#ro professor

[childrenofcain-if]

i have two good news and one bad news. the good news are:

alby has started on looking through chapter two and coding it.

i’m almost done with chapter three as i only have to finish the branching in D’s route.

now for the bad news: my fever has gotten worse alongside my health. i’m trying to get the last few scenes done but i have a lot of plot points to check off and not enough energy. i’ll probably take a complete break from writing for a day or two and be on tumblr for the time being.

D’s route is turning out to be very dramatic and i’m happy since that’s what i had in mind from the beginning. their scenes are my favourite right now and i had so much fun writing them. here’s a little sneak peek into it:

the word count right now for chapter three is 150k.

[ronearoundblindly]

WAIT jimmy + a kiss in public

Strange New World, a tale for Valentine's Day 2024

Jimmy Dobyne x professor!reader from Common Education

Summary: After years of this secret, on-and-off relationship with Jimmy (a student only a few years younger than you), he's determined to make it official before his graduation.

Warnings for a man who knows what he wants ⚠️woah boi⚠️, referenced smutty times, and Jimmy maybe turning me into a fan of the South g'damn. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 2k

You hate the habit and the smell, but at least James Dobyne’s smoking makes him predictable.

He’s a sculpted, contrasting vision in his crisp suit, something majestic about the billowing plumes pushed so deftly from his mouth. It warms you even though the breeze envelops your shoulders and flutters the black satin of your gown.

The Dean’s List party—a formal celebration for the upcoming graduates—is always a big deal for students and faculty, and it just so happens to be the only campus event where you both have had reason to attend.

Just not together.

None of these people really know about you. Jimmy is not a major in your field, and he hasn’t been in a class of yours for over three years now, but you’re still hesitant to ‘come out’ as a couple. This party doesn’t even involve plus-ones. It’s more taboo to be seen as a pair here than anywhere else.

Instead, you’ve found him outside with his vice.

 He sees you immediately, taking a long drag of his cigarette, blatantly undressing you with his eyes, not unlike how he left hot kisses up your skin while he zipped you up two hours ago.

You grin and swing the skirt of your dress playfully. “Wha’ch’doing?”

The searing tip dies out while Jimmy cracks his own smile.

“Tryna cover the taste of ya,” he husks, wiping the corner of his mouth.

You strain to hold your amusement though your thoughts are transported to when he helped you with the small clasp on your strappy heels and slid his hand all the way up your leg. He snapped the gusset of your panties for fun before moving them aside.

You have to clear your throat. “And the whole dinner you just ate couldn’t do that?”

“No,” he adds slyly. He’s natural and happy as he leans in, reaching for a hug and a kiss, but you panic.

“Jimmy, not here.”

“Why not? We came here from the same apartment.” He has the wherewithal to lower his voice, exhaling another puff of smoke. “I sleep at your’s most nights. That whole crowd is celebrating a bunch of kids graduating out of this system, so if not here, and if not now, when?”

You can’t resist pointing out his own word. “Kids…”

He straightens, stance defensive and eyes detached, the picture of a film noir character.

“If you had your way, you’d only acknowledge I exist once I’m good and gone, Teach—” he flicks ash off the cig “—tucked back away in Tennessee.”

“That’s not true,” you deflate at the mention of him leaving.

You want to hold him, you really do, but your whole body screams in awareness of the few others loitering outside the event for a minute of fresh air.

“Well, that’s what it feels like.” He stomps out the butt of his cigarette. “They do this every year, don’t they? Fair to say they expect us to mingle.

“Then let’s mingle. And you—“ Jimmy reaches out again, sure to tough your bare neck this time “—are gonna call me your boyfriend.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He uses the same finger to brush away one of your dangling earrings. “Introduce me as your boyfriend to someone here, right now.”

“People don’t need to know we’ve been…intimate,” you gulp back.

“Intimacies often end up in marriage. People’d know about that, wouldn’t they? Eventually.”

“Jimmy…”

You don’t know whether to run away or drop your panties at the dark look he pins you with, but that is the exact problem.

