#and since the math teacher was useless i had to teach it to myself which obviously was gonna go badly considering i fucking failed it alread

[cinnabeat]

that post is making me remember summer school now and how off the walls what my teacher said to me was like literally who says that

#he was like #you act weird #and i was like HUH? #and he was like yeah youre like kind of quirky #or something to that affect and ive never been so offended #bc he said it to like reassure me it wasnt an insult i guess?? #but he was very clearly clocking me as Weird and Different and had the nerve to say it out loud?? #in like that thinly polite but actually insulting way people say things when they dont wanna seem rude when theyre saying something rude #and like ?? ive never had someone do that to me before which frankly is a miracle #it was so out of pocket like most people have the decency of being actual legit friends with me before discussing my personality #which is fine i like hearing how other people view me its interesting #but like?? i couldnt even tell you what we were talking abt or what it was that caught his attention #i think it was the way i was talking that did it either that or i was gesticulating too much #actually no it was definitely the way i talked bc id say shit like gesticulating and then veer abruptly into more casual language #that summer school class i took was fucking bullshit anyways why would you offer a precalc summer school course and then not have a math te #teacher capable of teaching it #and then they didnt even put me with the math teacher they put me with the fucking english teacher??? that C i got was entirely out of pity #bc i kept failing the last unit which was the thing i failed at in actual school #and since the math teacher was useless i had to teach it to myself which obviously was gonna go badly considering i fucking failed it alread #already but whatever #michi tag

[searchingforakeythatdoesntexist]

« The rest, as they say, is history. » - Good Omens, Young!AU

Just a quiet soft, small AU image I had when Crowley recalls how he met Aziraphale in the Human!AU fanfiction « Demon & Angel Professors » written by Ghostinthehouse aka @ineffableghost, as I started to read the French translation which is still ongoing.

Though aparently they met as adults in this fic, I just couldn’t stop myself to picture them as much younger and this whole scene gets stuck in my head. And here we are… (I was inspired by this chapter)

In this AU-of-the-AU (lol) « Demon & Angel Professors » (it’s very good, go read it !), Crowley and Aziraphale are still teenagers. Crowley found an interest in botany, but he doesn’t like how it is taught in his boarding school (always squinting on books and learning by heart without understanding it, no practical work ever). So he prefers to skip classes (maths, essentially), wandering around in school gardens and searching/studying plants all by himself (already building his own way of teaching his favorite subject)

Aziraphale, obviously, likes books, all kind of books, even the ones that his teachers consider useless or unfit for school. So, although he enjoys his literature lessons, he often gets bored by the way his teachers judge or criticise some autors and force students to conform their way of studying/writing. Aziraphale thinks that reading books is supposed to make you feel good and free, to inspire you knowledge and dreams. Since he can’t find that in class, he escapes to the gardens as soon as he can to read all his heart’s content.

Well, one day, they found each other on this wall. They first stared, then started to talk, confronted their differences and discovered their likenesses, forgot the passing time. Only some upcoming rain made them get down, but I’d like to think they never parted ever after.

Happy New Year to you all!

"The rest, as they say..."

#good omens #illustration #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #young!AU #art #my art #ElenthyaAndGoodOmens #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable professors #Demon&AngelProfessors #no wings??? #wth is going on #david tennant #michael sheen #it's the first time i tried to draw them younger in my style and I had so much fun... and blood tears too #but I am quite ok with the result now #happy new year

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

from an anon, about parents and school

(it's just long, that's why it's under a break XD)

here's my proposition: make parents understand that not every child should conform to whatever traditional career paths that exist. as an asian, i could feel the pressure to take science like a fucking boulder on my body. i have to rant a bit.

i am the younger sibling, my brother is two years elder to me. i was never instilled any curiosity in anything science related, i was kinda left all by myself lol. my brother tho, maybe because he was older or because he was a guy (yeah LMFAO), was encouraged AND involved in a LOT of coding, mechanix (its a construct-ur-own-stuff thing).

i guess i never really noticed until i was leaving middle school, that i was not as smart as him, and would probably never be. but i had other strengths he didnt have. i love writing, im pretty good at it. i am analytical and subejctive, i like thinking and making conclusions about things. i mean i guess i've figured out what i could be better at, right? but the problem?

its that my parents dont see it. its as if they dont know me or they DO know me and are just forcing the things they need onto me. it feels selfish of them to completely forgo my actual strengths. like YES OK i UNDERSTAND i can never be as smart as my brother, but u dont have to pretend like i can. because pretending that i can achieve whatever he has, is just going to affect YOU. because i have accepted long ago that some things arent for me.

they think i dont want to put effort into anything i do. that im lazy and want the easy way out. god, every time they say this i want to honestly show them that its the things IM interested in, where i put in the work. its so belittling.

ive written articles abt bts, their music, about how carl jungs theory of archetypes and i occasionally ask a lot of questions about the world to you (hi lol). i just dont get why they want me to waste energy on something im clearly uninterested in.

short answer, point to BTS and say, "They're Asian, they make tons of money. Leave me alone."

just kidding XD

If I'm being serious, I don't think they will change their mind. They will continue to force their ideals onto you, because they believe in certain career paths had assured success and that is what they are after. They either want you to make a certain amount of money, have a certain status in life, or simply know that you can obtain a stable job. To be honest, these are not really traditional career paths at all if you think about it. Becoming a doctor takes many, many years and it is hard ass work. Parents just make it seem as if these are the only jobs available to you, even if you know it's not true.

