#make sure to do your graph homework!

[spidergutz-writes]

I̴̫̤̮͉͘T̷̡͚͙͉͈̙͌S̶͍̽͑̌̑͌͘ ̸̜̣̝̣̃̀̿A̵̪̩̒̋ͅL̵̰̭͇̳͙͓͒̀̎͗L̶̹̗̩̲̒̐̂̃͝͝ ̸̢̣͗̄̕Ỷ̴̟̟̙͌̽̕O̶̡̊̐̒̃̃͗U̴̲̎̌̓͒̾͝R̴͍͖̾͂̃̄́̉ ̸̢̼̻̒̾̈́̿͘F̷̥͖͚͎̃Ǘ̴̻̜A̶̧̢̜̰̼͔͆̿̆́L̵̛̺̲̈͒̏͋͌T̶̡̰̋̏̈́̕̚͝ ̴̼͚͇̿͗̅̆͝ͅT̷͎̮͑́̄̓̾͠Į̴̧̳̮̲̰͑͐̆̂M̷̩̝̟̗̽M̷̨̡͚͕̦͔͛̎̈́̈́̃Y̶̼̺̘͊́,̴̨̼̗͎͙̉͊̿̏͜͝ ̷̦͎͋Ý̶̢̤͇͍̖̃̃̆̽̐Ȍ̸̜̫̏Ǘ̶̫̯̖͈͗̋ ̵͉͍̯̐̑̑̏̊͘T̷͖̙̦̜̒̒ͅḨ̵̧̱̜̜̈́̂Ǐ̵̙̯̙̳̿̒R̷̛͉̤͕̥̈́̈͂S̵̰̞̝͓̃̇̉̍͋͠T̶̝͐ ̶̫͈̺͒̈́̀̍͂F̶̤̘͖̹̻͉̋͌̇̋̏Ǫ̶̢̯̘̿͑͑̑͝R̴̨̟̪̗̜̼̎́̋̈́̀ ̶͈̥̹͐̔̇̚͠Ķ̸͈̮̱͉̥̈͑̔̎͘N̵͕̱̗͚̗̓͑̈́͠Ó̸̧̗̩̯̪̥͆̍͊Ẁ̵̨̛̯̥͗̒͌̌L̵͕̮̊̔E̶̦͎̫͋̄̌͌̈́D̵̘��̋͝G̵̺̫̈͜ͅÈ̷͍,̸̧̠̬͇͉̓̈́̚ ̸̡̟̲̲̿̽Ȧ̶̞��͓́͌̈́̈͝N̴͎̟̪̏̀͝D̴͈̬͋̐̓̄͠͝ ̴͉͒͋̈́̔̉͠S̷̡̭͖͐͌͠A̷̝̭̭̱͇͙͐Ń̷̼̳̟͇͔̯T̷̰̿̓̌͠ͅA̴͕̫̽͘͝ ̷̢̞͚̯͇̲͂̏̄̀͘͝G̴͇̱͖͔̉͝ͅͅḮ̵̢̖̾V̷̰̅̏̂͝È̸̘̲͎͍͑͗̈͘͜ ̶͓̖̺͉̭͇͋̐̌̑Ǐ̷̭̩̳̺̳̽̀T̵̩͓̍̉.̵̡͓̠͎͔̖͌̐̈́̆̅ ̵̗͐͛͘͝Y̵̬̼͍̣͒͌̓̚ͅÓ̴̢̜̽̀̈̏Ụ̷̋ ̷̨̰͚̟̣̦͊͗͝C̴̨̦̯̦̽͌Ḥ̸̜̠̟̅̅͒O̶̧̡̬̫̗͊̈́Ô̵̢̱̭̓S̴̰̝̗̰̥̃̇̔Ẻ̸̯ ̴͙̟̮͍̭̾̎̚ͅŤ̷̠̻͎̠̘̈̉͂Ö̸͍́̉̚ ̷̛͚̭̤͕̭̖͐̈́̃̐̕Ḑ̴̪̺̈́̃͝Ő̶̗̳̞͚̥͛̍̕͘ ̶̺͋̓̑̌͜Ţ̷̛̫̝͈̳̔͂̆H̵̭͇̤̥̣̆̅̀I̶̡̩̲̼͓̻͐̏S̶̺̼͙͗̆͐̒̏̎,̸̭͔̹̹͖̇͒ ̸̬̜̩͍̬̈́͊Ǹ̶͉̬̦͂͒͊̓̑Ò̵͈̉̄̅ͅẈ̶̨̩͑͑͜͝ͅ ̸̧͇͓̦͈̀͐͂̊͊̚ͅŚ̷͜E̶̡͎̺̐̃̆̚Ẻ̷̼̮̘̔̀̒ ̷͍̖͆̓̀̕͠͝Í̸̗̻͎̩T̵̞̻̅͌́̈̈̈́ ̸̦͕̠̲͕̆̇͘T̵̠̱̺͔́̊̌̚̕H̸̲̘̘́̾̌͆̒͋R̷̦̋O̵̯̾͝Ù̶͍̞͓̮͙̠̈́̃̃́Ğ̷̺̦̑̈́̓H̵̙̒

20,000,000 elves die on christmas every year to get y

[reachartwork]

how to write fight scenes

many people have told me that Chum has good fight scenes. a small subset of those people have asked me on advice for how to write fight scenes. i am busy procrastinating, so i have distilled my general ethos on fight scenes into four important points. followed by a homework assignment.

Fight scenes take place on two axii - the physical and the intellectual. For the most interesting fight scenes, neither character should have a full inventory of the other's abilities, equipment, fighting style, etc. This gives you an opportunity to pull out surprises, but, more importantly, turns each fight into a jockeying of minds, as all characters involved have to puzzle out what's going on in real time. This is especially pertinent for settings with power systems. It feels more earned if the characters are trying to deduce the limitations and reach of the opponent's power rather than the opponent simply explaining it to them (like in Bleach. Don't do that). 1a. Have characters be incorrect in their assumptions sometimes, leading to them making mistakes that require them to correct their internal models of an opponent under extreme pressure. 1b. If you really have to have a character explain their powers to someone there should be a damn good reason for it. The best reason is "they are lying". The second best reason is "their power requires it for some reason".

Make sure your blows actually have weight. When characters are wailing at each other for paragraphs and paragraphs and nothing happens, it feels like watching rock 'em sock 'em robots. They beat each other up, and then the fight ends with a decisive blow. Not interesting! Each character has goals that will influence what their victory condition is, and each character has a physical body that takes damage over the course of a fight. If someone is punched in the gut and coughs up blood, that's an injury! It should have an impact on them not just for the fight but long term. Fights that go longer than "fist meets head, head meets floor" typically have a 'break-down' - each character getting sloppier and weaker as they bruise, batter, and break their opponent, until victory is achieved with the last person standing. this keeps things tense and interesting.

I like to actually plan out my fight scenes beat for beat and blow for blow, including a: the thought process of each character leading to that attempted action, b: what they are trying to do, and c: how it succeeds or fails. In fights with more than two people, I like to use graph paper (or an Excel spreadsheet with the rows turned into squares) to keep track of positions and facings over time.

Don't be afraid to give your characters limitations, because that means they can be discovered by the other character and preyed upon, which produces interesting ebbs and flows in the fight. A gunslinger is considerably less useful in a melee with their gun disarmed. A swordsman might not know how to box if their sword is destroyed. If they have powers, consider what they have to do to make them activate, if it exhausts them to use, how they can be turned off, if at all. Consider the practical applications. Example: In Chum, there are many individuals with pyrokinetic superpowers, and none of them have "think something on fire" superpowers. Small-time filler villain Aaron McKinley can ignite anything he's looking at, and suddenly the fight scenes begin constructing themselves, as Aaron's eyes and the direction of his gaze become an incredibly relevant factor.

if you have reached this far in this essay I am giving you homework. Go watch the hallway fight in Oldboy and then novelize it. Then, watch it again every week for the rest of your life, and you will become good at writing fight scenes.

as with all pieces of advice these are not hard and fast rules (except watching the oldboy hallway fight repeatedly) but general guidelines to be considered and then broken when it would produce an interesting outcome to do so.

okay have a good day. and go read chum.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ausenal II

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: You travel for an away game

It was a long drive up to Liverpool.

Like four plus hours kind of long.

Which meant you had plenty of time to do your homework.

Steph wandered around the house, picking up her bags and sorting through the last of the mail before turning to you.

"Have you packed your laptop?"

You nodded.

"And your calculator?"

You nodded.

"And your boots and your socks?"

You didn't stop nodding.

"Okay. Let's get this show on the road."

Steph drove you both to the training grounds. She looked at you in the backseat and adjusted her rear view mirror. "Did you pick up your lunch?"

You held up the little brown paper bag she'd packed for you.

Steph nodded. "Good. Right, onto the bus with you. I'm just going to pop in and grab some water from reception."

You nodded.

Away games like this were always the same. Steph let you have a little lie in as she double then triple checked your bag and made you your lunch. Then, she would wake you up where you would beg to just have something small for breakfast like a protein bar but she would make you eat a full meal. Next Steph would drive you to the bus where she would make you get on while she slipped inside to get you some extra water in case you got car sick.

Now came the next part of your routine.

"There she is!" Katie crowed from her spot next to Caitlin. "We've been saving you a seat."

She nodded to the seat opposite her and you sat.

This was normal as well. Leah and Alessia were set up at the table across the aisle, playing cards as Kyra kneeled on her seat so she could annoy Lotte and the new American signing, Emily.

No one would sit on your other side but Steph would definitely take up the seat in facing Kyra to make sure she behaved.

"What have you got today?" Katie asked as you got out your schoolwork.

You made a face. "Biology and Chemistry."

"Did you bring the funny calculator?" Caitlin asked, making grabby hands for it.

"I need it," You said.

"I only want it for a bit," Caitlin said," I'm going to send Macca and Lanni a picture of me writing boobs."

"You're so childish," Steph said in greeting as she arrived on the bus," Leave her alone. She has deadlines." She passed you over two bottles of water and looked at you sternly. "Drink one of them now."

"She means," Katie cut in," Make sure you finish it in the first half of the journey so when we get to the services, you can have a toilet break there."

That was part of the normal routine too and you just nodded.

You got to work quickly even as the bus turned into carnage the moment you set off.

At some point, Caitlin had grabbed your calculator and was amusing herself using the graph function after sending the boob picture to Macca and Lanni.

Kyra was still annoying Lotte and Emily even after Steph made her sit down and turn around.

Leah and Lessi's card game got progressively more aggressive as the time lagged on and you found yourself abandoning your schoolwork to watch.

"Cheater!"

"You can't cheat at Uno, Leah! You're being a bad loser!"

"I haven't lost yet and there's no way you had that many plus fours! You're such a cheater!"

"Just because you have bad luck doesn't mean that I do! Now pick up your cards or resign!"

"Hey."

You snapped out of your watching to look across from you. Katie raised a singular brow and looked down at your laptop.

"Didn't Steph say you had deadlines? Come on, get it done so you can relax on your way back."

You huffed and got back to work.

"And start drinking your water too! It helps with brain power!"

You diligently typed away, absentmindedly snacking on whatever Katie pushed your way and having to fight back you calculator from Caitlin.

When it came to the twenty minute break at the services, you were more than happy to escape into the fresh air.

"Hand," Leah said as she caught up with you, holding her own hand out expectantly.

"Leah," You began to whine but a firm look from her had you slipping your palm into hers.

Kyra snickered behind you and you felt your face go bright red. "Don't wander off," Kyra teased as she moved past," Wouldn't want to get lost, would you?"

"Kyra!" Steph snapped as she approached," No teasing! It's mean!"

