not enough to make it obvious he’s doing it on purpose, but enough to add one more person to her pile of people she needs to correct.

Roy looks slightly annoyed with it... He seems anxious to prove himself. But the less time there is to wear him out, the better.

As they’re finishing up their stretches, he glances over to the table where Mei is sitting with the teacher, seeing her fiddling with her phone behind his back. Probably signaling Al to start with their other sabotages...

They move on to learning the choreography, and almost immediately Ed asks a question about some term she used. to be fair, it’s a genuine question, he doesn’t know what she’s referring to, though he could probably figure it out if he had to. It does exactly as he expected, though... All the other inexperienced students take the cue to start asking about anything they don’t understand, and Ed has to force himself not to grin at his own contribution to the sabotage.

A couple minutes later, as they’re working on learning the difficult dance moves, the lights start flickering, and then go off.

“Stop, stop,” Mr. Garfiel calls out, looking annoyed at the interruption, “It’s not safe to keep going with no lights... Can someone figure out what’s going on so we can keep going?”

There’s a bit of a careful scramble, but no answers, then the lights mysteriously come back on again. The teacher just tells them to resume the lesson, and they do for a minute... Until the lights flicker and go out again.

They come back on. Then go back off. Then come back on...

“Can you just teach them something simpler?” Mr Garfiel calls out in frustration after a few times.

“There’s a simpler dance from earlier in the show I have worked out...” the choreographer says, then starts leading them through that.

It’s still stop and go, but it goes faster now, everyone catching on to the steps easier. They get through the simpler choreography, and Ed relaxes... He can’t imagine there’s anything else the teacher will throw at them, there’s not really enough time for more anyway, and Roy is not nearly as tired as he’d feared. It looked like they were out of the woods, and had managed to handle-

“Alright, if I could have everyone but those in the running for the leads leave the stage,” Mr Garfiel called out, “I’m going to have you pair up and do a different choreography, just the two of you. It’s important our leads have the right chemistry...”

Ed stiffens in surprise, then starts to bristle angrily. They had been there for too long already! If the teacher insisted on them continuing with all the dancing, they were going to run into time that Roy needed to get to his game! Didn’t he understand that? “Hey-”

Roy put a hand on his shoulder before he could actually be heard, stopping him. “Ed, calm down, it’s alright, we’ll handle it... There’s always the last resort plan if it really starts running too long.”

Ed sighed, slumping. “This is just getting fucking stupid...”

“I know. But we’re almost through it...”

Ed manages to swallow down his anger, just barely, and refrains from vocally making his displeasure known. It’s a little easier now that he and Roy are working together again, being led through the beginning of a... Distractingly intimate dance.

They don’t get far into learning the steps, though, when the fire alarm suddenly goes out, and they’re forced to evacuate, the whole group standing outside in the parking lot.

“Shit, we weren’t finished,” Ed says to Roy, keeping his voice low, “What about the duet? We didn’t get to it...”

“I don’t know...” Roy replies softly, frowning, “I hope he doesn’t insist on waiting...”

Mr Garfiel, though, was apparently too frustrated to consider that option. “Alright, let’s just... Do the duet out here and be done with it. Can you four handle that?”

“Sure!” Ling said cheerfully, though his partner looked... Less than thrilled.

“Fine. Then you two go first.”

The two of them sound worse than usual. Apparently being forced to sing with no music behind him and out in the middle of the parking lot of zapping what little ability or confidence or whatever Ling’s partner had... Ling himself sounded alright, but without a decent partner it all fell apart.

“Alright,” the teacher said, turning to them with a resigned look, “And what about you two? Are you ready?”

Roy turns to look at him with a small smile, and Ed grins back. “Yeah. Totally.”

They perform the duet, just like they’d been practicing... It doesn’t sound quite as good without the music backing them up, but it’s still fantastic, and Ed can tell from the teacher’s increasingly satisfied expression it’s exactly what he was looking for.

“Well, I think that’s enough...” he said when they finished, nodding to everyone, “You’re all dismissed, I’ll post the cast list in the next couple days. Though... Ling? Could I speak to you privately for a moment?”

Ed wonders, for a moment, what that was about, but shakes it off and grabs Roy’s hand, dragging him off. “Come on, you’re going to be late!”

They get Roy where he needs to be just in time, so he’s not late at all, though only barely. Ed sticks around to watch the game... Roy isn’t quite the star of the show he’s been told he usually is, but he does alright, and the rest of the team easily picks up the slack, netting them a firm win.

Ed was grinning like an idiot after the game, when he finally manages to break through the crowd and get close enough to Roy to talk to him.

“Hey! Congrats!”

Roy blinks, turning to look at him, then immediately breaks into a huge grin and sweeps Ed up into a tight embrace and deep kiss.

Ed blushes at the exuberance, still not used to it, but still laughs when he pulls away for air. “Dork.”

“Can you blame me?” Roy laughs softly in response, still holding on to him, “I can’t believe we pulled this off...”

“Yeah, it was more on edge than I expected...” he hummed back, “Though I guess we won’t really know if we succeeded or not until the cast list gets posted...”

“I suppose not...” Roy replies, sighing a bit before giving him a sheepish smile, “Is it bad I wish we could know now?”

“Nah, I wish-”

“Congratulations!”

Ed whipped around, blinking as he spotted Ling approaching them with a cheerful expression.

“Uh... Hi?” He said, scowling confusedly, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, I wanted to congratulate you on getting the parts!”

“Wait, what?” Ed gaped.

“How... Exactly do you know we got them?” Roy asked slowly, frowning at him.

“Oh, well, Mr. Garfiel told me he was going to cast you when he pulled me aside,” Ling explained, “He wanted me to do a sort of impromptu audition for one of the other parts, the romantic rival from act two? So he had to explain why...”

“And you’re not... Upset? That we got it instead of you?

Ling just frowned at them, confused. “No, why would I be? We could use some new talent... I’m a little upset that you’re going to be graduating before you can audition more, to be honest. Though I hope you’ll consider auditioning more next year, Ed.”

Ed just nods, a little numbly. “I... Guess I’ll consider it...”

“Great!” Ling exclaims cheerfully, “Oh, and congratulations on winning the game, too! It’s impressive you managed to balance it as the callbacks, I had to postpone a dentists appointment to manage myself... I don’t know why he decided to change the date like that...”

Ed and Roy exchanged glances, and Ed was fairly sure neither one of them knew what to say about that.

Ling seemed oblivious to the silent exchange, though, waving to them happily as he started walking off. “Well, I’ve got to go! I’ll see you two at auditions!”

They just stared after him for a moments, then Ed burst into laughter, Roy quickly following his lead.

“Well, guess we got the wrong idea about him,” Ed said, shaking his head a bit.

“Apparently...”

[serpent-jugheadjones]

The Partner Revealed - Part 3

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

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

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

Warnings: Bullying

Word count: 3396

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

Jughead’s point of view

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N’s point of view

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

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

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

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

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

Jughead’s point of view

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N Point of view

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

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

[uniquequotesonlife]

rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({});

Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk Watch: most watched video on youtube source Read the full article

[illuminating-dragons]

Fading Scars (9/?): Career Choices

Time: 1998 onwards

Summary:  We've gotten a glimpse at the futures of the first generation. But what else did they do in their careers?

Harry Potter

           The first year Harry taught Defense Against the Dark Arts passed in a bit of a whirl. His predecessor had left a suggested outline, and Harry had followed it as best he could. He went off-script a few times, especially with the older students, and by the end of the year was winging it class by class. It was exhausting, and he wanted to create a better plan.

           At first he thought it might be arrogant, but he eventually decided that he would create a 7-year syllabus, and have each year dedicated to an area of Defense. The idea would be that everyone would get to experience each kind, and until he caught up with new students, he would do some quick coverage. For example, James was now going into 6th year; he and his classmates wouldn’t hear 1st—5th year curriculum from him, so he’d go through some of it and see how it went.