Men vs women in Asian countries, well, I feel everyone knows this, but many Asian parents born in their respective countries put more effort into their sons than daughters. Firstborn son? He probably walks on water to them XD

I understand what you mean when you say your parents do not understand. This might sound egotistical (it does now that I'm writing it, I am very sorry) but I was the one in my family who got the best grades. None of my siblings got better grades than me (basically I had a 4.0 from middle school to university), and do you think with all that I would be immune?

Nope.

I am good at the sciences and I am good at the humanities as well. I had an interest in reading, writing, and drawing. Reading fiction, I could pass it off to educate myself. Writing? I could pass it off as something for school. But drawing?

Woo, boy.

This was a constant fight. I do not back down (a rebel, wcyd) and I drew and it would get ripped apart. I drew and it would get torn up and thrown away. I drew and and would be beaten, yelled at, constantly belittled for my interest in it even though I was good at the sciences and math. To my mom (my dad doesn't count, he had zero interest in parenting) - if she did not think it was going to make money in the future, it was useless. If I could not spin it into profit, I should not be doing it (very fun childhood I had, yes). The most ironic thing is, after I became an adult, she suggested I start drawing again and sell it to make money.

Hello?

You literally forced me to stop drawing because you constantly connected it with negativity???

(not now, I have since stopped talking to her and started drawing again and it is purely for myself, not to show anyone else, I do not even post it on social media or show anyone irl)

Not saying your parents will act like mine, btw, only sharing my experience.

The idea that you'll never be as smart as your brother? That's bullshit lol. That's like saying intelligence is only valuable if it's science or math, which, as you know, is not true. You are you. He is himself. It is not you cannot do those things. It is that those things are not what you want to focus on. You have a limited amount of time in this life and you have chosen the things you want to delve into and explore.

You don't have to be good at everything. Everything is just not good enough for you.

I am of the mindset that you should try and learn everything you can about this world. I love learning, personally. I think knowing everything I know, from the humanities to the sciences, enriches my life and gives me a broader perspective.

But I totally understand how you feel, because being pushed into something makes you end up hating it. Parents push their kids to learn this or that and kids end up resenting schoolwork because it doesn't feel like something they wanna do anymore. It's just adults yapping in their ears and it feels pointless. Grades aren't everything. You think anyone cares that I aced Physics with Calculus I and II as an adult? LMAO, no one gives a shit. You passed, good enough XD

Here's how I think you should treat school. It's not the content that matters. It's you understanding how you learn each subject. Every subject is different and how you learn them is different. It is not because you are bad at the subject, it is because you haven't figured out the best learning style for you. Teachers have to teach a mass of students and, yes, I understand this seems very tedious to have to "teach yourself".

The skill in learning to learn becomes so, so valuable as an adult. It is how you maintain interest in things, how you develop new interests, and how will come to find meaning (in whatever you want to focus on finding meaning for). I'm not saying that you will be able to find your perfect learning style in every subject, but I am encouraging you to simply see it in that light.

And, you might find certain things to be not that important to you, in which case, just pass the class, it's totally fine if it's not going to help you for the career path you're going for XD Nobody asks me about the themes of William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" (tbh, a pair of overdramatic loons) or how I feel about Sigmund Freud (actually a twat, but that's neither here nor there).

Let them talk. That one that walks your path is you. Focus on what you want to focus on. They are set in their ways and they way to show them there are different paths is to walk them.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

*

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

*

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

[perogipoj]

all this before coffee

Dedicated to my black sheep family, who will always be golden.

 Barbed wire, blank walls and an empty sky. Cocoa Beach.  Brevard County, FL. Jail.  Also known as SHARPS.  Tammy walked into the classroom with an air of bravado coupled with the eyes of a child. I never met a teacher before she said shyly, glancing at her handcuffs on the uncomfortable chair.  Even … I hesitated, even in school, I asked gently. I adjusted my own hips to adjust for the cold hard beneath me.  I mean, a teacher for real.  Her eyes looked down, and I implored with my eyes this time to the corrections officer to remove the handcuffs.  Her shoulder length hair was marred by black roots and mustard colored ends.  There were scars on her arm from cutting.  Her teeth were perfect when she decided to smile. Opening the GRE materials, I joked that I am useless at math but fairly good at grammar.  Tammy looked beautiful.