You and Leah didn't stick around to hear anymore of the lecture because you were dragged to the toilet and then to the little store to pick up a new book.

You were distracted though and kept peering around Leah to look at the snacks.

"No," She said," That's not good for you. Come on, you're choosing a new book."

You picked up the next book in the series you were reading but made sure to take the long way back around to the checkout, purposely walking Leah through the snacks.

"No," She said again, waving a teasing finger in your face.

"Please?" You begged," I finished my schoolwork. And I ate the lunch Steph packed for me!"

Leah looked at you through narrowed eyes, studying you before sighing. "One snack. And not too big either. I mean it, this stuff isn't good for you."

You grinned and went to grab your favourite chocolate bar, dragging Leah with you when it was clear that she wasn't going to let go of your hand.

"Go on," She said, guiding you up onto the team bus again," You promise that you finished your work?"

You nodded.

"Okay. Go and sit with Lessi. Kyra can sit in your old seat."

Alessia was already waiting for you. At some point while you were away, she'd gotten out a blanket.

"Come on," She said softly, beckoning you closer," You look like you need a nap. You had to wake up early."

"I'm not a baby," You complained even though you were already taking your shoes off so you could curl up properly on the seat.

"Teenagers can nap too." Alessia wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer.

"I'm not tired," You said," I've got a new book."

"The book can wait. We need you fighting fit for the match later. Kyra's already asleep."

You turned your head to spot Kyra face down on the table, eyes shut and drooling. You huffed and looked back at Alessia.

She was giving you one of those looks that you were more accustomed to seeing from Steph or Kim so you blew out all your air in a big sigh and rested your head on her shoulder.

"Good," Lessi said," I'll wake you up when we get there."

[markiemelon]

hiiiii~~ can i request a scenario where nerd!mark and athlete!reader are on a study date and mark finds reader so cute when they don't understand the material? also bonus points if the reader is shy and doesn't want to ask for help cus they're embarrassed

Thank you!! ur writings make me so happy

focus

genre fluff ﹋֪֢ ♡︩ · no warnings!

pairings nerd!mark x athlete!reader

4:18pm — ♡

“yn,” your math teacher addressed you, “im worried that your training is interfering with your studies.”

that wasn’t the first time you’d heard that, and yet, you still couldn’t think of a good excuse to tell. “look, yn, i’ve made it easier for you by arranging some study sessions with a classmate of yours.”

you actually felt kinda relieved to hear that. surely, some extra studying couldn’t hurt.

“in fact,” he continued, “he’s right here.” he gestured to a familiar boy walking into the room.

it was mark. you knew mark, but you never crossed paths much, considering how different your priorities were…you were all about training, and mark was all about studying…

“so i have to spend the rest of my afternoon with this nerd?” you accidentally said aloud.

“now, yn, we still have to be professional during after-school hours.” your teacher demanded.

mark just chuckled and smiled at you. his round glasses and ruffled hair added a gentlemanly charm to him that made you swoon a little.

“i’ll be off now, but feel free to stay in the classroom.” your teacher said, shuffling together some lose papers. “mark, just lock up the door as usual, i trust you as our class president.”

you widened your eyes. “he’s class president?”

“you didn’t know?” mark raised an eyebrow.

“i—uhh”

“i’ll leave you guys to it then.” your teacher nodded before he exited the room.

you approached mark. “if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t even know our vice principal until last week… so um, don’t take it personally.”

with that pathetic attempt at explaining yourself, mark sensed you were nervous. he walked up to you, his arms crossed and head nodding ever so slightly. “alright.” he said with a grin. “i won’t.” he looked at you for a second longer before pulling a chair out from the desk. he insisted that you sit, and he sat beside you.

and so the studying began… you handed mark a crumpled up page from the deepest, darkest depths of your backpack, and he looked confused “do you… want me to throw this away for you?”

“no!” you snatched it back. “that’s my calculus homework!”

“oh shoot!” he couldn’t hold in his cackle. “I’m sorry— yn im sorry.” he said it with the biggest smile on his face, weak from the laughter.

“whatever. just tell me how to solve this. or save us both some time and just tell me the answers.” you slumped in your chair.

he scanned the page briefly. “yeah, so it’s simple, really..” mark inched the graph paper closer to your side of the table.

he pointed at some numbers and rambled, of course, you couldn’t keep up. so you did the next best thing, which was letting your mind drift off to somewhere else..

“actually, he’s kinda cute..” you admitted to yourself while observing his side profile.

focus.

“it must be the glasses. he looks good with glasses.” now you were noticing things you hadn’t payed any attention to before.

focus.

“why is he so close to me…” your heart skipped a beat at the realization.

suddenly, mark’s voice became clear at the mention of your name.

“yn… focus” he cooed, not even looking up from the paper. he must have felt you staring, but oddly, you didn’t look away from him.

mark stopped his writing, but he kept his pen to the paper, holding it still as he turned to face you.

almost immediately, your confident demeanor crumbled, and now, head lowered, you depended on mark’s answer to break the silence.

“solve this one. it’s what i just showed you.” he rolled his pen to you.

“oh. okay.” you hesitantly took hold of the pen, and did your best to pretend like you understood, but mark obviously wasn’t buying it. after writing some gibberish, you gave up.

“um, mark?”

“yeah?”

“im a little embarrassed to ask… but.. can you explain it again?”

he didn’t look surprised. he looked at you endearingly. “as expected..” he chuckled, weighing his head side to side to stretch out his neck. his gaze shifted to the clock on the wall behind you. “you know, we should probably head out now.”

“already?” you looked back to see the time for yourself. he didn’t say anything for a second, he just nodded and flashed a gentle smile. “you get too distracted.” he nudged your shoulder. your cheeks burned a little when he did that. “well you’re too distracting.” you nudged him back.

mark grabbed his shoulder where you touched as if he were injured by your strength. “i’m so distracting yet you couldn’t focus on a single thing i said?” he teased you. you didn’t have a witty comeback, so you just stayed silent and stuffed some things wherever they could fit in your bag.

at that point, it was clear to both of you that the next few study sessions you had lined up, would be far more exciting…

a couple weeks of studying with mark went by, and the flirting made its way into your classes. he was getting bolder in his advances. it started with some subtle compliments but now he’s been giving you these corny winks from a across the room, and he makes it really obvious what he’s doing.

once mark started sitting next to you, hell broke loose. one time, the teacher asked the class to solve something, and you miraculously managed to figure it out before mark did. it still backfired tremendously…

“oh my gosh, i got it!” you whispered to mark. “it’s 29!”

he smiled at you for a second, before raising his hand, while simultaneously blurting out, “29! it’s 29!”

your teacher looked pleased. “that was quick, mark. as always, you never disappoint me with your calculating abilities.”

mark threw is head back laughing as quietly as he could, and you kicked his leg underneath the table.. as hard as you could.

later, you would find yourself sitting with mark, side by side, staring down at your math textbook.

“okay, so tell me, what's the answer to number 4?" mark questioned you.

you didn’t even try to hide the fact that you had no idea what was going on. “i don’t know it.”

mark paused and laughed out of disbelief. “yn, it’s a good thing you wanna be an athlete and not a mathematician.”

what he said was true, but it annoyed you regardless, so you snapped back.

“and it’s a good thing you’re cute, ‘cause that’s the only reason i haven’t killed you yet.”

“psh,” he laughed in an exhale. “are you into me or something?” he kept his eyes fixed on the paper in front of him.

you giggled, “i think that’s the first time i’ve actually known the answer to a question you’ve asked me.” you smirked to yourself, feeling proud of your smooth talking.

when he didn’t respond, you continued.

“yknow.. mark, for being top of the class, i thought you’d have a bit more common sense.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he didn’t even bother looking at you.

“yes, mark, i’m into you.”

he still avoided looking your way, but he couldn’t hold back his smile. you stayed staring at your cute math tutor, and you could tell it was making him shy. “yn. focus.” he tapped his pencil on the table.

you tried to pout. “but the math isn’t cute...”

he tapped his pencil more aggressively.

you didn’t try to fight back. you started jotting some things down desperately trying to figure out the equation, until he tapped his pencil again. “yn. i need you to focus.”

annoyed, you jerked your head to face him. “i am focused. im literally doing the math-” your eyes traced his features.

“no, i mean on this.”

“on what?”

he smiled and tapped his pencil to his cheek.

“i need you to focus on me.”

this ended up being longer than intended... but thank you thank you so much for requesting, im so happy to hear that you like my writingggggggggff!!!!! also sorry this took so long, im kinda backed up on requests LOL.

[beautification-tales]

The Accountant

A Caption Tale

Ruth walked to her office after exiting the elevator. She sat down and took a sip of her coffee. She was excited as a major new client was meeting her today. This could be the break she needed to take her career to the next level. She had been preparing for weeks. The office was quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in and the distant murmur of colleagues in the hallway.

She straightened out her desk as she readjusted her jacket. She checked her reflection in her desktop computer screen as she fixed her hair. The digital clock read 8:50 AM, and she had ten minutes before the meeting was set to begin. The anticipation grew within her like a tightly coiled spring, ready to unravel at any moment.

The quiet was suddenly pierced by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door to her office swung open, revealing a sharply dressed man with a briefcase in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. "Good morning, Ms. Taylor," he said with a firm handshake and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm Alex Mercer, from Mercer Industries. I hope I'm not too early."

Ruth's heart skipped a beat. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. She returned the smile, trying to hide the nerves that danced in her stomach. "Not at all, Mr. Mercer. Please, have a seat." She gestured to the chair across from her desk.

Ruth took a deep breath as her heart continued to beat rapidly. Ruth gathered her thoughts as she couldn’t help but be attracted to the successful businessman. She hoped she could impress him with her presentation.

Alex sat down and placed his briefcase on the floor. He took a sip from his coffee, eyeing the room with a critical gaze. The silence grew thicker as he took in the neatly arranged documents and the diplomas hanging on the wall. He looked back at her, his gaze unreadable. "I've been looking forward to this," he said, setting his cup down. "Your company has quite the reputation, and I have high expectations."

Ruth felt a surge of confidence. She had worked hard to make sure everything was perfect for this moment. She opened her file and began her presentation, her voice steady and professional. The room was filled with the soft glow of the screen, displaying graphs and figures that painted a picture of growth and potential. Alex nodded occasionally, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Wow you really did your homework Ms. Taylor. I am impressed but I do have one question.” Alex leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his eyes now fully focused on her. Ruth smiled at the compliment of her work and responded. “Please call me Ruth and I would be glad to answer your questions.”

“Well I’m primarily here for your other services.” Alex’s voice was measured, hinting at something beyond the usual business dealings. “You see, I have been facing some... challenges with self-control. I’ve heard your firm has a knack for... handling such situations discreetly and effectively. Is that true?”

Ruth squinted as she was confused by Alex’s question. She was an accountant and financial planner not a therapist. “I’m not sure I understand the question Alex do you mean you spend company funds frivolously?” She asked carefully trying not to misconstrue his words.

“No… well I do that too but I’m talking about the special service you perform for top clients.” Alex leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “The kind that ensures their dirty laundry stays out of the public eye and doesn’t affect their bottom line. I need your help with that, Ruth.”

“I still don’t think I get what you mean…” Ruth replied, feeling a chill creep down her spine. Alex’s smile grew wider, but it no longer looked friendly. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, tossing it onto the desk. Ruth opened it to find Alex’s prenup. She wasn’t a legal expert but the financial language was very clear.

“That’s right Ruth if I get caught cheating then I lose my company. However, being a handsome, rich, public man makes it extremely hard to resist temptation.” Ruth looked at Alex still confused as to how she could assist with this problem. “I’m sorry Alex… I still don’t understand how I can help you with this…” she replied tentatively.