           It actually worked quite well.

The Plan

1st year: Basic defense training, with and without a wand. Small charms of protection, working as a team, recognizing threats, first aid, Dark objects.

           “I know you just got your wands,” Harry explained as he put the bunch away. “But your wand can be taken from you, and it’s important to learn how to protect yourself in every way. Now make a fist. My cousin taught me how to do this.”

2nd year: Defense history and some theory. Psychology, explanation of old wizarding systems of belief (Draco Malfoy guest speaker).

           “In order to understand Dark wizards, we need to talk about how they came to be that way.”

           “Professor, aren’t we going to do anything practical this year?”

           “Of course we are. What do you think the dummies are for? We’re continuing what we learned last year. There’ll also be some duel re-creations, if you’re all very good. Professor Longbottom’s going to help out.”

3rd year: Creature Encounters. Dark creatures defense (explanation of Patronus Charm), learning about creatures that aren’t necessarily dark but require some defense if things go wrong, learning about old stereotypes (in conjunction with some classes with Hagrid).

           “There are a few different kinds of dangerous creatures,” Harry explained. “First we’re going to cover the ones which are genuinely out to get you, and learn how to fight them. Then we’re going to talk about ones that you need to be careful with; they have their rules, you need to follow them. Then we’re going to talk about the teacher who inspired these lessons, and what Remus Lupin taught everyone about preconceptions.”

4th year: Offensive maneuvers. Jinxes and counter-jinxes, battle strategies, negotiation techniques.

           “Before we get to the fun stuff,” Harry said, and his face became more serious, “there’s something I want you all to understand. In the future, you might take up a cause that you believe in with all your heart. Whatever it might be, there may be a moment where you have to make a choice—your cause or your life. If you choose to die for your cause, then that is your choice. But I want each and every one of you to understand that your life is worth something. You getting out alive is a worthwhile option. There is no shame in choosing to fight another day, and I want you all to make it home. Do you understand me?”

           They didn’t, of course. But that was alright. He’d said it, and he would keep saying it as long as he had breath in his body.

5th year: Advanced 1-4.

           “Don’t worry about your OWLs,” Harry promised as he looked at the exhausted fifth-years. “You’re going to be ready, each and every one of you. Whether you continue or not, you’ll be prepared. My door’s open if you need to vent, and I’ll leave some dummies after-hours. If you want to come in and blow things up, go ahead. Just clean up after, yeah?”

6th year: Silent magic, magical law and law enforcement (Auror guest speakers), curse-breaking (Bill guest speaker).

           “Professor, do you miss being an Auror?”

           “Not really,” Harry answered, smiling. “It was worthwhile, and I did have some fun. But I love this job. Especially the part where I get to assign the homework instead of having to do it.”

7th year: Career preparation, duelling (supervised), teaching others (Wizards and Muggles)

           Harry waved the desks against the walls. “Everyone make a circle with your chairs, okay?”

           After about five minutes where his seventh years proved that they still couldn’t make a proper circle, Harry accepted an oval. He brought his own chair in and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright, let’s go around. What do you want to be, and what kind of defensive techniques will help you most? I’ll make a list and we’ll go through it all by the end of the year.”

           Harry really didn’t stop being nervous until the first group of first-years graduated, going through each year of his schedule, all of them doing extremely well.

           He continued with his syllabus, and kept to three rules he didn’t publicize.

His door was always open. When he was at home with Ginny he could answer owls, but he kept reasonable office hours through the week.

He kept the classes as fun as he could. It gave the OWL and NEWT students a break from their other classes, and anyways, they were safe. Why not have a bit of fun?

He would never give homework over break. EVER.  

Hermione Granger-Weasley

           Hermione went into the Ministry because Kingsley promised her two things. The first was that the werewolf registry was off the books immediately, and new laws would be considered first priority. The second was that she could have a small library instead of a traditional office.

           She was happy for years. She worked to bring S.P.E.W to the major leagues, got promoted a few times, had a chance to be off with Ron for a year with each of their children, and made some real strides in the legal Wizarding world.

           Hermione was happy.

           And then Harry quit.

           Ron leaving the Aurors hadn’t bothered her the same way. She’d known her Ron wasn’t set right for the Aurors. He’d followed Harry, but his heart was never in it. He was far happier working in the joke shop with George and Seamus, spending afternoons with Hugo and making people laugh.

           But Harry…Hermione fully supported his decision, but it did seem a bit odd. After all, wasn’t Harry happy fighting?

           No, Hermione realized. He wasn’t. He wanted to help people be safe, but he’d realized that his way to that wasn’t through being an Auror, but being a teacher.

           Now Hermione paced in her library/office and wondered. Was this her best way to help people learn? She didn’t want to teach; she knew she wouldn’t be good at it. In this job, she could make sure everyone understood the law, and that it was as fair as she and her team could make it.

           It was good work. But was it her work?

           In the end, it was Harry who helped her make a decision, though he hadn’t quite meant to.

           They’d gone on their annual Christmas Eve pilgrimage to Godric’s Hollow. It was the first one since Harry had started teaching, and Hermione had missed their lunches in the Ministry café. They laid roses on Harry’s parents’ graves, Remus and Tonk’s graves, and the memorial Harry had set up for Sirius. It was clear and cold that night, and they walked in silence through the village, stopping in front of the burnt remains of the Potter’s home.

           Then Harry jumped the fence. He’d done it so quickly Hermione took a second to notice.

           “Harry! What are you doing?”

           “James asked me this morning if I’ve ever been inside,” Harry called over his shoulder. “I promised him I would try. Are you…will you come in, ’Mione?”

           Hermione levitated herself over the fence, half-expecting to be blown out. She landed next to Harry and took his hand. “Of course.”

           The cottage was nearly destroyed, and Hermione forbade Harry from going upstairs; his levitation charms weren’t very good, and the curse remnants were stronger up there. They picked their way through the remains of a sitting room, a kitchen and—

           “Harry,” Hermione breathed.

           The Potters had built a small library.

           It would have been very small, just big enough for two people to read in on a sofa. Harry ran trembling fingers over the shelves.

           There were still books on the shelves. Some of them were burnt almost to a crisp, but some…some could be salvaged.

           Harry looked at her desperately. “Can you—”

           Hermione had spent part of her seventh year working with Madam Pince in the library, helping her restore old books damaged in the Battle and in raided homes.

           “I can try. You can help me.”

           It took six months, but working together on weekends Hermione and Harry slowly restored the books that were left. There were some Quidditch memoirs, a few Charms books, some Muggle and Wizarding novels…

           And two books that changed Hermione’s life forever.

           The first was a diary that proclaimed itself to be Lily Evans Potter’s, detailing everything from her fourth year until the day before she died. Hermione sent Harry off to read it, and started working on the next book.

           It was a Potions textbook—Advanced Potions Making TK, in fact. When Hermione opened it, she was shocked to see that Lily Evans had written in it, making neat notes in the margins. As she started to read them, her eyes grew wider and wider.

           She ran to interrupt Harry. “I know you want to read that,” she told her friend, “but you’ve got to answer something for me first.”

           It took five seconds for Harry to confirm her suspicions.

           “Those were notes in Snape’s textbook,” he whispered. “The Half-Blood Prince one.”

           “I thought so. I remember you making some of these changes.” Hermione peered closer. “There are no spells in here, only notes on Potions. Are you sure?”

           “I don’t have a memory like yours,” Harry said slowly. “But I’m positive that some of these are identical. And that’s—that’s definitely my Mum’s handwriting.”

           The two would never know the full story, but after speaking with Slughorn and Hestia Jones, one of the few surviving classmates of Lily Evans, and looking through Lily’s diary, Hermione and Harry managed to piece the story together. Lily had spoken of the improvements she wanted to make to Potions textbooks; she’d even shown Slughorn some of the work. Snape, on the other hand, had kept fairly quiet except in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

           “I think it was Mum who came up with most of the Potions notes,” Harry said. “The spells are more like Snape anyways. They were best mates; they probably just shared their notes.”