You’re worried about how the man who fucked you in the dress on your kitchen counter earlier—the one who called you greedy for desperately begging to come a second time before leaving the apartment—is going to behave in public to your colleagues. You’ve had to be so careful for years, and you fear the very real possibility that Jimmy will break. He might not care about his reputation, but you do; you have to care.

Quietly, you ask, “and what if I can’t do it?”

He looks around, clearly disappointed.

“Woman,” he huffs, standing within an inch but making no contact with any part of you, “I’m sayin’ if you can’t choose us, then we never existed.”

He has every right. You’ve been at war with your heart all these years, and it’s high time you declare a victor.

Jimmy Dobyne is twenty-eight years old, and he’s more than proven he adores you. It’s only at your insistence this has been secret for so long.

You give in.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” he beams, giddy and boyish, and you hope beyond hope that he’ll keep it together.

He offers his arm. You take it, thrilled at the substance of the thick sleeve. The moment does feel fancy and official.

As you pass beneath the archway inside though, you round on him.

“But under no circumstances are you to call me ‘Teach,’ got it?” Because that’s all you need to really blow up your life.

Jimmy holds your hand fast to the crook of his arm, bowing his head ever-so slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes but accept, stepping into the noisy, enormous ballroom, together, his hand still sheltering yours.

“Don’t worry. I’mma pick the stuffiest looking guy,” Jimmy muses, “someone so aloof ‘e won’t care a lick what you’re even saying.”

That’s when you see him��your ex.

The man who wrecked the flow of your life and trampled on your self-esteem is talking to a pretty, young colleague, and Jimmy is steering you right for them.

“Not him,” you hiss, savagely gripping Jimmy’s arm.

“Why not?”

“I’m telling you. Please, don’t—”

“Too late. I’ve made eye contact.”

Tyler is rarely at these function, and if it weren’t a university-wide event, he likely wouldn’t be here now. That was the beauty of polar-opposite departments; it served you well until the one only moment you needed it to serve you.

“Long time, no see.”

Bespectacled with salty streaks in his dark hair and a haughty expression that radiates superiority, you are not surprised Tyler fit the criteria for men-who-don’t-listen. You force a smile anyway.

“Tyler…it’s been a while.” Do not faint. Do not punch him. Do not tip that bastard’s scotch right into his face. “Jimmy,” you motion. “This is Tyler Brinwood.”

 “Doctor Tyler Brinwood,” he corrects, “and this is Giselle Whitley, my department co-chair.”

Of course. Of fucking course.

For a man so consistently belittling of your education, god forbid you forget about his.

“Oh, yes, Missus Whitley—“ whose husband is a well-known banker and about two decades older “—I’ve heard great things. You’ve been a wiz at securing funding.”

“Thank you. It’s a lot harder than it looks,” she says with a wink.

Jimmy makes it clear he doesn’t recognize either name, and he wouldn’t because you’ve never talked about it, ever.

You snap back to the point of this horror show.

“Tyler, Giselle, this is James Dobyne.” A sharp breath in flares your nostrils. “My boyfriend.”

Your ex chuckles in the most humorless way.

“Interesting. Certainly giving the term ‘boy’ a run for its money, eh, Dusty?” He takes a sip of his scotch and looks to Giselle and then you for validation.

“What did you just call her?” Jimmy asks flatly, a hard edge to his tone that implies volumes of distaste.

“It’s about the smell of old books, that’s all.” Tyler can’t believe no one else finds this amusing.

Jimmy is more shocked by this stuffy, tactless man than when he walked up. “Why would you call a lady ‘dusty’?”

Giselle makes a face. “I’m afraid I agree with Mister Dobyne.”

You hope it chafes Tyler that his own friend already remembers Jimmy’s name.

“Well…” Tyler licks his lips and waves his free hand dismissively. “Old friends have…inside jokes.”

You’re not laughing. You’re actually about ready to crawl into a hole and seal it with a boulder.

“Giving that term ‘old’ a run for its money, huh, Brentwood,” Jimmy rumbles in the most sincerely cruel voice you’ve ever heard from him.

If you could carry just one photograph with you for the rest of your life, it would be a shot of Tyler’s face right there.

“It’s Brinwood.”

Giselle discreetly covers her grin with a large swig of her white wine. The men continue to stare each other down.