“Wow, you really don’t know?” Alex leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “Your firm is the perfect cover for releasing tension. So I’m here for a session… my frigid wife is purposefully resisting me. She also hired a lingerie model as my assistant. I need a release.”

“Mr. Mercer I’m sure a good porn video can do the job. I can help you with your financial portfolio. Not that.” The words came out before she could stop them. Alex’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes turned icy. “So you have no idea that your company is really a brothel for high end businessman?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ruth felt the blood drain from her face. This was not what she signed up for. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was an accomplished educated woman and this powerful man was treating her like an object to be used. She couldn’t hold back her frustration and anger. “Brothel! How dare you! I understand that you are rich and powerful but I do not need your business you Neanderthal!!! I graduated from Yale you bastard. I’m sure I can find other clients.”

Alex kept his smile during Ruth’s tirade. “Are you finished?” he asked calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. His composure was unshaken. “Yes get out !” she retorted, pointing at the door. Alex stood up, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He took a moment to look her over before speaking again. “Your firm’s reputation precedes it, but I admit I had my doubts but consider them gone now.” He stared at Ruth deeply into her eyes. He then whispered “reformo”

Ruth fell back into her seat as if she was struck by lightning. She felt as if her skin was on fire. “Uhh what … what did you do to me?” she stuttered. She felt as if her skin was stretching all over her body. She grasped the handles to her desk chair as her body stiffened. She arched her back as her breasts exploded from her chest doubling in size. She moaned as they felt so sensitive against her clothes. Alex sat back down enjoying the show.

Ruth continued to moan as her body continued to shift. The room became heavy as magical energy permeated inside. Ruth’s fingernails grew longer and more feminine as they gained a beautiful French manicure. Her lips puffed out and became soft like pillows.She felt her skirt recede until it became a tight pencil skirt. Her hips and ass grew larger making the skirt hug her flesh. Pantyhose covered her smooth legs making them even more irresistible.

The clothes morphed as her shirt lowered to expose her amazing cleavage. She felt her panties become a g string. The sleeves of her jacket shrunk exposing her toned arms. The heels of her stilettos grew longer as her feet became more delicate and comfortable in the arch position. A pearl necklace formed on her neck with a matching bracelet on her wrist.

Her mind became cloudy as math and numbers erased like it was on a whiteboard. Ruth continued to moan as her lips curled into a smile. The wall of diplomas also changed as they became pictures of her with celebrities and businessmen. Ruth began to giggle as she felt her pussy become wet. She was a professional all right. She was a professional bimbo slut for her clients.

“Mmm fuck that felt so good! Ah Mr. Mercer! Pleasure to have you here in the office. How can I serve you?” The words slipped out of Ruth’s lips without thought, her mind now a haze of pleasure and obedience. She pulled her hair into a ponytail. She was no longer the sharp-witted financial planner she had been moments ago. Instead, she was a bimbo, eager to please the man before her.

“Ah well um … Ruth. I needed a release.” Alex leaned back in his chair watching her transformation with a twisted smile. His eyes scanned her new body with hunger. He adjusted himself in his seat feeling his cock press against his slacks.

“Why of course Mr. Mercer! I’m going to make that hard cock spew so much yummy cum. And it’s Roxy sir not Ruth.”

Roxy smiled as she stood up from her chair and kneeled in front of her client. She unbuckled his pants and grasped onto his engorged member. Alex sighed in relief.

“You’re in good hands now sir.”

[unstablenoodle]

Just graduated, and I’ve been dragging myself by my hair through the last 4 years. here’s advice if you’re new to college:

Basic advice:

Make friends in your lectures. You will know some of those people all four years, and some of them are better at this than you. You’re still capable, but there’s always a bigger fish and you should make that fish into a study buddy

Get a job at a food court/ campus restaurant. You get a free meal, which might be your only one for the day if you don’t have a meal plan. Work can also be a mental break from academics.

Abuse office hours. Annoy your TA. make them scared to see you. TA’s are tired grad students and you won’t have a formal relationship with them: they are students too.

Study advice:

Flash cards are for review and rote learning only. 15-30 minute power review sessions for things you already know. If you’re going over familiar shit, do it in short, repetitive bursts.

Be the bitch with annoying decorative notes. Make it a game, it’ll force you to look at the material more. I will say though, make sure you decorate with purpose.

Those friends you made in lecture? That’s where you get the big studying done. If you’re going for a higher 4 hour long study sesh, bring other people. They know things you don’t and vice versa, so you can fill in the gaps for each other. This type of studying is for unfamiliar or confusing material.

Big study sessions usually only happen a couple weeks out from exams at most. Before exams, your homework is your main means of studying.

Just go to the lecture. I don’t care if it’s at 7:30 am, go. Participation points could be the difference between a B and a C.

TI-84 graphing calculator

Pub chem

If a professor, for some ungodly reason, says you aren’t allowed to work on the homework with other people, fuck that guy.

Your $168.99 textbook is likely a free PDF online.

Date someone who fills in your gaps. I dated an engineer I met in a physics class and it worked beautifully.

Mental health (my advice on this is very specific):

Basic advice: drink water regularly, eat vegetables, exercise. You know all this.

Stay far, far away from any substance called a “study buddy” or something like that

Get a hobby. Actually. Something to do in your free time to keep you from going insane. I personally like knitting and drawing, but it can be anything. I’d say avoid something involving technology because it’s easy to fall into that for hours at a time. Do something that engages your hands and your brain. You might not be creative, but creativity is good for you. Your painting looks like shit? The benefits you have reaped from its creation are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Good job.

If you are having any kind of hallucination (visual, auditory, presence, etc.), seek professional help immediately. I have lived half my life with the feeling of eyes on me and the presence of people who aren’t actually there and never tried to fix it because I could “work around it.” Just go get help. Hallucinations can also be a symptom of neurological issues and physical illness.

OCD and disorders involving psychosis are aggravated by stress. Your classes will stress you out. Disorders like this are scary and debilitating, so you absolutely need to be in therapy, possibly on medication. They also tend to be episodic, so you may have periods of recovery where your life quality improves. Do NOT be fooled: you still need to be in therapy even if you feel good. Preventative measures are the best measures!!

Social:

Get a job. Work friends are funnier and way more entertaining than any other kind of friend

I recommend a group of 2-4 people you chill with regularly. Movie night with them once a week (barring exam weeks and extenuating circumstances)

Talk with your roommates at least occasionally. It’s no fun living with total strangers.

Do not start smoking cigarettes. A lot of people are repulsed by the smell and it clings to you.

Hygiene. Mainly you should smell good. You don’t have to go crazy with an expensive perfume/ cologne, but shower and always have a decent scent. Also try not to wear stained clothes.

Not sure how useful this is, but it’s the first thing I could think of. I’ll come back and edit if I think of more.

[countrymusiclover]

2 - Possible Futures

Part 3

It's About Time

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall l @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad

Rain was pouring against the windows of the Cooper house. Georgie and I were laying on his bed since I had finished my homework earlier so my parents let me go over to hang out with the oldest Cooper. Georgie was reading a magazine of women in bikinis and I was looking at one of Sheldon’s comic books from his room. “Georgie. Dad told me to help you study for the math test.”

“I don't need your help. Get lost.” Georgie grumbled eyeing his closed bedroom door.

His father George Sr hollered from the living room. “Georgie, let him help you!”

“Come in!” Georgie yelled and his younger brother came in seeing the dirty room floor. “What's your problem?”

Sheldon started picking things up by the end of his pencil. “No problem. I'll just...tidy while we talk. Before we start, I'd like to get a sense - of how much algebra you know. Do you understand solving and graphing - linear inequalities?”

Georgie flipped to another page. “Sure.”

“Explain it to me.” Sheldon challenged him.

Georgie paused before he answered. “Uh...first you solve 'em...and then you graph 'em.”

“And how do you do that?” Sheldon challenged him a second time.

“Uh, you know, carefully.” Georgie answered him before Sheldon left the room in a huff.

Rolling my eyes at my best friend I closed my book rolling over to hold myself up on my elbows. “You do realize if you fail the test you won’t play football anymore right?”

“Yeah I know. But I’ve got this.” He answered me closing his magazine.

I glared at him, eyeing his uniform hanging in the corner closest of his bedroom. “Just let him help you. Otherwise I’ll have to deploy my secret weapon.”

“Oh yeah and what’s that?” Georgie challenged me.

I smirked getting up in his face grabbing at some locks of his curly brown hair. “I’ll cut your hair.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Georgie gasped sitting upright on the bed.

I sat upright getting in his face even more so where our noses were touching. The smirk didn’t drop from my face. “I bet I can run to the kitchen and get them faster than you could.”

“Don’t start a fight you won’t win.” Georgie got up from the bed and I scrambled to my feet too.

He narrowed his brown eyes at me. “Sounds like a bet to me, Cooper.” I bolted out of his bedroom door slamming the door in his face where he flung it open chasing after me down the short hallway.

The wooden floor underneath the carpet creaked until my feet hit the kitchen floor and I yanked open the drawer inches from grabbing the scissors. “Ah Georgie!” I screamed, feeling arms wrapping around my waist and we stumbled to the harsh tile.

“I won’t let ya cut my hair.” Georgie pinned me on the ground holding my wrists down with his hands.

I glared for a second before I busted out laughing. “I’m only messing with ya, Georgie. I love your hair.”

“I do too.” He smiles down at me releasing my wrists hearing someone coming in our direction.

Missy stopped in her tracks carrying her doll named Celeste. “Woah. We’re you two about to make out?”

“No.” I quickly answered her, blushing like a tomato.

Georgie snapped, waving her off and getting to his feet helping me up afterwards. “No we weren’t. Get out of here!” I tucked my hair behind my ear thinking back to our last year of middle school.

“Woo-hoo!” I giggled hanging off the tire swing that my dad had put in my family backyard of my house.

A bicycle skids to a stop in the driveway where I stopped swinging around super fast to see who it was. “Y/n, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.” Georgie dropped his bike in the grass rushing over to me.

I kept slowly moving the tire swing around, holding tightly onto the rope to not fall off. “Oh yeah. What ya got?”

“You know the rich bad guy from Back to the Future who has the hot and skinny wife?” He asked me.

I replied back. “Yes.”

“I want to be like him.” He said back.

I leaned my body into the rope that I was holding onto. “So where am I in this future of yours?”

“If we're lucky my hot and skinny wife might have a hot brother you could marry.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Marriage and kids don't sound too bad.”

“With a hot and rich husband.” Georgie chuckles climbing up on the tire swing beginning to sway us around where we were pressed up against the other hoping to not fall off.

Lifting my gaze up to his I felt my face starting to turn red and it was in that moment I realized that I had my first ever crush on my best friend. “Right with a hot and rich husband…” I mean who would be foolish enough to turn him down.

“Hey, I got some matches and fireworks in the garage stored away. I was thinking we try'em out.” He jumped off the tire waiting for me to follow him. Getting off the swing I grabbed my bike and we rode back to his house.

Peddling my bike by his I got a little distracted thinking back on what he said about his future. If i was lucky maybe down the road in a few years he would feel the same. “I was thinking I might marry you when we get older.” We pulled into his driveway and that night we accidentally blew up one of the neighbors mailboxes which had to be the coolest thing ever.

The next evening after we had all passed the test Sheldon knocked on his door again. “Georgie? I need to ask a favor. It's private. Can I come in?”

“Come on. What do you want?” Georgie was reading another one of his magazines and I was just laying beside him. We had been chatting until he interrupted us.

Sheldon came to stand at the foot of the bed. “It occurs to me you have something in common with Captain Kirk.”

“We both have cool hair?” Georgie asked him.

Sheldon corrected his brother’s statement. “In order to succeed, you both play fast and loose with the rules.”