 Some of us take many things too far.  That has seemed to be my pattern.  Even healthy habits turned into obsessions.  Jogging turned into running which became marathons and a cruel treatment of my body.  Some can run into their seventies without injury as some people live to a hundred while smoking and drinking whiskey to the end.  Mindful eating became anorexia and bulimia.  Going organic made me broke with the kombucha and hemp that flowed through my veins.  Being tidy led me to compulsive house cleaning, often with bleach scouring my hands and my eyes colored in pink tears.  Personal grooming turned to hours and dollars of hair coloring, clothes I could not afford, Botox, and breast augmentation. Wanting affirmation led to dangerous and toxic sexual situations.  

 Jaylen, I was warned, was “special.”  I would normally groan inward, used to so many parents highlighting their children as such, usually to explain poor grades.   The volunteer walked all twelve years of Jaylen, his mannerisms large and chaotic, into the room in which all toys and colors were removed.  I hate reading, he said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him like a knight.  Why? It’s stupid.  Can you read, I asked, opening the second-grade reader I was given. I don’t need to read, I can dance.

 I met The Peruvian on a last minute, pathetic online date.  I was at a job expo to acquire my first teaching job after finishing my master’s degree at a world-famous university.  I almost flunked out.  I could not focus.  I cried over social histories in German, a language I lacked grammatical skill in, dreading the meetings with just my professor and another grad student. Black tea, discussions of Marx I got lost in, his approval nodding at the stout Russian girl I already had difficulty understanding in English, never mind in German.  In college, I was stellar.  On time to each class, writing papers late into the night with a gusto of my fingers and a smile on my face.  The world looked bright. On a sweltering day with an incompressible and unimportant commencement speaker, we burnt in the sun and passed around a flask of vodka under our graduation gowns.  Life is beginning.  I held the parchment color graduation schedule. My name had a star next to it.

 I saw that Tammy was no longer shackled when she entered the gray room.  Since the week I met with her, she had elevated herself to the trusted inmates who could clean, deliver meals, and hand out the dog-eared pages of books on a squeaky cart.  So, you scored extremely high on many levels, Tammy.  Let’s take a look at the reading comprehension packet I assigned on The Scarlet Letter.  She smiled more brightly.  I pressed her for intrigue. Ma’am, she said glowing, my commissary is so lit now I don’t have to eat the garbage they give us.  They try to pass off expired food when I deliver it.  I wanted to call them out on those pistachios.  I don’t have time to answer these packets you give me. But I read the book.  What did you read, according to you?  We clasped hands.  Of course, the minster got off and Hester had to wear the giant A over her pilgrim costume.  I dipped my head. Of course.  She could read Hawthorne.  

 I will be the gladdest thing

           Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

           And not pick one.

 I will look at cliffs and clouds

           With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

           And the grass rise.

 And when the lights begin to show

           Up from the town,

I will mark which much be mine,

           And then start down.

-          Edna St. Vincent Millay  

 Jaylen came running into the room from the play center and basketball court which I assumed was a courtesy to me.  He needed to get the wiggles out.

 Nassau Point in the summer at Aunt Tillie’s, driving the Long Island Expressway until it ended to countless grey and white mottled roads.  Passing vineyards that used to be potato fields, cramming my mouth with the last bit of contraband Doritos which were called a Special Treat to nullify us on the vast expanse from New Jersey to the tiny white house.  Decorated in “Early American” with a front glass porch smelling oddly pleasant of moth balls and sunlight.  The huge lawn rolling into the bay with a dock that appeared and disappeared with the tide.  Kids took showers in the dank basement, carved out of a space teeming of a hoarder. A crusted bottle of prell shampoo and a withered sliver of ivory soap.  I met Man-Boy With Very Hairy Legs for the first and last time.  Stroking my legs up and down, he asked if I had a boyfriend.  I was ten, and smug that I could run through poison ivy and never get a rash.  Do you want to fool around, like do stuff?  He whispered into my ear everything I did not know yet.  That’s what married people do!  With his laughter, I leapt my long legs and ran, up the hill, to the driveway where my father was shucking corn.  I got away. This time.

 I was so excited to see Tammy.  But she was not in attendance.  I left the CO the beat-up copy of Antigone for her. I never saw Tammy again.  “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when his course is wrong and repairs the evil.  The only evil is pride.” This quote was for my betterment, not for Tammy’s.