           Hermione agreed with him, though in the end it didn’t really matter. Both were dead, and it without the Half-Blood Prince text (burned in the Room of Requirement) there was no way to prove anything. In any case, it was no longer a case of intellectual property.

           Harry was just happy to have more of his mother’s words, but Hermione was intrigued by another possibility. She’d ignored Harry using the notes in sixth year because she’d been so sure the textbook writers were correct, but these were good notes. And there were other potions Lily hadn’t touched, ones Hermione knew could be improved if she worked at it…

            It started as a side project. She just wanted to see if she could expand on Lily Potter’s work. She’d felt a kinship with her, her best friend’s mother, a Muggleborn like her who came to magic with a different point of view, a different understanding of the world. As Hermione started experimenting further (with Luna helping her set up wards in case something went wrong), she realized that Lily had been truly brilliant, and her work deserved to be shared.

           And as she slowly stopped looking at the textbook, started thinking in terms of why and how things worked, Hermione found new methods, new techniques to apply to potions. Her notes stacked up, and she called in sick to work in order to finish pulling them into a book.

           Well. That was it. It was done. Maybe she’d publish it, and perhaps look into other potions. But that would take time away from work…

           Hermione knew where her responsibility lay. She quit her job.

           She spent mornings with her children that summer, and when Ron took them in the afternoon she went deeper into the Potions field. And she didn’t stop there; thinking back now, the textbooks weren’t really that great, were they? They told a victor’s account and glossed over huge sections of magical theory.

           But then she stopped short. Because who was she to challenge these mainstays of education, to even say that there were other stories to tell and lessons to learn?

           She explained this to Ron, who didn’t hesitate with his response.

           “If bloody Lockhart can write them, you damn well can.”

           Hermione loved her husband.

           She spent the next year working on her three main oeuvres: the Potions textbook, now split in two for first- to fifth-years, and for NEWT students; a History of Magic textbook that covered both Wizarding Wars with detail and as many interviews with survivors as she could; and her biggest worry, Transfiguration Theory.

           To Hermione’s shock, it appeared that people wanted to read her books, and they were heralded as wonderful, original work. Hermione was careful to tell the story of Lily Evans in her Potions book (and Snape, of course), but her own work stood out too, and stood up to criticism. Ron beamed with pride when Rose and Hugo wrote that Professor MacMillan had spend an entire day raving about Transfiguration Theory and how splendid it was and everyone needed to buy a copy immediately.

           Hermione kept on writing textbooks in various fields (she co-wrote one with Harry about Defense Against the Dark Arts), and soon her books were required reading not only at Hogwarts but across wizarding schools. She cried the day the wizard who’d written Hogwarts: A History wrote her and asked if she would collaborate on a new edition.

           That letter hung under her most treasured possession; a small photograph, burnt round the edges, of a woman with red hair and laughing green eyes with her diploma held high. Harry had given it to her from his album, the only one where Lily appeared alone. Sometimes Hermione could swear Lily was smiling at her and only her, but of course that wasn’t how pictures worked.

           It was years and years later when she was doing a collaboration with Dennis Creevey, when she realized there was a chance that it was in fact exactly how pictures worked.

           And Hermione smiled and waved back.

Ron Granger-Weasley

           Ron was an Auror because he didn’t know what else to do.

           He’d let Harry down last year, and he felt the only way he could assuage his guilt about that was to watch his friend’s back. So he was an Auror, and stood beside Harry in every fight.

           But it wasn’t right.

           Ron hated the bureaucracy, hated the infighting (they were on the same damn team, who cared how the desks were organized?), and the constant exposure to the terrible things people did to each other was wearing him down.

           Harry could deal with it, somehow. Oh he cried with Ron for the victims, and they both had nightmares, but Harry could sleep and smile. Ron was losing his ability to do either.

           As it turned out, so was his brother.

           Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was still doing brilliantly, but there hadn’t been much new in the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. When Victoire was born, Ron was shocked to realize that he hadn’t seen his brother in two months, and George looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were trembling as he held the baby.

           The next day Ron called in sick and went to see his brother.

           When they were younger he’d looked up to the twins as superhuman. They never minded getting shouted at by Mum, never minded getting in trouble; they did what they wanted. Of course they were irritating and Ron never enjoyed being the butt of their pranks, but his brothers were amazing, and he’d always been in awe of them.

           Now, when he was let into George’s flat, he was terrified.

           “I’m trying, Ron,” George whispered through his tears. “I’m trying to be what he would have wanted. But I can’t…it’s like everything’s gone. I don’t want to make new ideas when he’s not there to see them.”

           Ron wrapped his arms around his wounded brother and let him cry.

           Once George had calmed somewhat they started to talk as they never had before: as equals, brother to brother. There were three major results of that conversation.

           Firstly, George went to see a trauma Healer. He went through therapy once a week for over a year, and continued to go monthly for years after.  He learned how to accept his grief, accept being a person on his own, and eventually how to find joy in that.

           Secondly, Ron (after checking multiple times that he was welcome) explained to Harry that he was done with the Aurors. Bless him, Harry understood what his brothers needed, and helped Ron get through the process of quitting his job and beginning anew at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

           Thirdly, Ron convinced George that they could use a third person as an idea developer. George agreed, and Seamus Finnegan joined the team, to his husband’s relief.

           “Dean won’t let me blow things up at home,” Seamus explained. “This is wicked!”

Ginny Weasley Potter

           Ginny had wanted to play Quidditch since she was six. She wanted to play for the Harpies, then for England. Then she would settle down and have exactly two children.

           When she was sixteen, she wanted to survive the war, and for Harry and her family and friends to survive. She wanted to marry Harry and never let him go again, and they would have…well, maybe two children. Three would be okay too.

           And the war did end, and several people survived. Ginny carved the initials of those who didn’t into her broom and flew for the Harpies and Harry watched every game he could and she was happy.

           Then a job opened at the Daily Prophet for a sports correspondent.

           Ginny was getting tired of playing by then. It was an amazing world, and she loved her teammates, but she missed Harry, and she was intrigued by the idea of trying to write about sports instead of playing them.

           To her shock, she got the job. And as an even bigger shock, she realized that she absolutely loved writing. Scribbling notes during a game, cheering herself hoarse, watching the play intensely…it was brilliant, utterly brilliant. And the work was hers, it was nothing anyone had told her to be, it wasn’t the dream of a little girl who’d known nothing of the powerful evil and the powerful good in the world.

           And to her great delight, her writing dovetailed quite nicely with her other dream; she didn’t have to stop writing when she was pregnant.

           When Ginny Weasley Potter was twenty-six, she was pregnant with her third child, and she laughed with delight when she had her little girl. And she promised herself that she would teach her daughter to chase her dreams, but to always remember that new ones would come unexpectedly, and that being ready to change your mind was the fastest way to happiness.

           She got a chance to do that hands on with her daughter and other girls when she came to Hogwarts to teach flying lessons.

Neville Longbottom

           Neville graduated after the Battle of Hogwarts. Everyone got the credentials that they wanted, no questions asked. Neville wondered how well he’d really done at Hogwarts; no exams in 2nd year, none in 6th year, and half of 7th year spent in the Room of Requirement, trying to protect everyone.

           He’d thought once of travelling and looking for new species of plants. Instead, he spent the summer working with Professor Sprout between funerals and hearings, restoring the greenhouses, getting new species, planning new lessons. Professor Sprout had always been his favourite teacher, even more so now because she let him work in peace and quiet next to her, tending to the wounded plants as a balm for his wounded heart.

           When August came, Professor Sprout surprised him.

           “I’m thinking of retiring, Neville.”

           “Retiring?” Neville looked at her in dismay. “But Professor—”

           “It’s time, Neville. I want to spend some more time with my wife.”

           Very few even knew that Pomona Sprout was married. Her wife was one of the owners of Honeydukes. Professor Sprout never missed a Hogsmeade outing.