Georgie shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

“When you cheated on the math test, what was your strategy?” The nine year old genesis asked.

I made a face at the younger boy. “You’re asking him for advice on how to lie. I thought I’d never see the day.”

“Me neither, Y/n.” His brother glanced at me thinking back on his plan. “Well, I guess the most important part was not stepping on anything wet before the test. And not getting an "A."

Sheldon knitted his brows. “Why wouldn't you want an "A"?”

“'Cause that would raise suspicions. Who would believe I got an "A"?” Georgie shakes his head at his ridiculous question.

Sheldon gasped. “Wow. Tell me more.”

“Okay, when you're telling a lie, it's important to throw in some details. Like, when I was wanted to spend the night at Ricky's house, and Mom asked me if his mom and dad were gonna be home, I said, not only are they be gonna be home, his dad was gonna teach us how to cook turkey legs in the smoker.” Georgie explained his story.

Sheldon responded, making me facepalm my face into my hands embarrassed. “I like turkey legs. Were they good?”

“There weren't any turkey legs, you dope. His parents were in Branson.” Georgie chuckles slightly annoyed at him.

Sheldon walked over to the door opening it to leave the room. “That's incredible. I totally believed you.”

“Now get out of here, I got to finish reading this.” Georgie opened his magazine once more when the door shut behind Sheldon. He could feel my gaze focused on him so he sat the magazine down in his lap. “What you gotta say?”

I shifted to lay back down against his pillows. “You know you teaching him to lie ain’t gonna end well for him.”

“I don’t care. He never gets in trouble for anything. If he gets caught maybe he won’t be such a pain.” He shakes his head, sending me a half smile.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Chapter II - Conversation/Confrontation

[michael afton x reader] you -- always you

content warning: (these are implied/referenced) character death, self-harm, underage drinking

tags: GN!reader, romance, fix-it of sorts, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending

Two months had passed since then.

Things went smoother after that first encounter with the infamous Michael Afton. First acquaintances, occasional study buddies, now friends.

Some people shot you odd looks at first, but the way you were able to talk casually with him sparked a little something amongst others. Not in a bad way, though!– not at all. He was starting to interact with more than just you, and that was nothing to be jealous of. On occasion, you’d walk into class to see a random student saying a brief hello, or as he had with you, point out an incorrect answer for someone who’d asked him to look over their math homework. Of course, this was a once-in-two-weeks sort of thing — still rare — but it was something different. Something new. It wouldn't have been far off to presume kids wanted to speak to him but were too nervous to. And now that you’d broken down their initial impression of him, they’d gathered enough courage to say hello.

“Okay, so, if y equals f(x), and f is a differential function, then the differential dx is an independent variable and the differential dy is a dependent variable.”

“What.”

“Dependent means it’s like the outcome. Independent is what you put in. Kinda like with a science experience, except we’re replacing input and output with math. Got it?”

“Kinda. Enough.”

“Alright. So you know how when you change one side of an equation, you gotta equal it out on the other side? Like say y equals x turns into y plus six equals x plus six?”

“Yes?”

“When you turn one side of an equation into a differential, you do the same to the other side.”

With a sigh, you groan and smack your head into the pile of papers that constitutes your homework. There’s a midterm on Monday, and though you’ve gotten nowhere on your own, it’s already Friday. 

“Well, yeah, I know that. We already did trigonometry differentials.”

“But do you know how it looks, visually ? When you use calculus, you’re not just figuring out the rate of change. You’re figuring out the area between points, and with a second derivative, the volume between points.”

“Okay— okay— slow down, my brain is gonna melt.”

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs your pad of graph paper this time. Within 30 seconds, he’s done sketching two models — a 2D one that shades in the space under a straight slope, and a 3D one that turns the slope into the outline of a cone.

“So you already know that a derivative is the rate of change for a slope. That’s like the basic starter for calculus. Applying it is usually in the form of taking one point—“ he places a dot near the beginning of each diagram— “and calculating the area or volume from that point to another.” He draws another dot halfway through. “Does that make a little more sense?”

You peak out from the shelter you’ve made above your head with your arms.

“Oh. Yes, actually.”

The visual representations help. A lot. And much more than your actual math teacher ever could. Still, he looks unsatisfied with how much you two have done so far.

“Look— midterm’s on Monday and we’re not even halfway through the material you need to know. Are you sure you’re gonna be fine?”

“Yeah- no,” you hiss quietly, sitting up straight to look at him. He’s perched at the edge of the library table, looking down on you with a genuinely concerned expression. Your grades weren’t everything to you, but they sure as hell were important to your parents, and he knew that. “I don’t understand how you get any of this when you’re not even in the class!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, not like I didn’t try to transfer. Apparently getting an F in your last math class means you can’t move up.”

“But you can do the work!”

“You think school counselors actually care about that?” he snickers, pushing himself off the desk before offering a slow, awkward solution. “How about this – what if you slept over?”

You don’t mind, but you hesitate, biting your tongue. “I don’t want to intrude… You work tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

“I mean, sure, but even if I have to get up early, I can still teach you tonight. Maybe even tomorrow afternoon once I get home. Hell, you could even visit the restaurant. I don’t do much other than exist there.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want me to meet your dad.”

“To be honest, I don’t think father’s coming home tonight. He’s off opening another branch of Fazbear’s. I dunno – something like that.”

** * **

A sleepover at Michael’s house.

God, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. You’ve been to sleepovers before! You just hadn’t been to a sleepover at his house before, and hell, you hadn’t even been at his house.

Michael had been insistent for the past few months that you stay away from his father. Whatever it was about William Afton that he hated, he hadn’t truly explained in detail, but it definitely had something to do with the incident all those years ago. Living with the memory on one’s own wouldn’t have been easy, but had you been the one involved, you couldn’t imagine the added pressure of facing your parents on a day to day basis.

How do you grapple with the fact that you lost a child because of another?

“Almost there.”

Michael’s voice snaps you out of a daze. You’ve been staring out the window of his station wagon for the past few minutes, having been picked up from home after you’d packed. You had to ride back to your place initially, seeing as you didn’t have your license yet, and needed to pop in to tell your parents where you’d be staying for the evening. Despite stereotypes, your dad was the one who didn’t seem to mind while your mom had to be wrestled into being convinced. It was only after you said that Michael’s mother would be there the whole time, as well as his younger sister, that she was convinced.

“Just use protection, okay?” she had muttered, peppering kisses all over your face.

The thought made you grimace.

Not that you found Michael unattractive! Not at all! But mom, stop, no–

“So what’s your mom like?” you ask Michael, slumping in the passenger seat.

“A try-hard when it comes to acting nice. At least my father’s honest when it comes to hating me.”

“But you get along with her?”

“Well enough.”

It’s not long before he’s parked the car and pulling your duffel bag of clothes out of the back seat. You take in the house before you – much bigger than yours, with a three car garage, second story, and sizable porch. Maybe that was a normal sized house elsewhere, but in the backwater town of Hurricane, it was the biggest and most well-kept around. Even the property itself is big – though there’s no sidewalk outline at the edge of town, from the plants that look well-watered, it’s at least three or four acres of land. 

Rich ass family.

Michael swings your duffel bag over his shoulder before going up to the front door. He raps the back of his knuckles on the wood twice before fishing out his keys and shoving one in the bottom lock. Before he can unlock the door, however, it’s quickly swung open by a middle school-aged girl with bright green eyes and even brighter orange locks that flare out wildly behind her.

“Michael!”

“Hey superstar,” Michael grins, holding out his hand to the girl, palm flat.

The ten year old smiles back and slides her own hand down across his, initiating a ritualistic handshake in the process. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Yeah? Well if you were an adult, you wouldn’t look or sound so much like a goblin,” Michael laughs, placing his hand briefly on the top of her head before he walks past to welcome you inside and introduce you. “This,” he says, gesturing to the girl, “is my little sister, Elizabeth. She’s a brat, so don’t fall for her charms.”

Elizabeth is quick to stick her tongue out at Michael. He returns it instantly and goes so far as to flick her forehead, though she stuns him without a hit.

“Are you two dating?”

The simultaneous NO that spits from you and Michael practically shakes the house.

“We’re just going to study together, that’s it,” you swear through gritted teeth.

“Mhm,” she hums skeptically, sending Michael the type of shit-eating grin only a sibling could make.

“I help you with your homework, so don’t even,” he warns.

“Yeah, but fact check, dummy: we’re siblings. It kinda comes with the job description.”

“Oh, Michael. You’re home.”

From the top of the staircase, a soft yet tired voice calls. Following the sound, you spot a middle-aged woman on the second floor landing – blonde hair pulled back into tight curls and lilac purple robe tucked over her shoulders. Like Elizabeth, her eyes are a shade of green, but it’s clear that they’ve dulled significantly over the years. Now, they’re almost as grey as the smoke wafting from the cigarette in her hand.

“Mom,” Michael begins, gesturing to you, “this is my friend–” you lift up a hand to wave– “and they’re staying overnight to study for a midterm on Monday.”

“Mm.” 

Her hum shows little interest but acknowledges you at the very least. 

“Go ahead and order some food for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

** * **

Michael and Elizabeth have a functional brother-sister relationship. But the rest of the family? That’s a completely different matter. From what you can tell, their dynamic goes like this: Michael and Elizabeth, good. Michael and mom, neglected. Michael and father? Let’s not even try.

There are family portraits on the wall that paint a clearer picture. A singular frame shows them all together, and it lies at the end of the hallway, hidden away. Michael stands behind his father, Elizabeth next to her mother, and there was even another brown-haired boy in Mrs. Afton’s lap – the victim of ‘83. From there, the pictures change. Elizabeth and their parents, their parents alone. Michael is absent. So is the boy.

The only other pictures with Michael are next to his bed, and they’re Kodak prints. No frame in sight. Also no ‘Mr. Afton.’

You finally got to see them after a quick dinner with Michael and Elizabeth. Perhaps at some point, they weren’t the best of siblings. Or rather, he wasn’t the best older brother (-- wonder how anyone could come to that conclusion). But his attempt to atone the past was evident from the moment you met Elizabeth. If he couldn’t make up with his brother, he’d make up with her.

Granted, Elizabeth never mentioned anything of the incident. You weren’t sure if she was ignoring it, if she didn’t take it seriously, or if she didn’t remember at all. From the family portrait, she looked around the same age as the young boy – four or five – so it was possible that she didn’t recall a life before her parents distanced themselves from Michael, or from each other. Mrs. Afton didn’t exactly look like a doting wife or mother. Maybe the type of person who does the bare minimum. But you also couldn’t blame her. Not entirely.

It’s another hour or two of calculus at the dinner table, post-Mexican food binge. You don’t understand how Michael is so patient with you, but now knowing that he also helped Elizabeth, he must’ve had lots of practice. Eventually, however, it’s you who asks to stop for the night.

“I don’t think I can take it anymore. Not today, at least. I think I need to recharge,” you whine softly, snapping your textbook shut after finishing another practice problem. “Got any mind-numbing movies?”

Michael withdraws from the position he’s in, standing over you, and looks toward the glass cabinet in the living room. “Uh– we got Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Little Mermaid.”

“Ooh, Harrison Ford.”

Your dreamy coo prompts him to wrinkle his nose. “He’s forty-seven.”

“Uh- yeah. And?”

“He’s older than my father.”

“And?”

He shoves your face away, instigating a giggle from your lips.

“What can I say?” you smile. “A man who ages like fine wine is…” You trail off, placing a hand in front of your mouth mockingly to imitate a chef’s kiss.

Michael gags and waves you off. “Just go. My room’s the first one at the top of the stairs. I’ve got a TV.”

“You got a TV in your bedroom ?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my family’s old one. Not like we have family movie nights.”

That, you can’t argue with. 