“So Jaime—“ asshole, you think “—are you a history major?”

Jimmy lets that slide. “Business.”

“Ah yes, the most common curriculum at this prestigious institution. Plan to do anything with your degree?”

Boisterous, pompous mother-fucker, you internally rage. You have the urge to spin around and leave without another word.

“Actually,” Jimmy starts with excitement, curling his arm around your waist as if sensing your will to run, “I took over my family’s general store when I was fourteen—nineteen, if you looked at the official paperwork—and I plan to expand the parking lot into a permanent farmer’s market.” He waits for Tyler, but there’s no immediate response. “I’m sorry, did you follow that? What do you study again?”

“I teach mathematics.”

“No shame in that,” Jimmy adds easily. “Love numbers. Been keeping the books since I was in elementary school.”

“Pure mathematics,” Tyler specifies, bitterness souring his already puckered look.

Jimmy sucks at his teeth in mock admiration.

“Wow. You plannin’ to…do anything with that?”

The silence that follows is palpable.

Giselle snorts while you try to corale a runaway, bug-eyed expression. If you had a drink in your hand, you would have choked.

When Tyler continues to frown, Jimmy looks at you and smiles sweetly, no hint of judgment for your ex’s behavior to be found.

“Ready, beautiful?” He rubs the satin at your side, and Jimmy cannot possibly understand how comforted you are by his presence.

Then he turns back, his point made, the ultimatum complete.

“If you’ll excuse us, it was nice to meet you, doctor, ma’am, but we’ve got a lot of mingling to do before the night’s over.”

He kisses your temple, a gesture somehow more intimate than if he’d bent you backwards and made out with you. It implies you’ve already done that. He’s announcing this isn’t new. Jimmy’s showing that he is neither a boy, nor a recent addition to your life, and that Tyler is, in fact, an old-old friend no longer inside your sphere.

Tyler’s niceties are barely audible, but Giselle wiggles her fingers with a cute “tohdaloo.”

Jimmy guides you through a throng of faceless people. You realize it doesn’t matter who sees you because none of them matter to this: to you and Jimmy. This is the pair of you, a couple, a girlfriend and a boyfriend and no one else. 

Your boyfriend keeps you glued to his side until you stop at the bar. He releases your hip so you can face him, his crooked finger holding your chin high.

There’s a loving sympathy in his soft blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Jimmy whispers and gently kisses your lips, hardly enough to transfer your lipstick. Regardless, he checks the supple line with a sweep of his thumb. “Sorry I picked that guy though.”

Jimmy’s shrug of apology is plenty.

He might never understand, but that little interaction has soothed more fears than you could ever voice about how real what you have with Jimmy is.

Jimmy comes from a simple life. It’s straight-forward and without fuss. You do the chore; the chore is done. Rarely do social complications come up. Rarely would emotions derail the success of that work. New York is different, and it’s felt so wrong to expose a man brought up so simply, so wholesomely, to that complex and unfair game of egos. 

He deserves a simple love, but you do not live in a simple world.

And yet, you already love him.

Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt ⬅️ ➡️ Ransom Drysdale and a kiss out of spite

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts

[intertexts]

kota kill choke chain + pinch collar..........

[perpellerok]

(Posting old art 4.11.23 and 1.06.23)

[rosemaryreaper]

15 out of context Rosemary Reaper quotes

Because I love these idiots.

* * * *

1.

You could only lose so many hats or get the plastic beaten out of you so many times before you had to admit that maybe you were your own occupational hazard.

2.

Ros was lost. And she was pretty sure her horse was malfunctioning.

It was the trees’ fault.

3.

No, no, no. One did not simply turn a deathclaw into stew.

4.

The ghoul in the tarberry pool was wearing a “Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me” trucker cap. Nora decided she liked her instantly.

5.

She had just under an hour walk back to Diamond City. Not far as most walks go, but a long way to waddle with newspaper up your crotch. Could she do it? Sure, no problem. Could she do it without crying? Eh…

6.

“I’m exhausted, my period started, my menstrual cup is stuck in the Nuka-Cola machine, and a bullet in the back would be a shitty way to cap off a really long day. So I’m going to assume you’re being honest because I don’t have the mental energy to handle being killed today. Thank you.”