           “I’m not leaving yet,” Professor Sprout continued. “I’ll give one more year; I owe it to Minerva and the students. Besides, I’ve got to train my replacement.”

           “Your replacement? Who is it?”

           “You, of course.”

           “Me?” Neville couldn’t believe it. “No, Professor, I can’t do that.”

           “Yes you can,” Professor Sprout said. “We’ll teach together in the fall, and after Christmas you can do some classes on your own and work on developing some new lesson plans.”

           “But—”

           “You hacked off Nagini’s head, you stood up to the Carrows and you protected all those kids,” Professor Sprout said. “Neville, you’ve found your courage, and you know plants. Think of the students like seedlings; they need strong roots and a guiding trellis. You can provide both. Now, hand me that Flutterby bush.”

           There was no more discussion, and in September Neville found himself facing the first class, a group of curious Ravenclaw first years.

           “This is Neville,” Professor Sprout said. “He’ll be Professor Longbottom soon, so listen to him.”

           She split the kids up into pairs to begin work, and Neville started awkwardly moving among them. He spotted a girl who could just barely reach the table, staring at the plants nervously.

           “Don’t use your wand, you’ll blow us all up, Worth-less,” her partner sneered.

           “Enough of that,” Neville said sternly. “Jessica, you can go ahead and work alone. Five points from Ravenclaw. Any more nasty comments and it’s detention.”

           Jessica reddened and turned away. Neville summoned a stool and helped the first girl up. “What’s your name?” he asked.

           “Amy Worth,” she whispered. “And she’s right—I can’t do anything. Mum’s going to be furious.”

           Neville crouched so they were eye to eye. “It takes practice,” he promised. “Why don’t you speak to your professors about getting extra help? They’ll all be willing to do it. And you don’t need your wand for this. Now, the first step is to check if the plant is properly watered…”

Draco Malfoy

           Draco had no idea what to do.

           Suddenly poor and drifting for the first time in his life, he paced back and forth in his parent’s house, the place where once he’d believed he could do anything. Be anything.

           Now he was nothing.

           Five days a week for a year he was busy, working for his community service. He spent two months at St. Mungo’s, three working in the Compensation Office, another three at Hogwarts helping to repair damages (trying not to vomit as he worked to remove the marks of curses he and his group had fired), and the last four working to build houses for families who’d lost their homes. In every job he was mocked, spat at and checked carefully to make sure he was doing nothing wrong.

           Draco took the treatment in silence, accepting the blame, the snarls, the tears. He did everything he could to work through the problems, to help as many as he could. But what could he do for people who’d lost limbs to curses, lost family…lost children? He spent several nights late at work, trying to find more solutions, to do more to silence the screaming in his head.

           Oh he knew he was guilty, and at first he tried to justify some of it. He was young, he was raised that way, he was forced to. It didn’t matter. His actions were his own, and now he had to suffer the consequences.

           One much happier consequence was meeting Astoria. She was one of the few Slytherins who hadn’t been pulled into the Death Eaters, a highly intelligent witch who designed the new houses and did her best to make them look like homes on the inside. She could read people really well, which was why Draco was surprised that she wanted to spend time with him at all.

           “Can’t you see the rot in me?”

           “I can see you trying to clear it out,” she replied.

           It was the first time someone other than Harry believed in him.

           He kept working with Astoria after his sentence was up, kept going to see Harry, who somehow didn’t mind being an Auror and being seen in the company of a former Death Eater. Draco was wearing a long-sleeved shirt the hot August day Harry told him about the problems with Azkaban.

           “We’ve gotten rid of the Dementors, which is a great first start, but I want to rip the place to the ground,” Harry said. “There’s nothing there that even allows for someone to change, you know? People like Umbridge deserve to suffer forever, but there are others…and what about people who break the law in a small way? Why do they have only Azkaban?”            “We need a new prison,” Draco blurted out.

           Thanks to nearly a year of looking at housing plans, he started sketching immediately on a scrap of parchment. “We need to look at rehabilitation programs, and different levels, and treating people…well, like they’re human. Because they still are!”

           He looked up to see Harry staring at him.

           “What? Oh, they won’t let me do it. They might let Astoria do it, though.”

           “I think they’ll let you do it,” Harry said slowly, a smile coming to his face. “I’ve just never seen you so excited.”

           “Some people need a second chance,” Draco said. “If I can give it to them, and make sure that the people who deserve to be there are still treated like humans…that would be good work.”

           “You might want to look into Muggle prison systems,” Harry said hesitantly. “I think there are some in Denmark and Scandinavia that sound like what you’re thinking of.”

           Draco pressed his fingers together, his personal reminder to ignore his old prejudices. It was hard; it was why he kept so quiet. But he was trying, and every time it was a little easier.

           “That sounds great, Harry.”

           A year later he stood with Harry and Astoria on the island where Azkaban stood.

           “Ready?” he called to Harry. “You get the first try.”

           Harry smiled, a savage glint in his eye. “Bombarda!”

           Azkaban was blasted to bits, and with purifying charms Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger had created, the ground was secure. They’d build the new prison village here, with a tower for the people who really had no remorse in their hearts. They were in the minority though, and Draco had high hopes that there would come a day when most of the prisoners on the shore would walk free again, with the outside world understanding that they had paid their debts and were ready to be among people again and to feel happy.

Luna Lovegood Scamander

           Luna headed for the jungle after the last funeral. She answered Ginny’s owls, but that was it. She needed to drown out the memories of the basement, of the fighting. She’d always been able to hold back her sadness—losing Mum, not having friends—but Bellatrix’s laughs and Mr. Ollivander’s sobs and the terrible silence in the Great Hall with the dead wouldn’t leave her heart.

           She found new sounds, observing fantastic beasts in the wild, finding new ones, taking extensive notes. She visited with specimens and notes and spoke at naturalist events and came to every wedding, but it took five years before she really felt ready to come back for good.

           In those five years she’d been to every continent, discovered sixteen new species, and had seven lovers. Her favourite was Himari, whose speciality lay in magical fauna. Luna introduced her to Neville via owl and the three of them spent an amazing summer in Brazil, trekking up the Amazon.

           But Himari got back together with an old girlfriend at the end of the summer, and Luna let her go. It was alright, really. Himari didn’t want anything permanent, so she wasn’t surprised. And they stayed friends; Luna brought a tiny bundle of flowers when Himari’s son was born, and at Himari’s request named him Haru.

           But long before that baby was born, Luna was in Madagascar in autumn, and she got lost for the first time in years. It was getting dark, and she was nervous. There were tales of a creature who hunted by night in these plains, one that wasn’t afraid of wands.

           “Hello.”

           Luna spun.

           A man stood behind her. “You’re glowing,” he said.

           Luna looked down. The moon was coming up, and a faint beam of light was falling on her. “I am.”

           “Are you Luna Lovegood?” Her name sounded like an incantation in the stranger’s accent.

           “Yes.”

           “It’s an honour to meet you.” The man made a little bow. “My name is Rolf, and I am a humble naturalist. Would you like to join me for supper?”

           “Aren’t you worried about the Aye-Aye?” Luna asked.

           Rolf chuckled. “Ah, that old story is still around. I promise, Moonlight, there is nothing to fear. In fact, after we eat I can show you one.”

           Luna had never seen such an amazing creature, and was astounded to learn it wasn’t fantastic in the least.

           It was about a week later that she found out he was Rolf Scamander. It was also a week later when they both realized they were falling in love.

           And that was when it was time to go home.

           They did go on more trips, and when the twins were old enough they came along too. In between, Luna started to paint her favourite observations from memory and from notes. Rolf was astounded.

           “Moonlight, these are beautiful! And the detail…” Rolf peered at them. “You ought to exhibit them.”

           It took some persuading, but eventually Luna did exhibit her paintings, all but one.