The march up the stairs is brief, and soon, you’re closing the door behind you. Aside from its size, Michael’s room is a typical teenager’s room – mostly. Posters of bands and movies you’ve never heard of, a desk that clearly hasn’t been organized in months. A pile of dirty clothes (-- or clean, who knows?--) has been kicked away in a corner as well, and above an unmade bed is a string of polaroid pictures and doodles on ripped paper – probably torn off the edges of homework. There’s even a Foxy plush sitting upright against his pillow, metallic hook and plastic eye replaced by stitched cloth. In spite of his clear distaste for his father – seen in one picture where the man’s face has been covered by a silly Bonnie sketch – and the mound of childhood trauma you’ve only partially uncovered, it seems that Michael still has some affection for the characters.

The view from the room is nice, too. The sun has already begun to set, casting golden light against the walls, yet as you look out into the trees and scarlet landscape, out of the corner of your eye, a glint of light from the trash can catches your attention. Innocent curiosity gets the better of you, and you kneel by the small bin under his desk to uncover the metallic reflection. It’s covered by crumpled paper and candy wrappers, instigating a smile when you see even more doodles and new badge designs drawn on different pages. That smile drops, however, when you find the source of the reflection: not just several empty cans of beer left haphazardly tossed away – but the razor of a pencil sharpener with the faint hint of suspicious iron brown.

Ah.

“I got the VHS ta—“

He stops short when he sees you staring at the blade in silence.

“It’s…,” he begins, only to trail off and give up on explaining. All he does is kneel down,set the VHS tape aside, and start tossing the papers back into the bin – not even questioning what you were doing digging through his trash.

“... So,” you say slowly, folding your hands in your lap, “how long have you been… you know.”

He’s quiet until he finishes.

“... A while.”

“I– I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I mean, I know–”

“No, you don’t–

“And if your mom or dad or sister found--”

His eyes snap in your direction.

“Mom doesn’t care enough to go in my room. Father sees me as nothing more than the kid who killed his son. And Elizabeth–” he curses under his breath and rubs his face– “Elizabeth shouldn’t have to deal with any of our shit. But at least she knows not to snoop. ”

For the first time since you met, you find him glaring at you – only this time, not with suspicion, but denial. Denial that he has a problem. Denial that it matters. That he matters.

“Michael,” you whisper softly, looking him in the eye. “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. ”

He holds your gaze for several more seconds before his own softens and the whole of him wilts. “I– I’m sorry, I just– I didn’t think anyone would actually tell me that or– or listen–”

Michael’s voice comes out in broken stutters between shallow breaths. Your heart swells at the sound, and the realization of how alone he must have been finally sets in. It’s been fact before. Cold, hard knowledge. But now it’s tangible – palpable – and horrible, terrible, true. Without another word, you reach forward and pull him into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around a trembling body. He stays limp, hands resting at his sides, but you don’t mind. He doesn’t have to reciprocate. He just needs to have–

You.

And you whisper, again–

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

** * **

It’s four thirty when you wake up.

After a quiet movie session, Michael lugged up a few couch cushions and set them on the floor. He didn’t take no for an answer when he told you to take his bed, though you weren’t sure if it was out of guilt over his outburst or day-to-day selflessness. Maybe both.

Still, you were grateful for the comfort of a mattress over the makeshift couch-cushion bed, knowing the gaps between pillows would make it difficult to sleep. His bed was soft and warm, and though tainted with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, also smelled like him. You could stay here for days.

So of course, it was a surprise when you found yourself unable to go back to bed.

You step over Michael, careful not to make any noise, and brush a stray lock of his hair into place before leaving the room. He’ll have to wake up in about half an hour to get ready for work, so you decide to get a headstart on things and make breakfast. Mrs. Afton doesn’t look like she’d have the energy to make breakfast early on the weekend, and cooking is the least you could do. Maybe something simple so you don’t take up too many ingredients either. Maybe pancakes!-- Elizabeth would probably like that.

The kitchen is large and littered with several cabinets, but you’re able to find everything you need for pancakes, plus a package of bacon and a carton of eggs you plan to fry. It’s simple but plenty, and rolling up your sleeves, you get to work right away.

The eggs and bacon are fried in succession on another pan while you get to work on the pancakes. Flour, egg, milk – they’re poured together in a large bowl, and as you wait for the griddle to heat up, you wipe down the counters to clean any bits of stray flour that’s flown out of place.

Seeing it all come together, you actually feel quite proud of yourself. This would be payment for Michael’s tutoring and make up for your intrusion. Now to pour the batter for the last pancake and—

Click.

The front door, unlocked, now comes swinging open.

There in the doorway, with a silhouette outlined by the light of the morning sun, was a man dressed neatly in a fine suit. His purple vest and the coat hanging off his shoulders reminded you of Michael in his work uniform. Everything about him screamed Michael, really, especially once he stepped forward and the kitchen lights had brightened his face. The same dark hair. The same pale bluish grey eyes. Nearly identical facial features, but paler, and darker, and cold — cold — cold–

“And who might you be?”

Same faint accent.

Uncomfortable silence permeates throughout the room as you lock eyes with the man. There’s something unusual about him, and it’s not just the way he’s an obvious genetic duplicate of his son. It’s in the way his clothes are almost too put together for an entire night of work. In the way his silver-striped hair is similarly slick and styled back. And it’s in the way he looks at you — observing, scrutinizing, flickering. Eyes drifting from the food to you, and in particular, your neck. Like he’s debating how easy it could break—

“Well, child, are you going to answer me?”

The staring contest ends abruptly when you peel your eyes away.

“I’m Michael’s friend. From school. I stayed over to study for midterms last night.”

“I see.”

“You’re awfully trusting considering he’s not here to verify.”

“Yes, and you’re certainly a burglar who stopped to make themselves pancakes. I’m terrified. ”

He tugs the suit jacket from his shoulders and hangs it on the coat rack by the front door, as if he had just come home from a regular nine to five, not five in the morning. A gulp forces itself down your throat before you pour the batter, sleepy fog now thoroughly purged from your mind. Though you no longer look directly at him, you keep him in the corner of your eye, stiffly aware of whatever space he seeks to occupy. And unsurprisingly, he seems intent on occupying the kitchen with you.

“You know, it’s good that Michael’s been making friends,” he comments, heading for the coffee maker behind you. “Boy’s had a hard time getting along with others his age.”

“I heard.”

“You know why, then?”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Afton. Of course I know why.”

As you go to flip the now-ready pancake, he abruptly takes the sugar from your side, making you jump. Standing like this, you’re practically trapped between him and the counter. Nowhere to go. Your heart doesn’t drop so much as it begins tugging downward like a weighted stone. Seeing the look on your face and the tension in your shoulders, his amusement is audible as he speaks, voice soothing yet visible stature alarming.

“Please, don’t bother with ‘Mr. Afton.’ It’s William. And apologies, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head and set the spatula down once done, waiting for the other side of the pancake to brown.

“It’s fine. I guess I’m just a little jumpy since it’s so early in the morning.”

“Not used to waking up early?”

“More like I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods before continuing the earlier topic. “My son… let’s just say that he’s a wounded soul. Always been a troublemaker, that boy.”

You can’t help but scoff lightly at his words. The way Michael talks about his father already has you predisposed to taking every one of Mr. Afton’s words as bullshit. It’s not like Michael would lie about his family for attention. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have self-isolated. It would just be–

“He self-sabotages, you know? My wife and I gave him so many an opportunity. We still do. We’ve encouraged every sport, every hobby – music and art and even robotics. He’s wasted them all.”

“I wouldn’t say wasted,” you defend in a softer tone. “He’s pretty good at art. And I didn’t come here to teach him anything. He’s the one who taught me .” You pause before adding on to soften the tone of the conversation. “... I mean, that’s why I’m cooking breakfast for everyone. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, he’s smart enough, I’ll give him that. But in terms of effort? In terms of trying to get somewhere with that brain of his? Ha–”

William’s words are bile on your tongue. A part of you knows that some part of it is true, but you also know why it’s true, and that’s what really matters. Michael hates himself. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Do you even give a fuck? Do you even care?--

“In any case, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure Elizabeth will be happy when she wakes up.” He pours a teaspoon of sugar into his hot coffee before backing away.

You’re about to respond when you hear Michael’s bedroom door swing open from up the stairs. Your best friend rubs his weary eyes, halfway through a yawn when he stops in his tracks, gaze landing on his father, you, then his father again.

“You’re home.”

It’s said none too warmly.

William clicks his tongue, his strides now somewhat hurried compared to before. “It’s my house, is it not?”

Wanting to defuse the situation, you raise the pan slightly from the stove as if to show Michael. “Hey– I– uh– I made breakfast for you. And Elizabeth and your mom, too, I guess, but it might be cold by the time they wake up.”

At your feeble attempt to calm things down, Michael mutters a curse under his breath before hurrying over, instantly placing himself between you and his father. Not that he actually interacts with the older man – just gives him the cold shoulder, sticking by your side. William gets the message, but while he continues to move away, it’s not exactly in the most generous manner.

“It’s time I check on Elizabeth. I’ll wake her for you, don’t worry – I’m sure she’ll love the surprise. As for myself, I’ll get to bed. Sleep the day away before I visit the new location again.” He sends Michael a toothy grin, pearly whites shining in the dark. “Have fun, you two. Henry will be managing the pizzeria tomorrow. I’m sure things will be more… relaxed that way.”

Though you stare as William leaves, you can see Michael tense even more out of the corner of your eye and instinctively move a hand to brush his. Still, you shudder. No matter how polite William had seemed, there was something inherently unnerving about him.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers as soon as his father’s bedroom door has closed.

“Sorry for what? He didn’t do anything.”

“Not yet. Not yet.”

[mariacallous]

ChatGPT has already wreaked havoc on classrooms and changed how teachers approach writing homework, since OpenAI publicly launched the generative AI chatbot in late 2022. School administrators rushed to try to detect AI-generated essays, and in turn, students scrambled to find out how to cloak their synthetic compositions. But by focusing on writing assignments, educators let another seismic shift take place in the periphery: students using AI more often to complete math homework too.

Right now, high schoolers and college students around the country are experimenting with free smartphone apps that help complete their math homework using generative AI. One of the most popular options on campus right now is the Gauth app, with millions of downloads. It’s owned by ByteDance, which is also TikTok’s parent company.

The Gauth app first launched in 2019 with a primary focus on mathematics, but soon expanded to other subjects as well, like chemistry and physics. It’s grown in relevance, and neared the top of smartphone download lists earlier this year for the education category. Students seem to love it. With hundreds of thousands of primarily positive reviews, Gauth has a favorable 4.8 star rating in the Apple App Store and Google Play Store.

All students have to do after downloading the app is point their smartphone at a homework problem, printed or handwritten, and then make sure any relevant information is inside of the image crop. Then Gauth’s AI model generates a step-by-step guide, often with the correct answer.

From our testing on high-school-level algebra and geometry homework samples, Gauth’s AI tool didn’t deliver A+ results and particularly struggled with some graphing questions. It performed well enough to get around a low B grade or a high C average on the homework we fed it. Not perfect, but also likely good enough to satisfy bored students who'd rather spend their time after school doing literally anything else.

The app struggled more on higher levels of math, like Calculus 2 problems, so students further along in their educational journey may find less utility in this current generation of AI homework-solving apps.

Yes, generative AI tools, with a foundation in natural language processing, are known for failing to generate accurate answers when presented with complex math equations. But researchers are focused on improving AI’s abilities in this sector, and an entry-level high school math class is likely well within the reach of current AI homework apps. Will has even written about how researchers at Google DeepMind are ecstatic about recent results from testing a math-focused large language model, called AlphaProof, on problems shown at this year’s International Math Olympiad.