7.

Ros had done something stupid (again) and had gotten herself shot (again).

[…] She had regrets.

And pain. Oh, so much pain.

8.

“Your horse? Nick’s offered to punt any kid who approaches her into the reservoir. I’m sure they’re fine.”

9.

“You’ve never experienced the fury of a jilted lover until you’ve dangled from an old construction crane by your ankles.”

“And that’s supposed to be a selling point?”

“When someone doesn’t go chasing after a mobster’s husband on their own, that doesn’t happen.” She paused. “As often.”

10.

“I sort of made a bet with Piper Wright—”

“Because that’s always a great way to start a sentence.”

11.

“I recently rediscovered several pre-War papers on noise pollution with fascinating implications for wildlife health and migration.”

“Please tell me this isn’t the deathclaw music one.”

“It’s the deathclaw music one!”

12.

If there was one thing Ros didn’t have, it was dignity.

13.

“You bulletproof?”

“Depends. You bite-proof?”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up.”

14.

“If you’re here to talk, I’m not in the mood.”

“Talk?” Piper echoed. “When do I ever do that?”

15.

“You should thank God you’ve never seen me shirtless. People have run away screaming. I’m not making that up. I can never enjoy a beach day again.”

[incorrectjackboxquotes]

(I call them the Scientific Trio)

Prof. Nanners: I just found out that humans are capable of fitting a light bulb into their mouth with ease but can’t take it out without shattering it, and now I have to physically restrain myself from putting a light bulb in my mouth.

Dr. Ro and Green Detective: *look at each other, in horror*

(2:19 pm, 1/9/2024)

^

[agentravensong]

so, fun story: the playwriting professor i had this past year, my senior year of college, and really liked -- the one i quoted in this r & g are dead post -- has written some plays themself (not a surprise, i'm sure).

i asked them a while back for a copy of the script of what is, as far as i know, their only full two-act play, to read, for funsies. they finally sent the most recent draft to me a couple of days ago, and i just sat down and read it. i knew going in that it would be about two women in the modern day trying to discover what happened to the crew of a ship that disappeared in the artic in the 1840s, with one of the women being a young musician and the other being an older and more jaded scientist.

i did not know that in the half of the play set in the past, the two main guys would be a ros and guil duo. a love and rhetoric duo. in way over their heads, constantly getting on their crewmates' nerves and often wounding each other but, at the end of the day, reliant on each other and only each other. playing silly games to pass the time and keep their wits sharp. stuck on a boat, together, even. and, spoilers, but, they don't get a happy ending in this one either. doomed by the narrative, as it were.

which is to say: i knew i was going to like it, but, man. i cried.

(and to be clear, the stuff with the two women in the present was great too. there are even parallels to draw between the two sets of protagonists, because that's good writing for you.)

the even crazier thing is, i looked up this professor online after my first class with them in fall 2022, which is when i not only originally found out about this play, but also learned that marian call had written music for it. marian call being an indie musician i learned about back in 2020, whose ep Swears! specifically hit hard for me back during my Fail Semester (don't ask).

what a fucking coincidence, right?

anyway, i listened to the song on her bandcamp that she wrote for the show after finishing the script, and let me tell you: that song already slapped (i've listened to it plenty since first finding it), but with the full context? fuck me.

the worst part of all this is that there is literally no one else i can talk about this play with. other than my professor, whom i shall be emailing shortly with my brain worms thoughts.

...though i suppose i've said enough in this post that other people could probably do some digging and at least find the song, if they wanted to.

...and i suppose if any mutuals (or fellow r&g heads whom i've previously interacted with) wanted to read it and asked me for it... as long as the file wouldn't be too big for discord... what would be the harm in that?