           The one painting she kept at home was a small painting. It showed an Aye-Aye, peering up curiously at two naturalists trying to drown out their pasts, and in doing so found their futures in a moonlit night in Madagascar.

[raaven-nerd]

92 Questions

Special shoutout to mary @tempus-fugit-so-study for tagging me in this! 

rules: answer the questions and then tag 20 people!

LAST:

1. Drink: water :)

2. Phone call: my mum

3. Text message: my friend Sabrina 

4. Song you listened to: Wait For It from Hamilton

5. Time you cried: i genuinely have no clue.. I laughed so much that I had tears in my eyes yesterday if that counts, but I don’t remember the last time I actually cried

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: lolnope I’ve never dated anyone 

7. Kissed someone and regretted it: no because I’ve never kissed anyone

8. Been cheated on: nope because I’ve never dated

9. Lost someone special: sadly, yea 

10. Been depressed: nope

11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: i’m not of legal drinking age yet so nope

LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS:

12. pastel pink

13. pastel blue

14. pastel purple ( i like pastels lol)

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: yup!! 

16. Fallen out of love: i mean i’ve never been in love so

17. Laughed until you cried: pretty much every second day

18. Found out someone was talking about you: so many times omg

19. Met someone who changed you: yepp

20. Found out who your friends are: yee

21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: no because i’ve never kissed anyone

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: all of them, bc i only friend people i know in real life! cybersafety is important!! 

23. Do you have any pets: yee I have a pet dog 

24. Do you want to change your name: when I was little yes, not anymore tho,, but it is annoying when a friend continuously calls you Michael bc a teacher accidentally misread your name

25. What did you do for your last birthday: my two closest friends came over to my house and we went on a huge walk around all the parks and stuff with our dogs

26. What time did you wake up: 8:00 AM bc it’s the weekend and there’s no school so I slept in :D

27. What were you doing at midnight last night: sleeping

28. Name something you can’t wait for: the holidays (lmao its literally 3 weeks into term) and also fantastic beasts 2.. which comes out next year

29. When was the last time you saw your mom: literally right now (we're in the same room lol)

30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: i wish i could be a little bit taller :( short jokes get kinda annoying when you have to deal with them for 3 years

31. What are you listening to right now: the Hamilton soundtrack

32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Thomas that was a real nice declaration-- um I dont think so?

33. Something that is getting on your nerves: people who act like they know everything but actually don't know anything and aren't cooperative (can you tell that I have a bunch of group assignments right now?)

34. Most visited websites: tumblr, youtube, facebook and gmail lol

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME.

35. Mole/s: yep

36. Mark/s: yep

37. Childhood dream: to be an artist and a doctor 

38. Hair colour: black

39. Long or short hair: long (mid back length,, but i want to get it cut)

40. Do you have a crush on someone: not right now

41. What do you like about yourself: how i can easily get settled into a new environment and make friends

42. Piercings: yupp! i’ve got my ears pierced, just normal earrings with one on each ear 

43. Blood type: i.. actually don’t know.

44. Nickname: michy or mich but one of my closest friends calls me micjelle because i made a typo when typing my name into her contacts list so yea

45. Relationship status: i mean i’ve never dated or fallen in love,, so single?

46. Zodiac: cancer 

47. Pronouns: she/her

48. Favourite TV show: i don’t really watch TV,, but the simpsons is always good :)

49. Tattoos: nope and i don’t plan on getting one..

50. Right or left hand: right :)

51. Surgery: yepp i’ve had surgery on my left arm before

52. Hair dyed in different colour: no,, but i’d like to dip dye my hair one day

53. Sport: sure, why not? especially if it’s soccer :)

54. no question?? not questioning the no question

55. Vacation? yes? i’d really like to go to london or japan one day

56. Pair of trainers: Nike

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: well, right now i’m not eating anything so ? 

58. Drinking: water lol

59. I’m about to: finish off some homework

61. Waiting for: my friends to email me so i can figure out what their opinion is on the script that i wrote for the assignment

62. Want: less assignments (i have 9 right now and i’ve only been at school for 3 weeks)

63. Get married: one day,, in the future

64. Career: medicine,, or psychology,, or veterinary.. something along those lines

65. Hugs or kisses: hugs!!

66. Lips or eyes: eyes

67. Shorter or taller: taller

68. Older or younger: older

70. Nice arms or nice stomach: umm idk? 

71. Sensitive or loud: a nice mix of both

72. Hook up or relationship: what 

73. Troublemaker or hesitant: a nice mix of both :>

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a Stranger: i’ve never kissed anyone,, let alone a stranger

75. Drank hard liquor: heck no i’m underage

76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: i mean i’ve been like i can’t find my glasses,, but they’d be in my hand or smth 

77. Turned someone down: how does one turn someone down without having been asked out? 

78. Sex on the first date: what no 

79. Broken someone’s heart: i don’t think anyone’s ever loved me so no 

80. Had your heart broken: nope because i’ve never loved anyone

81. Been arrested: lol no 

82. Cried when someone died: yes,,, multiple times

83. Fallen for a friend: i’ve never fallen so no 

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. Yourself: yea sure

85. Miracles: yes???

86. Love at first sight: nah dude love blossoms you don’t just love

87. Santa Claus: nah dude

88. Kiss on the first date: ehhh maybe 

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: Christine and Sabrina

91. Eye colour: brown

92. Favourite movie: ummm.. Can I say the entire Harry Potter series + Fantastic Beasts bc i don’t want to make a decision? 

NOW, TAG 20 PEOPLE: um okay i’ll tag @thecakestudyblr @tiny-notes @intcllectual @studitiious​  @serenitystudies  @the-ravenclaw @joannastudies @bloodystudys @journalits  @mugglstudies @hystorically @bioblrnotes @typicalstudyblr @raven-studies @chickencursivecalligraphy @ashlyn-studies @alistudys @meg-is-studying​ @bellaandherbujo @inquiry-studies​  If you’ve already done this, then just ignore this xx

[rivkahstudies]

General IB Tips (Part 1, because I have a lot to say on this topic)

Whether you’re just entering the IB program or, like me, you’re almost done with your first year, here are some tips that I have picked up from my experiences as an overwrought but successful student!

For those of you that are unaware, International Baccalaureate is an international standard for education that is employed at schools around the world. It is an extremely rigorous program. More below the cut!

My experience as an IB student:

I am finishing my Junior (Grade 11) year in a Florida, US school on May 24. This is important because my school puts the most work on the Juniors so Seniors can focus on applying for colleges and scholarships and taking exams. They still have a lot of work though.

I am not taking any IB exams this year, all of my classes will be tested for in my senior year.

I am a full IB student, which means all 7 of my hour-long classes are IB.

I have 6 extracurricular activities but I will not get a paying job until next year.

I have generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and insomnia/chronic nightmares that impact my ability to work.

general - the conditions

PLEASE banish the advice that “You’ll be perfectly fine if you don’t procrastinate! IB is so easy if you’re a hard worker!” There are so many other factors, a lot of which I will cover, that will impact your ability to work, and even though IB is standardized across the boards, each school does things slightly differently. There are going to be difficult days. You’re going to have breakdowns and want to quit, and hate yourself and IB. There will be really bad days, or really bad weeks. I have done very little procrastinating and have worked really hard, and I’ve still had difficulty dealing with the workload. 

IB does take a lot of discipline and routine. You will have to sacrifice. I chose to sacrifice sleep and my social life, but I’m working harder to take care of myself now that the worst days are clearing out.

IB is not just for the intelligent kids. It’s for the kids willing to be chewed up and spit out. This takes a lot of character beyond book smarts, and if you decide to do the IB Certificate Program (some IB classes) instead of IB Diploma (full IB), or just full on drop out, that is okay. It is always okay. Not everyone is made for a program that expects an inhuman amount of effort and work. If you have complicating circumstances or even just issues with your personal condition with taking IB, there’s no shame in quitting or dropping classes. There are other options past IB if you want to succeed in life. IB is a choice. 