 A time of reckoning, and a time of complete growth.  A time of a schedule not placed by us.  A journey into us through the connection of others, who became best friends.  Vitamin fusions, lining up for medication in ribbed short paper cups, and Group.  Totally released from responsibility, my linens and clothes were washed, returned the same afternoon in compact squares surrounded by plastic wrap.  Jokes of communal constipation. So, this is my brain mapped.  Here is what displays depression, here anxiety, this is insomnia, that part shows a lack of memory and concentration.  What is that big blue of the Pacific Ocean?  She looked at me, clicked her keyboard.  PTSD.  

 I want to draw a Parrot! P-A-R-R-O-T and speak like one! Wordless, I handed him the blue and black expo markers for the old white board.  With precision, he drew the bird.  I need more colors, he explained in one breath can I talk like a parrot.  I smiled at him at led him to his desk. Let’s try to pay attention today, and I will get you more colors and you can show me how a parrot talks. I began my lesson, and his eyes drifted into imagination.  I needed to get him more colors.  

 I told The Peruvian I was pregnant.  Now I can never afford to divorce you he muttered, enraged.  Married two months earlier, I realized our honeymoon baby was not welcome.   The protesters were angry, and I felt sick. Him on his laptop, me crying to a social worker.  Do not sedate me, I plead, I need to feel this sin.  Sliding my shoes off in the car, my trunk grinding with mountain rolls of cramps and uncontrollable sobbing coming from a divine place, I declined lunch in West Palm.  I never want to do anything fun.  Changing my pad alone in a car beneath the ceiling of the parking garage in City Place, I then tilted my head and fell asleep again.  My birthday came and went.  You didn’t remember my birthday.  With that evil glint in his eyes, he turned his head and told me that was because he did not love me.

 I purchased a ream of paper and a new box of 42 colors Crayola, legit, sharpener in the box, for Jaylen.  He immediately sat down and drew and drew.  Can we put some words to these if we use the colors you want?  He looked up at me shyly and wrote down five words from the fifth-grade reader.  How did you know that?  Easy, my Grammy teaches me.

 I did not smoke to fit in. I smoked because it felt good out in the parking lot, vying for shade, with the Tech supplying communal cigarettes and a light.  The wave went through me and my lips burned with the dirt and smoky taste.  You look like Strawberry Shortcake trying to smoke a cigarette!  My mother was a sophisticated Virginia Slims smoker, sitting on the brick steps in her tennis skirt, so beautiful, watching my brother play in the backyard waiting for my father to return from work.  I sat next to her in awe, breathing in the sprinkler water and counting its pattern, hum hum-hum-hum, hum hum-hum-hum.  

 I took a cigarette break on my Uber ride home.  I knew I would not smoke much when I got home.   However, I did not consume much except cigarettes and black coffee.  I felt Parisian.  The house got messy, and my thighs grew softer. Investing only in ponds cold cream and drugstore mascara, I laughed deeper and threw myself into work more than ever, with determined concentration, forgetting my posture, hunched over in zeal working sixty hours a week.   Anxiety attacks did not make my head and hands shake while driving. I binged watched Law and Order.  Being unhealthy never felt so healthy.  

 I called the jail to let them know I am available for other inmates if they needed me.  I went the next day to help a young man learn English as a second language. All went well until he stood up screaming asking for a guard then switching to Spanish.  

 Here is your key, you can find your mailbox in the teacher lounge.  Here is the form to join the union, Mr. Pescatelli will most certainly find you about that.  Do you know what a block schedule is?  In the morning you will be teaching Advanced Placement European History to our magnet students.  After lunch, you have sophomore World History in the fourth wing. The afternoon will have different challenges.  If you ever need assistance, security is just down the hall.  Welcome to Ft. Lauderdale High School.  Welcome to my first year of teaching.  

 …

 I met the Sophisticated Scandinavian Man in Boston in the Spring.  A PhD candidate from a social democracy intrigued me.  I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight.  I felt like a puppy taken in from the cold.  There is a long story for this, maybe later.  The times in which he devoured me, lavished upon me, he loved a short story I wrote, “All this before coffee.”

 Sonya met me in the prison classroom.  In anticipation of a new student, I posted Jaylen’s parrots, travel posters, pictures of presidents listing their failures before they took office.  Hello, she said, reaching her cuffed wrists out to me.  I am Jaylen’s mother.

 All this before coffee.  All this after a DUI.

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Kotaro Sasaki ₁-₂) Useless

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Friendship, Crack, Crossover ☁

Word Count: 1,369 ☁

Pairing: Tsuna, Reader, Kotaro ☁

World: Eyeshield 21 feat. Katekyo Hitman Reborn ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“Are we there yet?” You groaned, dragging your feet across the pavement.

Tsuna sighed, glancing at you. “No, not yet.”

“How long have we been walkin’ anyway?” You questioned, hiking up your book bag before it could fully slide off your shoulder.

“About fifteen minutes or so.” He mused, doing the same to his own bag. “We should be there soon.”