[pokeybananas]

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND

guinea pig instagram accounts are so funny cause the captions will be like "uh oh! pumpkiwumpkin is being extra sassy today!" and the picture is literally just

[childrenofcain-if]

the dean and professor watching C and MC bicker :

KNEE WAYS THE UPDATE WAS DELICIOUS AUGHHH IVE JUST FINISHED MY FIRST PLAY THROUGH (gonna do it again) DAMNNN MC GOT THAT RIZZ 😫LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS SM

everybody in their next mandatory ethics course together (which almost all freshmen have to take in different slots) when they start bickering for gazillionth time in a week from opposite sides of the classroom:

[ronearoundblindly]

a jimmy for you 😌🤲🏻💕

Alrighty, I get that I have not posted any real story for Common Education but this pic is giving me vibes. Warnings for zero editing and GOOD CHRIST sexual tension. WC ??? It's not long.

Sad Sack, a Common Education headcanon/thing/idk

So imagine you're older-student-Jimmy Dobyne's history professor and you've had a few instances of realizing that he is not at all like your typical student based on his background. He knows hard labor. He knows early mornings and long days. He does not know partying or really getting out of the comfort zone of similar-minded people. Jimmy's roommate, Steve Rogers, being an artsy nerd is a bit of a stretch as is.

Imagine that the first big paper was due last week in your class, and Jimmy did...okay.

He's good at memorization, like a lot of college freshmen, but he's not been asked to analyze very much. His paper didn't give any insight or opinion, and you critiqued it as nicely as possible because you are rooting for Jimmy (probably more than you should). You want this young man to succeed.

Jimmy does not take it well.

You don't see him two classes in a row which means he's now missed a week. Yes, you videotape lectures for kids like Steve Rogers who have reason to not come into class frequently. Yes, Jimmy hasn't missed any assignments at all and his grade average is perfectly fine.

You're still worried.

So you spend more time than normal at that little bakery you first met him at, arriving a little earlier, staying until the last second before you have to get to your classroom. No Jimmy.

Finally, you brave asking Noah, one of the bakery employees, if he's seen Jimmy around.

Noah looks very confused.

"Yeah," he scoffs, "I love that guy. I haven't had back pain all week."

When you return an equally bewildered stare, Noah points toward the back.

"He's right out there."

You crane your head over the counter and lower your voice. "May I?" You point through the building. "Do you mind?"

You think perhaps...well, you don't know what to think as Noah leads you carefully through the kitchen and to the alleyway beyond.

Sure enough, there's Jimmy, hauling enormous sacks of flour off the back of a truck and just shooting the shit with the delivery men all taking a smoke break whilst your student does their jobs for them.

You don't mean to, but you hiss his name like a disappointed mother.

"What are you doing?" As the other workers around seem more interested in what such a professional, pristine lady is doing out on their loading bay, you step closer to continue asking, "Why haven't you come to class?"

Does he need the money? You thought he had enough of a scholarship to cover living expenses. It's not as if the man still donning his farm shirts and stained henley is a big spender.

He ignores you until tossing the flour onto a dolly Noah then rolls inside.

"Look, Teach--" Jimmy takes off his trademark hat to wring in his hands, calling out to the workers by the truck "--one sec, boys."

He juts his head out to lead you deeper into the alley, then crosses when he realizes that's near the dumpster.

"I'm not..." Jimmy pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, tapping one out and putting it between his lips. He doesn't light it. "I don't think I'm cut out for this. I don't know why I came here."

"Is this because of one paper? Did something happen in another class?" You stop yourself from ripping the smoke right out of his mouth so he'll look you in the eye.

Jimmy shakes his head and does it for you, rolling his tongue over chapped lips and then holding them in.

"No, ma'am."

You relax a little, waiting for him to elaborate. You're waiting the whole time Jimmy mulls over his cigarette. He takes out a lighter and then thinks better of it and shoves it back in his pants, leaving the hand buried in his pocket.

"Can't have you thinking of me like that," he mumbles. "Like what if I just get worse? What if I'm stupid and...I don't want you to see me that way."

His concern warms you inside, hitting lower than that heat of appreciation should.

You sigh, trying not to allow your smile to read as dismissive.

"You are not stupid, Jimmy. You proved that long before you walked into my class. You're skilled and curious. You work hard. You could never fail that way. You could certainly never--" you clear your throat "--fail me."

He looks everywhere else but at you, shyly adjusting the brim of his hat again.

"You're just saying that."