To be fair, Gauth positions itself as an AI study company that’s there to “ace your homework” and help with difficult problems, rather than a cheating aid. The company even goes so far as to include an “Honor Code” on its website dictating proper usage. “Resist the temptation to use Gauth in ways that go against your values or school’s expectations,” reads the company’s website. So basically, Gauth implicitly acknowledges impulsive teenagers may use the app for much more than the occasional stumper, and wants them to pinkie promise that they’ll behave.

Prior to publication, a spokesperson for ByteDance did not answer a list of questions about the Gauth app when contacted by WIRED over email.

It’s easy to focus on Gauth’s limitations, but millions of students now have a free app in their pocket that can walk them through various math problems in seconds, with decent accuracy. This concept would be almost inconceivable to students from even a few years ago.

You could argue that Gauth promotes accessibility for students who don’t have access to quality education or who process information at a slower pace than their teacher’s curriculum. It’s a perspective shared by proponents of using AI tools, like ChatGPT, in the classroom. As long as the students all make it to the same destination, who cares what path they took on the journey? And isn’t this just the next evolution in our available math tools? We moved on from the abacus to the graphing calculator, so why not envision generative AI as another critical step forward?

I see value in teachers thoughtfully employing AI in the classroom for specific lessons or to provide students with more personalized practice questions. But I can’t get out of my head how this app, if students overly rely on it, could hollow out future generations’ critical thinking skills—often gleaned from powering through frustrating math classes and tough homework assignments. (I totally get it, though, as an English major.)

Educational leaders are missing the holistic picture if they continue to focus on AI-generated essays as the primary threat that could undermine the current approach to teaching. Instead of arduous assignments to complete outside of class, maybe centering in-class math practice could continue to facilitate positive learning outcomes in the age of AI.

If Gauth and apps like it eventually lead to the demise of math homework for high schoolers, throngs of students will breathe a collective sigh of relief. How will parents and educators respond? I’m not so sure. That remains an open question, and one for which Gauth can’t calculate an answer yet either.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Whatcha doing?”

Keith’s voice right next to his ear startles Lance a bit, making Keith laugh quietly. Lance feels the rumble of it in his shoulder, where Keith is resting his head to peer at his work.

“My math homework.”

Lance feels rather than sees Keith make a face. “That’s not math. I don’t see a single number in all that. I don’t even see letters.”

Lance chuckles. “It’s just calculus, babe. It’s mostly symbols, sure, but still math.”

“Ugh.” Keith pulls away after pressing a kiss to Lance’s cheek, shaking his head. “That’s disgusting.” He starts haphazardly shoving his fancy pencils into their case, then into his backpack, followed by his sketchbook. “Your horrible homework made me lose my desire to do anything and everything school related.”

Shaking his head fondly, Lance returns his gaze to his worksheet. “You’re such a dork. It’s only math.”

“The fact that you can look at those equations and they not only mean something to you, but they make sense, blows my mind every day. I’m still half convinced you’re a witch.”

“Now is that the math, or the fact that I’ve put a spell on your heart?”

“Boo,” Keith says, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That was garbage. I’m reporting you to the horrible pun police.”

“Stop making me laugh,” Lance says, throwing an eraser at Keith’s head. “You’re distracting me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Doctor McClain. You could skip every single one of your lectures and still pass with a 95.”

Lance flushes, pleased by both the compliment and Keith calling him doctor. As much as he knows Keith is teasing — he absolutely does need to attend class, Lord above — his boyfriend’s faith in him always makes his insides all soft and squishy.

But he has an assignment to do. He’ll kiss his amazingly supportive boyfriend after.

Lance gets in the zone, so focused on problem after problem that he forgets where he is. Hell, he pretty much forgets that he has a mortal body. His brain is 100% Greek letters and the occasional graph. And Lance likes it that way. He likes math, and not in the cheesy Cady Heron ‘math is just the same in every language’ kind of way. He just thinks that so long as he’s doing it right, figuring out puzzles is fun, in the same way some people like writing, or drawing. There are annoying parts, sure — modular functions are stupid as hell and can kiss his whole ass — but for the most part, he’s a biomed engineering major for a reason. He has shit to design, and he’s only getting there if he understands how the world fits together.

Something small hitting him square in the head snaps him out of his focus.

“You are being absorbed into your textbook,” Keith informs him. “I’m losing ya, space cadet.”

Lance shakes his head a little, blinking. He realises suddenly that, holy shit, his eyes are burning. And his throat is as dry as the desert. And he’s starving. And his muscles are cramped.

“Jesus,” he says, “how long have I been sitting here?”

Keith shrugs, but his attention is no longer on Lance. “Dunno. My phone died forever ago, so that means either two minutes or two hours. I could not tell you.”

Lance snorts. He knows part of Keith’s ADHD means he’s not great with time. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. They’ve been here long enough that it’s long past time to take a break.

“What’ve you been doing, then?” Lance asks as he starts collecting his things to put away. “If your phone’s been dead.”

“Foldin’ stuff,” Keith replies absent-mindedly, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he does, indeed, fold some papers. Lance finally gets all his stuff packed away and then turns his full attention to Keith, humming curiously. Keith, like with everything artsy, is amazing at origami, and Lance is always amazed at how he takes a piece of scrap paper and makes a mini-sculpture.

“Like what?”

“Made you this bouquet,” Keith says. His attention is still mostly on the tiny square of pink paper in front of him, but he reaches over to the empty chair next to him and blindly searches for something. He makes a triumphant noise when he finds it, and sets a brightly coloured bouquet of intricately folded paper flowers on the table.

Lance gasps, carefully picking it up and looking at it closely. Each flower is folded to perfection, crisp lines and gentle bends in the paper making perfect imitations of Lance’s favourite flowers: golden dandelions, pink peonies, deep orange poppies.

“Holy shit, Keith,” Lance breathes. He looks at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “This is… these are gorgeous!”

Keith glances away from his project for a moment to shoot Lance a big, goofy grin. “Glad you like ‘em. They’re almost as pretty as you.”

“Charmer,” Lance says, rolling his eyes, but the ruddiness of his cheeks give him away. Keith knows it, too, grinning wider.

“This is for you, too,” he says, making a final fold on the pink paper. “Hold out your left hand.”

Lance does, stupidly giddy smile making his cheeks ache.

Keith has made a paper ring, folded so it makes a heart in the centre rather than a traditional circle-shaped knob. It’s as meticulously crafted as the bouquet. He slides it up Lance’s fourth finger, then presses a gentle kiss on the knuckle.

“Since you said we can’t get married until after we finish our undergrads,” Keith says, as playfully grouchy as he always is when he brings the subject up. “This will have to do.”

Lance laughs, sliding his hand from Keith’s grip so he can rest it on the side of his boyfriend’s cheek, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Keith goes cross-eyed trying to watch the movement, lips still pouted. Lance leans forward to kiss them.

“You are so dramatic,” he mumbles, still crowded in close. “One more year, okay? You can take me to the courthouse the day we graduate, if you would like.”

“Fine,” Keith huffs. He wraps his arms around Lance’s waist. “They second our caps get thrown, you hear me?”

Lance kisses him again. And again. And a third time, for good measure.

“I hear you.”

[thenightfolknetwork]

Good afternoon. I hope that you can assist me with a family matter.

I come from a very long line of mischief-makers, extending back for well over twelve generations. And my children all took after the family trade, as did all—well, almost all—of my grandchildren, and while my gaggle of great-grandchildren are too young to be working, they seem to have the knack for it as well.

You may have noted that I said almost all of my grandchildren. This is because of my youngest grandchild. They went to uni, had a strange and unnerving group of friends, got varied grades, graduated, and became… are… decided to become—my youngest grandchild is, you see, well, they’re a… they’re an accountant. A white button-down shirt pressed slacks accounting accountant!

As I’m sure you can imagine, the whole family was a bit shocked. We’re not all strictly mischief-makers; I’m a shenaniganerist myself! Still, none of us have ever strayed that far from the family business.

In retrospect, we really should have anticipated this—they were always a bit less inclined towards tomfoolery than their siblings and cousins. And they are overjoyed with their job, always chattering on about numbers and graphs. Besides, perhaps becoming an accountant when you come from a family that prides itself on chaos is chaotic? Either way, I’m trying to be happy to them, and I am confident that with time, I will be able to succeed.

However, I’m not quite sure what to talk about with them. They’ve always been a bit more distant than my other grandkids, likely because of their interest in… other topics, and this job has just exacerbated that. With the exception of a few reclusive ghosts, I’m the oldest person in my family. And, as head of the family, I’m the figure who people go to when they need help, whether it’s something small, like illusion homework, or big, like setting up an ongoing scheme that’ll run for decades.

I don’t know how I could help with this new profession. Well, I do, but I have a feeling that anything involving dental floss, temporary hair die, and two pounds of mustard seeds isn’t what they would be looking for. I want to show my grandchild that I am here, for whatever they need, and have it be true. How do I do that when I don’t know the right way to support them?

Oh, reader. This sounds like a very delicate situation, and my heart goes out to you. I can certainly empathise with your surprise at your grandchild's chosen profession. But at the same time, I can see how deeply you love them, and want to show that love in a way that supports and validates their identity.

Your grandchild is likely very aware of how different they are from the rest of the family. It's a very good sign that they've felt comfortable enough to share this part of their life with you all, and that they feel able to talk to you about the things they enjoy about it.

I understand that it's important to you to be someone your family can turn to for help and practical support. But that's not all you bring to the relationship. You are valuable and precious to your family beyond the role you play as a help-mate and advisor.

Your grandchild doesn't need you to understand the ins and outs of accounting. They don't need you to work out some way of helping them directly in their career, or to come up with a complicated scheme involving their accountancy skills.

This seems like a very good time to step aside, and let your grandchild take the lead. After all, they're the best possible person to know what will make them feel supported.

I recommend taking them out to spend some one-on-one time together. Don't make complicated plans – this is about spending quality time together, and giving them your attention. Let them know how proud you are of them, and how much you want to support them in their endeavours.

If there is anything specific they need from you, all to the good. You will have opened those lines of communication and let them know you're happy to help. But I strongly suspect that all your grandchild will need is to know that you're there for them, and that you love them. That's quite enough to be going on with.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[starrbitez]

Write about e morty visiting prime morty and she's a girl (estrogen) and primes like hi! Uhhh did you change your hair or something idk. Evil morty is a girl to me

Yes i will do this i love . Okay here u go :3 !! Short little Drabble

Morty Prime is sitting in his room, head between his hands as he struggles to understand whatever stupid equation he’s trying to solve. Mr. Goldenfold had spent all week talking about his sex life, infrequently interrupting with some weird curvy graphs, with minimal explanation. Now, Morty was staring at an assignment about the quadratic formula, whatever that was. As he is mourning his D in favor of an F, he hears a swirling behind him.

He turns around, and he sees Evil Morty.

Yes! He thinks. He can help me with my math homework!

Morty looks up and processes evil Morty standing in front of him, his hair significantly longer, a mix of waves and curls cascading over his shoulders, to meet a slightly different build, and an eye that was highlighted by longer lashes, the other still secured in its usual eyepatch. Morty blinked. Evil Morty looked… pretty.

“Woah. Di-Did you… c-change your hair… or something?” Morty stutters out, mouth still hanging open, his cheeks red, and he couldn’t quite figure out why.

The portal closes behind the other, and Evil Morty fixes a loose strand of hair blowing in front of his (his?) face. He shrugs. “I felt like a girl today.”

Morty blinks again. “Okay. Wanna go watch Interdimensional cable and help me with my homework?”

”Sure,” she says.

The pair of them head downstairs with a notebook and Morty’s sheet of homework, sitting on the couch and flipping through the channels.