Sure enough, only a mere seven minutes later, the pair reached Bando High where your math tutor was waiting. It was late in the afternoon and most of the students had already left, minus the few who stayed behind for club activities. The sun was low on the horizon, setting off the sky with hues of orange and red and even a few traces of purple.

“Where are we supposed to meet this guy?” Tsuna inquired, looking back and forth across the school grounds.

You ignored his question, taking off towards the football field. The younger male followed suit, his brown eyes blinking curiously at the group of high schoolers that were practicing on the field.

“The… football field?”

“The guy tutoring us is a member of the Bando Spider’s football team.” You glanced at him before looking back at the field.

“Se-Seriously?” Tsuna couldn’t believe that a football player would be the one tutoring them. It was hard to believe that a jock would be smart enough, but that stereotype had been blown out of the water long ago when Deimon made their debut.

A pink-haired male with a guitar was the first to notice them. He called out to another boy wearing the #99 jersey who walked over a few minutes later, taking off his helmet to reveal a mess of spiky purple hair. He pulled something silver out of thin air. Being in the mafia (and being slightly paranoid), Tsuna let out a high pitched hiieee and took a few steps back, staring at the object in the male’s hand, which largely resembled a pocket knife. Your body tensed, ready if he decided to attack. You took a step to the left so you stood in front of Tsuna.

The purple-haired male flicked his wrist, a click following. Instead of a blade popping up, however, a comb appeared in its place. Raising it up, he combed through his dark hair before striking an odd type of pose. “You’re very smart-looking! Student of Deimon High and Namimori Chuu.”

Tsuna nodded, staring at the comb in shock. “Y-Yes…”

“Ah! I remember you!” The male suddenly grinned, moving closer to you. “You were there when I visited Deimon a while back.”

You blinked, the memory floating to the surface of your mind. “Oh, yeah. The grease spider.”

“G-Grease spider!?” He fumed, a tick of anger appearing on the back of his head.

The pink-haired male let out a chuckle of amusement, but you ignored him, turning away from the pair. “Can we get this over with?”

The boy composed himself, combing through his hair once more. “I should start by introducing myself. I am the #1 kicker in all of Japan, Kotarou Sasaki of the Bando Spiders!”

“….”

Hearing no response, Kotarou opened his eyes. An outline appeared where the two previously stood, blinking three times before disappearing.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!” He cried, following after them. He stopped when you turned around to face him, eyes narrowed and a scowl set on your face.

“Look, grease spider, I don’t care who you are or what you do. I just want to get this over with as soon as possible, savvy?”

Kotarou stared at your back as you walked away into the school building. He wasn’t sure how to feel or react, but he definitely did not like your attitude. How did he ever get caught in such an un-smart situation?

“S-Sorry about that.”

Kotarou moved his dark orbs to the younger male who shifted nervously under his gaze, staring down at his shoes as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Was this boy intimidated by the kicker?

“She’s really bad at math… everyone always says it’s a miracle that she’s made it into her second year of high school with her math grades as low as they are. It feels kind of… pointless to her, so she isn’t too happy about this.” He looked up, mistaking the older male’s curious expression for one of disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong! It’s not that she hasn’t tried! She’s tried really hard for years, but she just couldn’t get it down, so she gave up.”

“Then why am I here?” Kotarou mused, looking down at the brown-haired male.

“You’re her last hope. The teachers say she won’t graduate if she doesn’t bring up her grades. She doesn’t seem to care, but my mother does.”

Kotarou stared after Tsuna as he ran to catch up with you, the words he had spoken still lingering in the air. “Yosh! I’ll prove how smart I am by teaching this un-teachable kid to do math!”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You and Tsuna entered Kotarou’s homeroom class, as he had asked, and pushed two of the desks together before sitting down. Kotarou took a chair and placed it in front of the two desks, sitting in it backward with his arms propped up on the back.

“Since you’re in High School -” he pointed at you “and you’re in Middle School -” he motioned towards Tsuna “both of your work will be different.”

You scoffed, looking to the side and muttering genius under your breath.

He glared at you but said nothing on the comment. “We’ll start with the hardest first.”

You let out a groan as he stared at you expectantly. With a sigh, you pulled your math book out of your bag, dropping it onto the desk with a scowl.

Kotarou brought the book closer, opening it to the right page and looking over the homework that was due tomorrow. “I want to see how far you are. Can you solve this problem?” Grabbing your notebook, he opened to a blank page and wrote down the problem on the sheet before sliding the book back to you.

5(-3x – 2) – x – 3) = -4(4x + 5) + 13

You looked at it blankly before your eyes narrowed into a glare. Maybe if you stared at it long enough, it’ll catch on fire.

“Can you solve it?” He repeated after a few minutes of watching you attempt to perform a pyrotechnic magic trick. He ran his comb through his hair, eyes watching you carefully.