No, in fact, you shouldn't be saying that. You shouldn't be having any hushed conversation in a back alley with one of your students, but you can't stand the thought of Jimmy giving up. He deserves this. He deserves options and a way to elevate himself. He deserves to choose his own path beyond the plot of farm he's only known.

"Come back to class," you beg, chancing to reach out and grasp the arm--that thick, veiny, strong forearm--which fiddles with a cigarette like a silver dollar dancing between his fingers. You could be hypnotized by those hands, how they move, what they can do. "Please."

He flexes in your hold.

"You want me?"

His deep voice should not spark the high jump your heart does.

"I want you there," you allow, swallowing the lump in your throat.

For whatever reason, you can't for the life of you let go of Jimmy's arm, and your gaze raises. Your apologetic eyes are met with something infinitely more dangerous--confident, clear blue ones.

"Can't let you down then, can I?"

You're trapped, helpless, at the complete mercy of a gentleman you almost wish were naughty.

"So," you whisper, "I'll see you Tuesday?"

"You'll see me whenever you want, Teach."

Oh damn.

You release his arm finally, the breath you had no clue you were holding gusting out like a tidal wave.

"I'm taking this," you say, plucking the smoke from his hand. "It's a nasty habit. You should quit."

But you don't throw it on the ground or dispose of it in the dumpster, no. You're going to need this cigarette after you forcefully release the freight train of tension that just drove its way into your core.

Just as you turn, Jimmy lands an equally incendiary response.

"Yes, ma'am. I can do that for you."

Y'ALL I AM NOT OKAY. WHY. WHY HE END UP SO FUCKING HOTT? HOW???

My god, no wonder I haven't been able to write more than drabbles of these two--I'D FAINT. immediately. D.E.D. Ded.

Anyway, tagging interested parties is beyond my brainpower at the moment, so maybe in reblogs later. Fuk. I need a cold shower.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[therulerofallpotatos]

It's always so interesting whenever I'm in a class on a Topic right; the psychology of prejudice, disability counseling, sex psychology, any women and gender class, history of autism, etc etc and the inevitable class discussion of "what are some ways we can combat ignorance and discrimination?" and without fail most of the class goes "just educate people" and while that's a worthy goal and a very good method...it also sometimes feels like we are ignoring the fact that the reason "just educate them" worked so well on the people present in that room at that time is because we are all literally academics who sign up for classes like psychology of prejudice, disability counseling, and sex psychology.

If just telling somebody that a thing they believe is racist worked, we'd have a way easier time getting people to stop saying racist things and that's including well-meaning people who are not interested in being unfair or prejudiced to others. it is simply more complicated than that and it sometimes feels like there's a lack of self-awareness amongst the "study self-awareness" group.

[procrastinating-falcon]

I just remembered a bit from my German class two weeks ago. We were talking about how in Spanish the moon is female and the sun is male, whereas in German it’s the other way around, and the conversation went like this:

Me: oh and it’s the same with death, right? In Spanish it’s female but in German it’s Der Tod.

Prof: Yes! Where did you learn that?

Me: oh there’s a song called “Komm, Süsser Tod”. But it’s just the title, the song is not in German.

Prof: *googles sth* Ah, it’s from an anime! Have you watched Evangelion?

Me, thinking about my very Catholic friend that’s also in this class and probably has a very low opinion of anime: um… yes. I didn’t watch everything tho, it was too sad.

[dreamcast-official]

knew i shouldnt have come to class today.

[anarchomitsumi]

college sure is lab designed to make you want to crawl up a wall 👍

[legendaryskyscale]

Professor Gorr could have been Zyffre's father.

Back in their youthful years, Gorr and Luura were a thing. They were both fascinated with the Elder Dragons, and in that mutual study, found interest in each other. They were always together, talking with passion for their studies and findings.

Despite their apparent great chemistry, Luura was eventually charmed by Ardjin and ended up getting pregnant by him.

This is broke Gorr's heart, but he was happy for her.

A few years later, Luura does regret choosing Ardjin over him. She kept in touch with Gorr throughout the years and they rekindled their relationship. They were going to make it official when she got back from her expedition.

Unfortunately, Luura and her expedition team went missing in Orr and she never did get to be back with Gorr.