“Can w-we still watch Ball Fondlers 2?” Morty asks, spinning his pencil in his fingers.

”Sure.”

Morty inhales, and he smells a flowery scent from Evil Morty next to him. He ponders for a moment. “D-Do yo-you wanna be called som-something else?”

”Whatever,” the girl beside him shrugs.

”I-I’m gonna call you Eve. G-Get it?”

Eve smiles at Morty, a sweet and beautiful smile that makes Morty’s face feel hot all over again. “Yeah, I get it. That’s cool.” She shrugs, turning away from Morty.

While they are working on the last problem on the page, Rick pops in from the garage, taking a swig from his flask. He looks pointedly at Eve. “What’s he doing here?”

”She. She’s helping me with my homework.”

Rick shrugs, unphased, taking another swig. “Okay. Have fun. No kissing.”

Morty blushes, and he and Eve look at each other, laughing.

[spine-buster]

So High School ft. Adam Cole | Chapter 4

The days and nights passed, as they always did.  Kyle and Janie’s visit brought some much needed positivity in the household, despite the days leading up to Austin’s surgery.  He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was nervous.  Maybe not as nervous as when he had his concussion and was checking in with the brain doctor three times a week, but nervous nonetheless.  The surgery wouldn’t take more than an hour.  He could start physiotherapy three weeks later, which was a blessing because he was becoming a bit stir crazy not being able to go to the gym.  But anytime he had to be put under, he got nervous. 

“D’you want to watch anything before bed?” Violet asked as she emerged from their ensuite, switching off the light.

“No, I’m good,” Austin shook his head.  “I want to get a good night’s sleep before the surgery.  Well, at least try to.”

As Violet got into bed, she got as close as she could to him before giving him a few quick, light kisses.  “I’ll make sure I’m the last person you see before you go under and the first person you see when you wake up.”

Austin smiled.  “I’m gonna wake up high thinking you did the surgery and that’ll scare me shitless.”

Violet snorted and they both began giggling, lightening up the mood.  “God knows med school wasn’t my calling,” she quipped.

“I think you did pretty good regardless.”

“I have you, don’t I?”

Austin smiled.  He loved her so fucking much.  “C’mere,” he whispered, wanting her close again so he could kiss her one, two, three times, each time longer than the last.  “I love you.”

Violet kissed him again, and again, and again – hands wandering, tongues making a mess.  It wasn’t long before her hand made it under the waistband of Austin’s boxers.  “Let me show you how much I love you.” 

***

On Tuesday after school, as Violet was making her way to the bus stop, she saw Austin waiting too, but noticed his demeanour was completely different than how she knew it.  He was angry.  Not just angry – pissed.   She made it just in time to get on the bus, and they took their usual seats, Austin letting her get into the window seat before sitting beside her.  “Is everything okay?” she asked, worried.

“No, everything is not okay,” he grumbled.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed.  “Stupid math.”

“What happened?”

“I failed my last test on polynomial graphs,” he revealed.  “My teacher says if I don’t get at least a 70 on the next test my mark is gonna dip below a C, and I can’t – my parents have this stipulation that all my grades have to be above a C or else they don’t let me go to wrestling shows in Philly.”

After their conversation at Francesco’s after the dreadful party, she knew and understood how important that was to Austin.  “I can help,” she offered.

Austin was still in his own world, though.  Still spiralling a bit.  “Not to mention that if my overall average isn’t high enough, Manheim Community Centre won’t hire me in the spring and summer to do swimming lessons as part of their student hiring program, and I really need that job—”

“—Austin.”

He snapped out of it.  “What?”

“I can help you,” Violet repeated.  “When’s your test?”

“Friday.”

“That means we have three days to study,” she said assertively.  “We’ll study at your house every day after school until the test, until you’re confident you can get that mark.”

Austin was flabbergasted.  None of his other friends had volunteered their time or energy to help him.  Violet was the only one who was going to willingly take time out of her own schedule and homework – which was more academically challenging than his, no doubt – to help him, all so he could get a C.  “You’d do that for me?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” she quipped back.  “Besides, I know now how much wrestling means to you.  You shouldn’t not go see shows just because of a math mark.  I mean, I understand why your parents have that stipulation – mine do too – but math shouldn’t get in the way of it.”

Austin nodded.  There was a moment of silence between them as he realized the magnitude of Violet’s generosity.  “What’s your parents’ stipulation?” he asked.

“Straight As are a non-negotiable.  That and at least two extra-curriculars.  That’s why I’m so involved in student government and the school newspaper,” she revealed.  “Plus, I do this language program at home – you know how like, kids will go to Greek school or Hebrew school on the weekends?  Well mine is online and it’s basically German school.  That way I can speak to my grandparents.  Oh, and I play tennis.”

Austin felt his head spin at the thought of everything she had to do on top of all her regular school work.  Jugging all that with expectations of getting into an Ivy League like UPenn or a university like Georgetown?  He’d be shitting himself.  “Does it ever get hard for you…you know, balancing everything?”

Violet bit her bottom lip and averted her eyes.  “I mean, yeah, sometimes,” she mumbled out, as if she didn’t want to.  She knew she had to be honest with him because he was only ever honest with her.  “It can be a lot, like when things start to add up over the week, especially when I want to have a social life, you know?  Like at the end of the day I’m just a teenage girl.  I want to be out with my friends and at the same parties they are.”

Austin nodded.  “Yeah, I get it.”

“I think it’s harder because I’m an only child,” she continued.  He noticed that she was picking at her signature red nail polish.  “They just have high hopes for me.  I get it, I really do.  I just want a bit of a break sometimes.  The world won’t end if I get a B on a French vocabulary test, you know?”

Austin gave her a smile.  “I know,” he nodded.  “The world won’t end if I get below a C in math, either.”

He raised his hand and pushed hers apart playfully, making sure she stopped picking at her nails.  She looked at him finally, giving him a smile, stopping her nervous habit.  Her hands were as soft as Austin remembered them.

When they arrived at his usual bus stop, they got off together and he led the way to his house, which was only a short walk down the road.  As they approached the small yellow bungalow, Austin got nervous.  Having seen even just the outside and front foyer of Violet’s house, the difference was night at day.  He was pretty sure three of his houses could fit in her house.  When he looked over at her, she was smiling.  “Your house is beautiful,” she said, with such genuine earnestness that he knew she meant it.  “I love the yellow.”

“My grandma’s gonna be home,” he didn’t know what else to say.  He didn’t know why he was so nervous.

“That’s cool.  I’m a grandma whisperer too,” she winked.

When they walked in, Violet could hear the sound of a TV being on.  She slipped off her Uggs and followed Austin around the entrance wall that was covered in family photos.  Photos from family vacations to the beach, Washington D.C., and some other places Violet couldn’t quite make out.  “Nana, I’m home,” Austin called out.

Violet saw his grandma on the couch watching TV, and once she noticed a girl in a very formal Catholic school uniform was with her grandson, a highly bemused look adorned her face.  “Hi sweetie,” his grandma greeted.  “How was school today?”

“It was alright.  Same old, same old.”

“And who is this?”

Austin knew he wouldn’t have to do any introductions.  If the late night phone call with his mom was any indication, Violet could hold her own.  He didn’t know many people who were as self-assured as she was.  “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you,” Violet began, approaching the couch with her hand extended so grandma wouldn’t have to get up.  “I’m Violet Schwarzkopf, one of Austin’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you.  I’m Austin’s grandmother Judy,” she said.  “That uniform doesn’t look like you go to Lancaster West.”

“Oh, no ma’am,” Violet shook her head, smiling a little.  She broke out the ma’am – Austin had to hold back his own laugher.  “I actually go to St. Anne’s Academy, down the street from Lancaster West.  I’m just here to help Austin with some Algebra 2 homework for his test on Friday.  I promise we’ll be out of your way and won’t be too loud.”

Nana smiled.  Austin smiled at her smiling.  Clearly Violet was making a great first impression.  “That’s quite alright, dear.  Anything to help Austin get the grades he needs to do the things he wants,” she gave her grandson a knowing look.  “You’ll be fine to go in the kitchen then…the TV won’t be too loud in there.”

“Do you need anything while you’re in there?  A glass of water?  Some snacks?” Violet asked.

“Do you know how to make a gin martini?” Judy quipped.  Everybody laughed.  “I’ll be fine.  You two go ahead and study.”

Austin led Violet through to the kitchen, a small U-shaped space with old wood cabinets and a big window overlooking part of the yard.  There was a round table against the wall with no cabinets.  Violet sat at the table while Austin went into the fridge.  “Want anything?” he asked.

“Where have you guys gone on family trips?” she completely ignored his question, looking instead at some more of the family photos on the wall above the table. 

Austin glanced over from behind the fridge door.  “Um, before my parents divorced, we used to drive down to Myrtle Beach every summer and spend a couple of weeks there,” he said.  “My dad took my brother and I to D.C. a few summers ago, and my mom took us to New York the summer after that.”

“That’s so cool,” Violet smiled.  “D.C.’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?  I love the Georgetown neighbourhood.”

“What about your family?”

“We’re pretty big skiers, so a lot of our trips revolve around skiing.  Usually during Christmas Break we head somewhere like Whistler or Mont Tremblant or Telluride.  Then in the summers its always about two weeks in Toronto so my mom can see her family, then we fly to Berlin so my dad can see his family.  After that we spend time in different places like Italy or Spain or Portugal.”

The second the words finished coming out of her mouth, Violet regretted ever saying them out loud.  These were rich people things that rich people did.  Not everybody skied.  Not everybody summered in Europe.  Not everybody had the advantages that her family had, and she needed to learn once and for all that not everybody had the same life experiences she had.  To say these things out loud like they were nothing, with such nonchalance as if everybody did them – who did she think she was?

“That sounds really cool,” Austin finally said, closing the fridge.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I know that just made me sound like a stuck up brat.”

“No it didn’t,” he assured her, handing her a bottle of blue Gatorade.  “I asked you a question and you answered it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“—But nothing,” he interrupted.  “I know your family is richer than mine, Violet.  That’s not a secret.”

Her stomach churned.  “I just don’t want it to be something that comes between us,” she admitted out loud, in a voice that was low and vulnerable. 

“Vi…” Austin cooed, pulling up a chair to sit, getting as close to her as he could without it being inappropriate.  “If it was something that could, it would have already.  It won’t.  It’s not going to.  I promise.  Do you?”

She was barely breathing from being so close to him.  What was this?  What was she feeling?  “I promise,” she nodded.

“Good,” he smiled at her, and she could see his dimples and the crinkle of his eyes.  “Now can you help me with Algebra 2?”

They took out the textbooks and got down to business, going over concepts and equations.  She looked over his test to see exactly where he went wrong.  Violet even made up equations for him to practice on the spot, which freaked him out.  Slowly but surely, though, he was getting it.  Violet was definitely a much better and clearer explainer than his teacher at Lancaster West.  She made sure he followed things step by step, and would check each time to make sure he was doing it right.  It helped that she smelled good and was so pretty.

Wait, what?

Before he knew it, he heard his mom walking through the door.  His younger brother was louder than she was, stomping through the house loudly and saying hi to Judy before his footsteps could be heard walking towards the kitchen.  When he saw Austin sitting at the table with Violet, he stopped dead in his tracks.  He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  “Whoa.”

His brother still thought girls had cooties.  Austin rolled his eyes at his reaction.  “Hello to you too, Brent.”

“Austin?” he heard his mom call.

“I’m in the kitchen studying!” he called back, knowing that would get a reaction out of her.

“Studying?” his mother was clearly confused.  A few moments later, she appeared right behind Brent.  She tried not to let the shock and confusion overcome her face, but it was no use.  Her son was studying?  And there was a girl over?  “Oh, hello!” she greeted warmly as she saw Violet.