Your eye twitched as you attempted to contain your anger. “This… is completely… useless! Who the hell needs to know stupid shit like that in everyday life?!”

“You have to learn it to pass.” He responded, grabbing the paperback from you and beginning to explain how to solve it. With every word that left his mouth, you felt your restraint slipping little by little. Your annoyance levels were rising at a rapid pace and you could feel your fists clenching. “You’re a smart-looking person! You should be able to figure this out, it’s an easy math problem!” He complained, trying to regain your attention.

“Easy? Easy!? This is not easy math! It’s bang-your-head-against-the-wall-until-it-bleeds math!” You growled, slamming your palms onto the desk as you stood. The chair clattered backward from the sudden movement.

He scowled. “That’s so un-smart.”

Tsuna stuttered out your name, gripping onto your shoulder and trying to calm you down.

“Math. Is. Useless!” You growled, picking up the thick book before throwing it at the unsuspecting purple-haired male. It hit him dead in the face, sending him flying off the chair and onto the tile floor. He sat on the ground, knees bent and eyes closed. One hand was held to his face while the other was flat on the floor, holding him up. Small, owww sounds slipped from his lips accompanied by a few groans.

Tsuna scolded you before rushing over to the older male. “Are you okay, Sasaki-san?”

You blinked, your lips slowly curling up into a grin. “I’ll be damned… I just found an actual use for math!”

Tsuna and Kotarou blinked, staring at you like you had just grown another head.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

▸ Part 2 of 2

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

#friendship #crack #crossover #one shot #139 dreams #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #e21 #eyeshield 21 #sawada tsunayoshi #kotaro sasaki #writing #creative writing #reader insert #reader-insert #reader #scenario #scenarios #anime scenarios #anime scenario #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #anime fanfic #anime fanfics #anime #writeblr

[the-amazing-spider-bi]

Prompt: Write a scene about the Hargreeves as children, please! (Vanya is my favorite, please include her too)

hi anon!! thank you so much for prompting me anon that is so so so nice!!!!i almost had no idea what to write until i remembered that the Hargreeves canonically went to school since Allison got into the soccer team and like… iconic. where’s the breakfast club au. anyway i’m not sure this is was you wanted but here it is anyway (or on ao3 if you like that better)

As Vanya and Five talked about extensively, her sitting under his bedsheets with crossed legs and a flashlight, they couldn’t understand why Dad insisted on making them attend middle school. 

He insisted even though he didn’t approve on any of their friendships with the other kids - not Five and Vanya’s, of course, who had no friends because Five didn’t like people and Vanya was as painfully shy as she was terrible at small talk, but the others who were better than them at talking to people. He insisted even though Pogo, Grace and he could certainly teach them better than any of the people employed there. He insisted even though all the parents kept protesting due to that time a supervillain tried to murder them in their Algebra class and ruined everyone’s grade on their finals. (Five thought they were just bad at Maths. Vanya stuck through the worst of it and got a passing grade. God, he got a B+, and he was fighting the supervillain for, like, half the exam.)

Dad, of course, didn’t care much for soccer parents’ opinions, or activities for that matter - he had never been to any school event in his life, which the other parents disapproved of in hushed tones in between glasses of mimosa. In his own words, their kids were no more unsafe from supervillains than from lone gunmen and it wasn’t like the government was doing anything about the later, so why should he? The world was dangerous, and you could die any day, they should just get on with their lives, pay for some self-defense classes for their brats, some Maths tutoring while they were at it, and stop bothering him.

And that was how they got stuck in assembly, which was the single most useless thing on Earth, in Five’s opinion. (Vanya had started listing useless things to pass the time as they ignored the speech in front of them: man’s tailbone, mosquitoes leaving bites when they sucked your blood, ties, itchy sweaters, sporks. Five only corrected her accurateness for some of those.)

So it was here, in the middle of the hall, as everyone else in school sat there on uncomfortable folding chairs that made Five’s back hurt like an old man’s and pretended to pay attention, Klaus gasped dramatically and pointed at Vanya. 

That in itself was not an unusual occurrence: Klaus, after all, did everything in a dramatic way, and was known to be rude to his siblings, and so Five decided to do what he did best and ignore him. 

Klaus, on the other hand, would not let himself be ignored.“Five!” he called out.

“That’s my number, yes,” Five answered, refusing to turn around, and Vanya hid her smirk by ducking her head.

“Five,” Klaus insisted, and he grasped his hand. Five stole it away quickly, because his siblings and him were twelve now, and they didn’t do silly things like holding hands, like babies. 

Klaus pouted and tugged at his sleeve and repeated: “Fiiive.”

“This could go all afternoon, you know,” Vanya pointed out, still pretending she was not smiling. She was right, of course. Vanya often was, and this was why she was his favorite. 