Don’t go through this alone. My rule of thumb is to always have 2 kids my age and 1 adult I can rely on to rant to, get advice from, or just cry on the shoulder of when I’m having my hard times. This preserves your mental health and helps people help you if you get to a really bad point.

And despite all the negativity (read: honesty) in these points above... Be excited! Keep an open mind. IB fosters creative and critical thinking, and opens you up to an international mindset useful in all aspects of life. It doesn’t teach all the life skills I would like, but that’s what your mentors and peers are for. If there’s something you want, go for it, and always attempt to find a good side to every adversity. I keep a lil jar called the Good Things Jar where I put in slips of paper of good things that happen to me. I have been neglecting it due to busy schedules lately, but even on bad days I try to put one good thing in. It’s seriously helped my outlook this year.

general - completing assignments

Remember: Extra Credit is your best friend, but your priority is to get the assigned work done. EC is for when something falls through or no amount of studying will get you passing that Thermodynamics test. If your teacher doesn’t give a lot of EC and offers some, jump on it! You won’t regret it.

Always prioritize based on size of the project and the deadline. If it’s a longer deadline but a bigger project, start as soon as possible. No matter what the size, always work on the things due the soonest first in case you can’t get to all of your to do list.

Talk to your teachers. Especially when things come up. Whether it’s extracurriculars, family issues, personal issues, emergencies, etc, if something keeps you from completing an assignment or you aren’t grasping the materials, talk to your teachers. It is very important to have a close relationship with even your disliked IB teachers because you need to be able to get cut breaks. IB teachers know the issues of IB, they’re usually understanding. Chances are, as long as you’re a good and honest student, they’ll take late work or bargain with you, and help you make up work unless they already have a procedure or bulletin for you to reference on your own time.

Don’t always chunk your workload by assignment. I will break up even simpler tasks into certain milestones so that I can cope. I want to rewrite all my math notes? I want chapter 5 done by Monday. I never write my schedule so strictly that I have specific times for each assignment. I see some people say 1:00: Read, 2:00 Eat, 3:00 Take Notes. Even the most organized students can’t conform to that rigid a schedule. Instead, schedule periods for general aspects - the morning is for studying, the afternoon for writing, the evening for relaxing, etc. And make sure you program in breaks, because it’s not healthy to sit for too long, write for too long, etc without proper self-care!

notetaking

Good notetaking skills are very valuable! I don’t have time to make my notes super embellished like a lot of studyblrs, but I still seriously value clean notes and I will retake notes multiple times if necessary. Not only does it help when you need to reference them again for test or exam time, but it helps you cement the knowledge in your mind more.

My notetaking strategy: four pen/marker colors. 1 for titles, 1 for subtitles, 1 for important details (names, dates, key points, etc) and 1 (typically black) for supporting information/regular text. I like to change up the colors so I can remember separate note sets in the same subject/notebook, so you’ll see one of the many taxes that provoked the American revolution in greens and blues, the next in reds, and the next pinks and purples. Diagrams get their own sets of colors depending on complexity and keys.

The reason I like this notetaking strategy is it still allows me neat, color-coded notes without getting overly fancy. I draw only what I absolutely need to, and sometimes I’ll doodle if I need to relax and my hands are itching to draw. But generally I find that aesthetic notetaking just spends time I can use to relax or complete other work, so I refrain! Practicality over aesthetics in IB.

working past mental illness

A lot of us have it. I have firsthand experience, and it’s not fun. Just Wednesday night, I ended off all of my homework at 12 AM and had a mental breakdown until 2 AM. There will be really bad days, and you just can’t avoid them. IB has some flexibility for students, but it still doesn’t have much wriggle room for chronic mental illness.

Be aware of yourself. I know I get sensory overload, I know I have anxiety attacks and that my average resting heartbeat has been 100-120 lately wITHOUT COFFEE and I need to take care of that. I know I have insomnia and nightmares and it’s hard to get to sleep. Use that knowledge to your advantage to prevent procrastination, situations that are triggering or overwhelming, and people that aren’t good for you. 

Don’t overdo the extracurriculars. They’re good for the resume and they’re fun, but trust me, it’s not a good idea. I have 6, and at the peak of their work I was so overworked I didn’t sleep for an entire week. I had 8 before I started full IB, and I dropped 2 and still had issues. My advice is 2-3, and devote all your energy to it within reason. As it is, I don’t believe you should join anything you can’t give at least 65% to. Sure you might not be able to attend every meeting or take on extra responsibilities, but you should be attentive and dedicated to it. I love all my extracurriculars dearly and I cope with the stress because it’s rewarding, and by this time of the year most of them have finished for the year anyway.

Don’t bottle it up. As stated earlier, you should have 2 kids your age and 1 adult you can rely on to talk to about one subject at any time. They can be anyone you trust, but people should know what your state is so they can help if things go wrong. I like the magic number of 3 people because it allows you to express yourself multiple times without putting too much energy into one person. They are people with lives too, but you are not a burden and you deserve to be heard and validated. I like to rotate my 3. One time it’ll be my boyfriend (who’s usually in every group anyway because he likes to know that I’m okay and I like to know he is) and my best gal pal and my TOK teacher, next time it’ll be my mom, my classmate in English and my other gal pals. Don’t be afraid to reach out.

If you can’t reach out, be honest with yourself. Talk about what’s bothering you to yourself. Say “I feel mad” or “I have a headache” or “I’m panicking.” Identify the sources and try to ground yourself. There are multiple grounding and breathing techniques I use and I’d be happy to go into more detail if y’all ask about it. If grounding doesn’t work, try other coping methods such as mapping out possible solutions or taking time to self-care and medicate. If you know yourself, you’re a step closer to overcoming whatever mental boundaries you have or, at least, being more comfortable. If I start crying for “no reason” I think about what’s been stressing me out and run through recent events. It helps me rationalize and stop my anxiety from ruling me and blowing things out of proportion. I also view my intrusive thoughts like “you’re nothing, you’re worthless” as a backseat driver. “No, Karen, I’m not, I’m the driver, hush.” It seems foolish, but it really helps me because it’s both humorous and also me being rational. 

Anyway! This turned out waaaay longer than I intended it but this is just the tip of the iceberg, so if you guys wants a TL;DR version I will post it tomorrow or Saturday by request and if you want more tips just message me or ask me!! I love getting asked specific questions because it’s easier for me to answer any specific concerns or curiosities you have! If you’d like, my next post can be about suggestions on how to tackle specific aspects of IB like the EE or the CAS project!

Tagging people that specifically wanted this post:

@hunny-studies , @unfortunatelackofaliens 

[a-subpar-star-trek-fanfic-blog]

Of Legacies and Logic -Chapter 2

Cadets were given a week to settle into their dorms, figure out their schedules, and make new friends. Lizzie was lucky; Jim had decided to join Starfleet with her, and they’d already made a new friend, Leonard McCoy (who Jim very quickly began calling ‘Bones’). Over the course of that settling period, she got to know her roommate, a second year cadet named Claire Simmons, who was, unfortunately, not the type of person Lizzie got along with. She was smart, going out for sciences as well, but she was mean, spoiled, snotty and cruel. Or at least, that’s what Lizzie’s first impression of her was.

“She’s insane guys, absolutely nuts!” Lizzie complained the first day, sitting at a dinner table with McCoy and Jim. Cora was having a lesson with some Commander or another, leaving the three to eat alone. Lizzie held a PADD in front of her, with an email from her roommate open on the screen. “She set rules, which is understandable, since we’re cohabiting for the next 2 to 3 years but you need to hear this shit! ‘If I am studying, and you aren’t in the room, you’re staying outside.’ ‘Though the Academy doesn’t have a curfew, our room does; Be in the room by 10 or sleep somewhere else.’ ‘Keep your items at least 6 inches from the line that separates the middle of the room.’ ‘Don’t sleep with my boyfriend?!’ Who does she think I am?!”