Violet immediately got up from her seat.  “Hello Ms. Jenkins.  It’s nice to finally meet you.  I’m Violet Schwarzkopf – we spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago,” she extended her hand.

“I remember.  It’s nice to finally meet you as well.  Call me Cathy,” she shook her hand before looking over at her son.  “Special occasion?”

“Violet’s helping me with Algebra 2.  I have another test on Friday.”

“I hope that’s alright,” Violet interjected.

“Anything to get Austin studying,” Cathy quipped.  “Are you staying for dinner, Violet?”

“Oh no no no, no thank you.  I wouldn’t want to intrude like that.  Plus, on the days my dad has to stay in Philadelphia to lecture, my mom gets lonely and would want me home for dinner.”

Cathy made a mental note to ask about that sometime later.  Maybe she’d ask Austin.  “Well, the car is still warm, so I will at least drive you.  Where do you live?”

“In The Berries.”

Cranberry Street, Blueberry Street, Blackberry Street, and Mulberry Street – Cathy knew the area well.  Who would have thought her son would have a friend who lived in The Berries?  Violet got ready quickly – Austin too, since he was adamant on coming – and they drive through the streets of Manheim before reaching her house.  Violet made polite conversation and mentioned she’d be back the rest of the week to tutor to help Austin pass his test.  Cathy was impressed with the size of the house when she pulled into the driveway, waiting until Violet was inside before backing out.

As she put the car in drive, she looked at her son.  “What?” he asked.

“Oh, Austin.”

___

The following Monday, Violet couldn’t get to the bus stop after school quickly enough.  Austin told her Friday that he thought the test had gone well, and she was eager to see if he got his mark back.  She ran as fast as her Uggs would take her, now carrying a heavier load with the introduction of her winter jacket, too.  When she finally arrived, she was almost out of breath.  “Did you get it back yet?” she huffed.

Austin had the greatest poker face known to man.  She didn’t even notice that he had something in his hand to show her.  He flashed whatever he was holding in front of her.  Violet say a big red ‘75%’ on the top right corner.

She screamed.  Subconsciously, she did what she did with all her friends whenever they aced something: she extended her arms up in jubilation, then out, pulling him in for a hug.  A giant smile took over his face as he reciprocated, bringing her close and squeezing her so hard he lifted her up off the sidewalk.  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said once he set her down.  “I’m totally serious.  I’d be failing without you.”

“I didn’t write that test, you did!” she spun it back to him.

“My parents are gonna be so happy, you have no idea.”

“I bet.  Is there a wrestling show coming up that this saves?”

He looked at her.  He couldn’t believe she was hanging on to that the way she was.  It meant the world to him.  “Yeah.  Yeah, absolutely,” he stuttered out.  “Listen.  I have a US History test coming up.  I could really use your help again.  You just explain everything so easy.  Can you come over Friday night so we can have a big study session?  I can still bring you home by curfew.”

Friday night.  Her parents would be away at a Christmas dinner for the UPenn faculty in Philadelphia for the night, so she’d be home alone Friday night and much of Saturday since they’d be spending the day in the city.  She would have to ask their permission, but she didn’t see why they would say no, especially if it was tutoring.  “I’ll ask my parents, but I should be good.”

Austin smiled from ear to ear, his breath catching in his throat.  “Great.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

Oh my gosh! How have I just found this amazing tumblr? Please can I ask for any prompt from the AU in which they’re surgeons? Maybe domestic with their child or building to the ‘I love you?’ and maybe anything extra from 🐸?

[lil smth w their kiddo from surgeons au]

//

'hello, little dr. choi-silva.'

you roll your eyes with a laugh. 'hey, aunt cam.'

sometimes, when your moms are on overlapping shifts, you'll come to the hospital from school when you don't have violin or judo or tennis or something planned with your friends; you're old enough now to take the train, and they always let you hang out in the attendings lounge while you do your homework or watch something on your phone.

your aunt camila — a very fancy researcher, as you've come to understand as you got older, mostly because you've known her as your funny, kind, cool aunt since you were little — sits down next to you at the table.

'oh cool, trig. my favorite part of ninth grade.'

'ew.'

'hey, you can't drag math that much. i do all kinds of cool things with it, and your mom and i —'

'yeah, yeah, stem cells and rebuilding severed spinal cords. blah blah.'

'you were way nicer when you were four.'

'do you want to do my homework for me?'

your aunt camila laughs. 'i'm happy to do it with you, if you want.'

you, like, really don't want to do your math homework, but nora had wanted to come hang out at your house tomorrow and she makes you so nervous it's hard to focus. 'i want to get it done fast, so that would be sweet.' you scoot your chromebook and graph paper closer to your aunt. 'thank you.'

'does this speeding through math have anything to do with —' she looks around to make sure no one is listening, even though you're the only ones in the lounge — 'your girlfriend?'

horrifically you feel yourself blush. 'nora isn't — she's — ugh.'

'have you told your moms yet?'

'suddenly, trig seems so appealing.'

your aunt laughs but grants you a little grace, thank fucking god. you work for a while and, with your aunt explaining things patiently and clearly, you're just about to finish when both of your moms, a little surprisingly, come into the lounge.

'hey, tai,' your mama says, kissing you on the top of the head softly.

'what's up, kid?' your mom grins and squeezes your shoulder. you don't remember being adopted — you were just a baby anyway — but every time your mom smiles at you like that, or your mama gently corrects your form when you're sparring, or they both listen to you clumsily practice a new piece on the violin, before your fingers have gotten the hang of the notes you don't know yet — you think you're the luckiest person in the world.

your mom glances over your shoulder as your mama goes to, presumably, gather their things. 'one, my surgery got canceled — my patient had a fever, so you're stuck with both of us tonight.'

'however will i survive.'

your mom rolls his eyes. 'you're lucky you're cute.'

you know he knows you're kidding, but you still nudge his hip anyway and he ruffles your hair. 'two, did you finish your math?'

'i have, like, two more? but aunt cam helped a lot.'

'you knew your stuff all on your own,' she says, which is relatively generous but makes you feel better about your test in two weeks.

your mama comes over with her neat overnight duffel and your mom's messy cotton tote. 'does this efficiency with math have anything to do with your girlfriend coming over tomorrow?'

your aunt cam laughs — total traitor — and your mom grins, tapping. your chair with her cane when you groan and hide your face in your hands. 'i was gonna tell you guys, i swear.'

your mom rubs your back gently. 'you are your mother's daughter.'

'i'm adopted,' you whine.

your mama laughs. 'nurture is so strong, my love.'

she starts gathering your things too, straightening your backpack, and normally you would scoff and ask her to stop, because you're fourteen and way too old for that. but you love them both, a lot, and, like. your folders were out of the order you like — your class schedule, which your mama has memorized too — so you don't say anything.

'tai, since we're both off now, want to go get some pizza at roberta's?' she asks you, slipping into a fleece that's definitely your mom's — department of neurosurgery embroidered on it, but whatever. it's an enticing offer; your favorite.

'what's the catch.'

'we gotta put olives on half,' your mom says, handing you your coat as you stand.

'deal.'

'and you have to tell us about how you got together with nora.'

'i'm gonna run away. i swear.'

your moms and your aunt laugh — you love them so much you don't want to go to college out of the city; they're your favorite people in the whole entire world — but you pout for posterity. you grumble as you go to the car, and then while you're waiting in a booth for your order.

'out with it.' your mom grins.

your mama pats your hand and amends, 'if you're ready.'

you take a deep breath, but then you smile. 'okay, i've been dying to tell you guys.'

your moms grin.

[appalachianapologies]

A question from my math homework except I actually write MacGyver blurbs instead because I'm fucking autistic- (pspspsps gav)

So far, every time Mac has reached for the thermometer, it hasn’t been with intention to destroy it. The opposite, actually, so Jack should be proud of him for doing so.

This particular thermometer will not meet its untimely demise and find itself in one of Mac’s strange builds. Instead, Mac has been using it for its exact intended purpose. Like every hour for the past six hours before now, Mac puts the probe underneath his tongue and angles the stick so he can just barely make out the numbers. 

He has to cross his eyes a little to manage it, and sure it gives him a slight headache doing so, but it’s for a short enough time that it’s always worth it.

Pen in one hand, Mac starts a timer with his other.

After the first minute has passed, he scratches down the number that the thermometer reads. He waits for the timer to go off for the next minute, and does the same. Repeats the process one more time until the full three minutes have passed.

Mac grimaces when he pulls the thermometer out of his mouth, allowing his tongue to move and roam around his gums to get rid of the feeling that always seems to linger when he has to put the metal tip under his tongue. While he fixes the feeling in his mouth, Mac sketches another small graph on the scratch piece of paper that he’s been using since this morning, comparing it back to the previous ones from other hours.

The Tylenol that Jack’s been incessantly reminding Mac to take has been good, keeping his temperature down. Not enough to be considered healthy, but plenty to avoid having to go to Phoenix Med. Or back to Phoenix Med.

As if Jack’s reading his mind—which at this point Mac would hardy argue with—his phone begins to buzz, Jack’s name and picture taking up the lockscreen. As soon as Mac accepts the call, he puts it on speaker and turns the volume all of the way down. 

“Hi, Jack.” His voice sounds raspier than it ordinarily would, but Mac thinks he’s otherwise doing well.

“Hey kiddo. How’re you feelin’?”

“Good.” Maybe not completely normal, but not as bad as yesterday. “Bored.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. When I’m done here I’ll bring back some knicknacks from the lab to keep you occupied.”

“Or I could just come into the lab myself.”

Mac can practically hear his partner roll his eyes on the other end. “Not so fast. How’s that fever of yours brewin’? You take your temperature anytime recently?”

“Just a minute ago,” Mac reports.

“And?”

“After three minutes, the temperature had a positive first derivative but a negative second derivative.” Could be better. Could be worse, though.

There’s a long pause of silence, before Jack replies, “...I’m not even gonna ask.”

[telleroftime]

You mentioned having exams coming up (good luck btw you got this) just imagine Ludwig helping you study because he would. Bowser would not, he'd be awful at it.

It got me thinking about how funny it would be to witness Papa Bowser trying to help his kids with their homework-

He wouldn't have time to do that with all his king duties and all but just imagine like Lemmy asking for help and Bowser stares at the paper like 😡 because he can't figure it out.

I can bet he wouldn't want to seem stupid in front of them too so he'd end up making up an excuse as to why he can't help.

Today he has to look over the troops' training, it's a 'time sensitive' thing obviously and has to be done 'right now'. Tomorrow he has to oversee a farming village off near the edge of the kingdom because apparently something isn't right and the 'volcanoes aren't volcano-ing'. And technically it wouldn't be a lie, but the things could have waited.

Just "Ya know what? I'm sure Kamek can help."

And then it's just Kamek having to help all the kids study on top of everything Kamek has to do already.

And you got me thinking - I can imagine Bowser being really good with managing his kingdom and his troops but then at the same time he can't do maths. He'd be good at graphs because king-stuff and all, but not the calculations.

Like - imagine him being in a heated conversation with someone and like Ludwig or Kamek are with him, Bowser is raising really tough points but then maths gets involved and he pauses every once in a while letting them fill in the numbers. Then he just continues. And it's that until the conversation ends. And he just trusts that they got the numbers rights.

And, and in a different setting, just picture Bowser's partner (gotta extend this to everyone else studying) working hard and looking over papers and stuff on either the floor or their bed and Bowser is just lying there with his head on his partner's lap because he claims he's 'helping'.

Technically he would be because why stress over things when you have a giant koopa king napping on your lap.

But his definition of helping would fall more under distracting you until you either tell him off or his give him the attention he craves.

Also thank you! It's gonna be me cramming this week because I suck at time management.