In that case, she was especially more so than usual, since they were hiding in the back of the room pretending to listen to some weird lady with homemade puppets who had been invited to the assembly for mysterious purposes. Allison was on another corner of the room openly laughing with some of the other girls, but no one was going to bother her for not listening, because she was class president and popular and also could make people do whatever she wanted anyway. Luther was sitting behind her and falling asleep on Diego’s shoulder, about five minutes away from being violently shoved away - Five was watching them with riveted eyes waiting for the inevitable disaster, and Vanya pretended to think he was being terrible but also watched as if she was at the movies.

Klaus, on the other hand, was sitting with Ben right behind them, and not content with being quiet until the lady stopped talking about bullying and the dangers of cliques.

“She is right, you know,” Klaus pointed out, useless. “I am nothing if not persistent. In fact, one could say this is my real power right here.”

“Being a pain in the ass?” Five supplied, enjoying a little the way Vanya squirmed uncomfortably at the swear word. She was such a goody-two-shoes.

“Yes. That’s how I beat the Magician, you know - I just kept talking and talking and talking and talking and-”

“He threw you out?”“No, actually, he tried to kill me and set off his own trap, but you know,” Klaus shrugged. “Anyway, as I was, in fact, saying,” he inhaled before bellowing: “Fiiiii-”

Vanya clamped a hand over his mouth fast, shushing him in panic. The teacher shot them a dark look. Five did his best to look innocent (unconvincingly), and she froze like a deer in headlights, sheepish as she almost always looked. Klaus didn’t even care, and instead licked Vanya’s hand, prompting a disgusted eww and her taking it off and pouting as she wiped it on her blazer. She didn’t punch him, because she was Vanya and she didn’t shove her siblings nearly as much as they shoved each other, so Five took it upon himself and kicked his chair. The teacher decided to move on. A wise woman. 

“Stop being a jerk, Klaus,” Ben said absently, turning the next page on his book. He had taken it out about five minutes into the speech and had not been reprimanded by any teacher, because he was everyone’s favorite, and rightfully so, but still - unfair.“

Thank you so much for the help, Number Four,” Five said.

“You’re welcome.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I know.”

“What did you want to tell us, Klaus?” Vanya said in a whisper that was very much like a plea.

Klaus pouted. “He’s not even listening to me.”

“When am I ever?” Five said before he added when Vanya narrowed her eyes at him: “What is up with you then, Klaus?”

“Loads of things,” Klaus said most unhelpfully. “I have a very fascinating life and I’m full of insights.”

“No he doesn’t,” Ben interrupted.

“What do you know about it, tentacle boy?” Klaus snapped, but Ben only smirked. “Anyway, I was thinking-”

“Dangerous pastime,” Five said. Vanya chuckled quietly.

“-because, you know, I was sitting right behind you, and I was trying not to pay attention to creepy puppet lady because I met her eye and I swear to god she winked at me-”

“In your dreams, maybe,” Ben quipped. 

“-which is scandalous since I’m saving myself for our Lord and savior Jesus Christ, thank you very much. Who are they even letting into our schools these days? God, everything is falling apart. Anyway, as I was saying… What was I saying?”

Vanya rolled her eyes so deeply Grace would warn her about getting stuck like this, and Five tried not to laugh at the face she made.

“Yes! Five. Right,” Klaus began again. “I was looking at your backs, and, lo and behold! You finally grew taller than her. Hurray! Can I get some applause for our little brother over here? I feel like we should applaud.”

Five turned to Vanya so fast he might have gotten whiplash and - for once, Klaus wasn’t lying. He was taller than her, for the first time since forever. Not that Five cared about petty business like that, except for how he did and he couldn’t shake the elation as his sister glanced up and down at him and grimaced in displeasure. (She used to be taller than all of them before they turned ten and Luther, Diego, Allison and Klaus started outgrowing her. Five and Ben still trailed behind. It was becoming embarrassing.)

Even then he just shrugged lazily and said: “Yeah, and?”“Come on, you can’t pretend you’re not happy about it.”

“Unlike you, Klaus, I don’t care about your nonsense, because I’m not a baby.”

“We’re literally all the same age,” Vanya pointed out. 

“I was obviously talking about a metaphorical baby.”

“Well, you’re a metaphorical jerk,” Klaus said, trying very hard not to sound whiny even though he totally was.

“Oh, that’s very clever-”

“Guys,” Vanya complained. “If you don’t stop talking so loud the teachers are going to yell at us-”

“So what? What are they gonna do? We saved this city, like, three times,” Klaus said, propping both his arms behind his chair lazily and starting to rock it. 

“I didn’t,” Vanya said, voice very small and entirely too bitter for a twelve-year-old.

“I’m so sorry, but that sounds like a you problem,” Klaus said, shrugging. 