“Let me see that,” McCoy reached across the table and continued to read off the list. “‘Music off at 8:00pm,’ ‘Don’t talk to me unless it’s important,’ ‘If you go to a party and have sex, get high or get drunk, don’t come back that night,’ ‘No boys in the room after 10,’ ‘If you snore, wear a nose strip,’ ‘If I’m asleep, don’t come in.’ She’s got a sink schedule...”

Lizzie groaned and let her head slam down onto the table. Jim took the PADD next, “‘If you fail a test, sleep in the hall, because I won’t share my room with a failure,’ holy shit.”

“The first thing she did when I introduced myself was demand what I thought I was doing, going for Sciences. She said that someone from Iowa can’t possibly be smart enough to pass my classes.”

“What does she think you’re good for, then?” McCoy asked, pushing the food on his plate around absently.

“Apparently, I’m only good enough for security because, and I quote, you don’t need many brains for that.”

“You don’t think she’ll actually lock you out, do you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, honestly.”

“Don’t worry, Liz!” Jim reached over and tugged on a lock of Lizzie’s hair, which hung loosely around her head today. “If she does, you can stay with me and Bones.”

By the end of the first week, Lizzie had already had to spend 3 nights with Jim and Bones, each time being Jim’s own fault. He’d taken the ‘make new friends’ thing too seriously, and dragged Lizzie to every party he found himself invited to. Claire did not seem surprised that Lizzie couldn’t abide by her rules, but Lizzie had already decided that she was going to pass all her classes whilst breaking most of Claire’s rules, just to shove it in the other girl’s face.

“Listen,” she told her, on the last night, pushing her glasses up her nose, “Classes start tomorrow, so no Jim.”

Lizzie only grumbled in response, having already planned to spend the night reading the first few chapters of her textbooks. In the morning, she was out the door before Claire had even woken up, stopping on the way to her first class to get coffee. When she got there, Uhura was sitting on a bench outside the classroom. With a grin, Lizzie joined her.

“Morning, Uhura! Hope your week was pleasant.” She and Uhura had talked on the shuttle ride to the Academy, and became good friends.

“It was alright,” Uhura glanced up from her textbook, “How was yours?”

“About the same, I suppose.”

“You’re taking linguistics courses? I thought you wanted to go into Sciences? Counseling, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s easier to talk to people if you understand their language,” Lizzie murmured, opening her own textbook, “Besides, I like to learn as much as possible.”

“Well, the Commander is a fantastic teacher,” Uhura replied, a pretty blush lighting her cheeks. Lizzie grinned.

“Miss Uhura, crushing on the teacher? How very high-school of you!”

“Bet you’ll like him too,” Uhura muttered. Lizzie snickered and took a sip of her coffee. The girls lapsed into comfortable silence as they waited for the Commander to arrive. They became so engrossed in their reading that neither of them noticed him until his shiny standard-issue Starfleet boots were right in front of them.

“Cadets, you’re early.” The voice that spoke was calm and even, if not a tad surprised. Lizzie’s eyes lifted from the words of her text and looked up into pools of chocolate brown. They held a human quality that didn’t match the Vulcan ears, the green tinged skin or the blank face of the man they belonged to. He was tall, tall enough that he towered over Lizzie, (although that wasn’t too surprising; Lizzie was only 5’2, even Uhura dwarfed her) and it gave off the distinct impression that he was looking down his nose at her. Still, he was undeniably one of the most handsome men she’d ever met.

Uhura stood quickly, snapping her book closed.

“Good morning, Commander Spock!” She greeted. He glanced over at her, and the smallest of smiles lit his face.

“The same to you, Cadet Uhura. And you, Cadet...” Spock trailed off, not knowing Lizzie’s name.

“Danvers, sir,” Lizzie stood as well, though she took her time. He trailed his eyes down her form, not in a creepy way, but in a way that made Lizzie feel like she was being assessed.

“Ah, yes, Cadet Danvers,” Recognition lit his eyes up, “Cora speaks fondly of you during our lessons. You are a first year cadet, are you not?”

“Yes, sir, technically,” Lizzie replied, remembering how Cora had mentioned lessons with a Vulcan Commander, “I understand your class is for second years, but I tested out of all the first year classes.”

His eyes trailed over her again, making Lizzie blush a bit. “Fascinating,” was all he said, and then he turned to enter the classroom. Uhura was smirking at Lizzie.

“I told you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not like he’ll go for either one of us, so...Let’s make a friendly wager, Lizzie; May the best woman win?” Uhura held out a hand to shake.

“But only if we can stay friends, and no playing dirty!” Lizzie warned, pointing a finger at Uhura’s face. Uhura shrugged.

“Reasonable enough.” They shook hands, grinning, before following their instructor into class.

Weeks passed in the blink of an eye, the tedium of school work making the days melt together into an incomprehensible blur.

Lizzie spent much of her time with her nose stuck in her text book, something Jim was more than used to, yet couldn’t stand. He spent hours trying to convince her that she needed to relax. But Lizzie had four classes with Commander Spock, and the Vulcan had a habit of quizzing his students at the beginning of every class. She quite simply could not afford to slack off. She currently sat with Jim in a coffee shop just off campus, studying her linguistics notes.

“You aren’t the type to go to school dances, Jim,” Lizzie mumbled, eyes darting between her notes and her PADD. “And isn’t Starfleet a bit too proper for a dance, anyways?”

The Academy was hosting a party/dance type of deal in the main cafeteria for staff and students, and Jim was dying to go.

“Come on, Liz,” Jim begged, “It’s a Halloween party! We love Halloween!”

“Liar, you hate Halloween,” Lizzie put her pen down and turned to Jim, “Who are you trying to sleep with?”

A grin lit up his face. “There’s this professor-”

“A Professor? Jim!”

“It’s not a problem! I checked! Regulations state that relations between cadets and staff are only prohibited if the cadet is a student of the staff member. Which means I’m in the clear. If I recall, it’s you trying to jump your professor,” a smirk formed on Jim’s plump lips, “Your bet with Miss Uhura, remember?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, “I’m not even trying,” she admitted, “I may be humoring Uhura, but passing my classes is more important than some bet.”

Jim snorted and lay his head down on the table.

“Cora has to go,” Jim mumbled, Lizzie hummed gently in response. Cora’s teachers kept giving her random assignments like going to dances or joining a club in an endeavor to help her understand humanity. Cora seemed to be incredibly shy, always taking Jim or Lizzie or McCoy with her to support her.

“Make Bones go with her.”

“He’s going to be in Georgia for the weekend. His ex is letting him take Joanna trick-or-treating.”

Lizzie smiled at that. McCoy loved his daughter more than he loved anything, it was good to hear that he was seeing her.

“Come on, beautiful! There’s no costumes. They’re letting us wear civies.”

Lizzie perked up at this. They didn’t often get to abandon their uniforms. Lizzie craved the feeling of comfortable, starch-free clothes. With an annoyed groan and a roll of her eyes, she nodded.

“Fine!”

Jim raised his hand in victory. “I knew you’d come around!” He settled back down, smiling at her. “So, who is the teacher you and Uhura are trying to get with?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Nobody, Jim.”

“I have never worn a dress before,” Cora admitted. Jim was sprawled on the floor, eating candy corn and (to Lizzie’s immense surprise) studying for a midterm he had on Monday morning, not even acknowledging the fact that Cora was only in undergarments in front of him. Lizzie lay back on Cora’s bed, already dressed in a skater dress, reading a magazine she’d stolen from Claire without the other girl noticing. Her heels were abandoned on the floor.

“Wearing a dress is similar to wearing a uniform skirt, but if you choose carefully, they’re far more comfortable. I brought you one I thought you’d like.”

“Is this what they call a gift?” Cora wondered, holding the dress up in front of her. It was black tulle, dotted with sequins that reminded Cora distinctly of the stars in space. She loved it. Lizzie knew she would.

“Yeah,” Lizzie confirmed, “but you can’t always assume it’s a gift when someone let’s you borrow something, alright?”

Cora’s head bobbed in a nod, “Okay.” She threw the dress on quickly, letting Lizzie put her hair in a loose knot at the back of her head.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, “We’ve got exams to study for.”

Jim heaved himself up and brushed invisible dust off of his light gray shirt. “You’re going to pass, Lizzie.”

“Leonard thinks you should purposely fail a test so that you can report Cadet Simmons for misconduct.” Cora said, locking his dorm behind them.

“Not an option,” Lizzie replied, shuddering at the thought of failing Commander Spock’s next test. The man was ruthless; you failed a test, he’d give you one opportunity to remake it, but if you failed again you were out of the class altogether. In his Advanced Mathematics class, he didn’t even let you retake the test.

Cora shrugged, and struck up a conversation with Jim about a class they shared, Flight Strategics 101. The conversation stopped abruptly when they approached the Main Cafeteria doors. Music could be heard pumping through the wood, and Lizzie could see the fake spiderwebs and the black, purple and green balloons through the windows. Cora looked mildly terrified of entering the room.

“Hey,” Lizzie reached down and took her hand, “It’s alright, Cora.”

“I’ve never been to a party before...” Cora breathed. Lizzie smiled and squeezed Cora’s hand gently.

“But you’ve been to the bar. This is no different. Jim is going to walk in there, he’s going to get drunk and flirt with anything that moves, and we’re going to make fun of him when he strikes out.”

A tiny smile lit Cora’s face. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, sure,” Jim muttered, “by all means, be entertained at my expense.”

“Alright,” Cora announced, after a few moments of silence, “Let’s do this.”

Jim and Lizzie each pushed open a door, and instantly the classical song, ‘Thriller’ filled their ears.

The room had been completely transformed. The replicators along the walls were all covered by the cheesy Halloween decorations, hiding them almost entirely from sight.  Someone had managed to make a dance floor in the center of the room by pushing all the tables and chairs against the far wall.

“Great music choice,” Jim said, and strode into the room. He took Cora by the hand and dragged her to the center of the room where people were dancing. “Let me show you how to do one of the most iconic dances in history!”

Lizzie smiled fondly and sat herself at one of the tables pushed up against the walls, pulling out her PADD and notebook to study (she’d promised Jim she’d go to the stupid party, and she did. She never said she wouldn’t study). She hummed to the songs she knew, foot tapping in tune to the music, as her eyes scanned math equation after math equation.

“Cadet Danvers, ” Lizzie glanced up briefly to see who had spoken to her. Commander Spock was in uniform, looking more out of place than usual surrounded by a crowd of people in civis.

“Good evening, Commander,” Lizzie murmured, returning her eyes to her studies. “Please, sit.”

Spock did, though he was stiff in the hard plastic seat. His dark, intelligent eyes observed her as she worked out an equation in the margins of her notes.

“You’re studying?” There was that surprised tone again.

“Yes, sir,” She double checked her answer before looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Why are you surprised by that?”

“I was under the impression that humans have functions such as this to have fun. I was also...led to believe that you don’t study, and that you wouldn’t pass your midterm examinations next week.”

“Led to believe by whom, if I may?”

“Your roommate, Cadet Simmons. I came over here with the intent to urge you to study, as you’re a surprising delight to have in class. It seems the effort was unnecessary.”

Lizzie looked up in slight alarm, “Does she say things like that often?”

“Quite. Though, admittedly, I do not believe I was meant to hear the conversation. She was speaking with her friends, however-”

“Vulcans have exceptionally good hearing,” Lizzie finished, frowning deeply, “yes, I know.”

Spock paused. Elizabeth Danvers’ face was like an open book to him, “I’ve upset you. This was not my intention.”

“No,” Lizzie muttered, sounding distant. She shook her head as though clearing it, and gave the Commander a tight smile, “No, no, I’m sorry. Of course not, Commander. I’m sorry.”

“It is I who owes you an apology, Cadet,” Spock insisted, “It was illogical to allow someone else’s words to color my opinion of you, especially when your grades in my own classes suggest you are in good academic standing.”

“It’s fine, Commander,” Lizzie assured. Under her breath, she added, “Cowardly blonde shittalker.”

There was a lull in conversation, as Spock watched her work diligently on the assignment he’d given his Advanced Mathematics class. He noticed she’d made a mistake, and opened his mouth to correct her, when she erased the work and started over. The second time around she’d remedied her mistake.

“What branch of the Sciences Division do you plan to go into, Cadet?” Spock wondered, eyes still watching her work.

“I was going to try for Counselor,” Lizzie replied, “However, it’s logical to cultivate multiple options.”

Spock’s eyes flashed to her face in mild surprise; he’d said the same thing to the High Council when they found out he applied to Starfleet.

“Yes, it certainly is,” his voice was soft, unheard over the music pumping through the cafeteria. Louder, he asked, “For what reason do you wish to become Counselor?”

Lizzie’s face twisted into a grimace, “Because I want to prove to myself that Counselors can be useful.”

“Counselors and psychiatrists are very useful, Cadet.” A derisive snort was Lizzie’s response. “You disagree?”

“First Officer Georgina Elizabeth Danvers,” Lizzie said, placing her pencil down and looking Spock full in the face. Spock blinked, the name striking a familiar chord in him. “A planet had reached the end of it’s lifespan, and she was ordered to help evacuate the locals. She refused to leave the planet until every last person was saved.”

“It is statistically impossible that every life on a planet can be beamed onto a starship in a limited amount of-” Spock cut himself off at the look on Lizzie’s face. Eyebrow raised, lips in a tight line, and eyes dull, Lizzie had clearly heard the statistics before. “I see.”

“I was eight years old. My father sent me to nine psychiatrists.”

“Nine?”

“None of them helped,” Lizzie admitted openly. “The only thing that helped was my best friend. He was in a similar position, and he was better to talk to, anyways. So like I said, I want to prove to myself that Counselors can be useful.”

“I see,” Spock repeated. Again, they lapsed into comfortable silence. Spock’s eyes drifted from his student to the dance floor, where Cora was dancing in the center with a young blond cadet with blue eyes and a mischievous grin on his face. Cora was dancing badly, but the cadet didn’t seem to mind, clearly inebriated, judging by the flask in his hand. Spock then looked to a couple to the side, not so much dancing as copulating on the dance floor. “I do not understand the point of such shows of public physical affection.”

“Hmm?” Lizzie looked up at Spock, mildly confused, before following his line of sight. Cadet Cupcake and an equally stocky female cadet were grinding to the beat of the music. She barked a laugh. “Neither do I. It’s a kind of power trip thing, maybe? As long as nobody tries to dance with Cora like that, I don’t care.”

Spock’s eyes returned to Cora.

“She’s becoming very comfortable with being in large crowds. It’s a remarkable improvement from last year. I believe you are responsible for that, Cadet?”

“Cora is the one that deserves the credit, Commander, though your assignments in ‘Human Interaction’ are quite helpful. What do you plan on teaching her next?”

“Admiral Dawes is the one that requests these...assignments,” Spock admitted. “Next he wishes to delve into romance. I am hesitant to introduce the topic into our sessions.”

An amused snort made Spock look back at Lizzie. She was grinning widely.

“Pardon me, Cadet, but what is amusing?”

“Starship on a date, Commander? Unheard of.”

“Cora is unique, most things are unheard of in relation to her.”

“Fair enough,” Lizzie conceded. There was a clatter, and both looked over at the dance floor. Cora’s dance partner had knocked over a tray of treats, Cora laughing heartily above his fallen form. Lizzie sighed and gathered her materials. “That’s my cue to leave, I’m afraid. By the way, I find the most direct way to broach a topic is to just say it outright. Cora won’t react too badly, I assure you.” Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she smiled at Spock. “Have a good evening, Commander. I’ll see you in class, sir.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Spock told her.

And he was.