At that, Vanya looked down and bit her lip and sat very still on her chair. Ben elbowed their brother in the ribs with a disapproving frown, which was probably meant, as Five would reason later, to prompt him to apologize to Vanya for hurting her feelings so callously, but only made him yelp very loudly in the middle of the hall and fall from his rocking chair in a tumble of lanky limbs. 

Somewhere on the other side of the room a very similar yelp and a very similar tumble of limbs echoed just as much as Luther was violently pushed off Diego’s shoulder and woken up from his nap.

The silence that followed this was very, very heavy on Five’s back, the only sound Vanya popping open her pill bottle - then looking up at Five with a gasp and a guilty look. Maybe it was because of the other kids craning their necks to see Klaus and Luther lying on their back in improbable positions. Maybe it was the puppet lady pausing her show for them. Maybe it was the calm before the teacher fell down on them with a hand too tight on their biceps and a snarl. 

Anyway, even as their teachers berated them with threats of detentions they wouldn’t dare give out, Five couldn’t help feeling giddy. He was, after all, finally taller than Vanya.

Of course, years and years later, he would learn that Vanya would be forever stuck at her twelve-year-old height and that every one of them would grow up to tower over her. Still. It was nice at the time. 

#this isn't exactly vanya centric and more about five and vanya as children i guess #also i'm sorry she doesn't talk more i wanted to but she's.... really quiet #i love my shy violin lesbian anyway. i support her #and i hope you still like it!! #my dumb ass deadass thought of this first because i was SO PROUD when i grew taller than one of my school friends #and then she just... never grew any taller than she was at twelve and now she's tiny and like. the decadence. a vanya mood #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #tua fic #vanya hargreeves #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #my fics #prompts #asks #thank you anon!!!! #anon #ask

[percywinchester27]

Would you please give me some advice on how to stop being sad everyday. One main reason is because my friend died about 4 years ago and I just keep thinking about it everyday and I can't stop it and sometimes that's not bad but then I think about dying and it scares like I don't want to kill myself I just mean like when I eventually die. Like it scares me so much that I have panic attacks and I cry instantly and 😫😫 then i cry for hours. Xx please help . Love you

Firstly, I am so, so sorry about your friend. That is never an easy thing to deal with. I know it feels unfair and you lie awake at night thinking “why?” It’s been almost 9 since I first lost a friend. It would be a lie if I said I took it well. It’s never easy and the people who tell you that “you should be over that by now” are idiots.

As far as the how to “stop being sad” part goes... I can tell you my trick. Now, I’ve only tried it on one person- me, but it is working well so far. I try to find a purpose to life. I have very little self worth generally. It’s very easy for me to feel useless and that I don’t matter, which is why I found work in a place that fights for causes that matter... like public health and it tries to make the city that I live in a better place. So, by the end of the day even if I am exhausted, there’s a small part of me that is happy that someone will benefit out of the hard work I put in today.

And I figured this trick out in college when I first associated myself with an Orphanage. I used to volunteer to teach those kids how to draw and I was their favorite cause unlike the math and science teacher, I would never be mad at them for screwing up a drawing. It made me feel loved. It helped with the sadness.

Nothing beats sadness more than knowing that you are helping someone with theirs. 

About the fear of dying, I assure you, you’re not the only one. Aren’t we all afraid? And it is natural to have anxiety if you go down the spiral of that particular thought. My thoughts on that whole concept is product of extreme overthinking and I am not sure it even helps me, but I’d suggest you have a heart to heart talk with the wisest person you know in real life, a parent figure or someone. Trust me, they won’t think it’s insane, there’s a chance that they’ve had anxiety over this at some point, too, and I am sure they’ll have some kind words to assuage your fears.

I love you, Nonnie! Stay strong and stay happy

Anonymously ask me “Would you...?”

#I generally suck at advice #but I hope I've at least helped you some #Nonnie #tumblr ask games #death tw #anxiety tw #panic attack tw #anaanswers

[waitineedaname]

Brunch Dates and Basketball

Here’s my secret santa gift for @toneelspeler​!!! I hope you like it and have a good holiday season <3

Also on AO3

---

“If I read the phrase ‘hypotonic solution’ again, I’m going to throw my book out of the window.”

“You know, if you’d actually listened to the lecture instead of texting your boyfriend - who you’d seen just an hour earlier, I’ll remind you - you might not have to review it so much.”

Isak sent Sana a sour look from across the table and finished scribbling down a sentence from his textbook. “You’re so mean. Aren’t study partners supposed to help you?”

“I am helping you.” She said with a slight smirk as she tapped on her laptop. “I’m emailing you a webpage on hypotonic solutions right now. It should explain it for you. Happy?”

Isak grumbled just for the sake of grumbling and clicked to his email. He opened up the link and let out a huge sigh. “You’re a lifesaver, Sanasol.”

“I know.” She shut her book and stood up. “Tea break?”

All too eager to have an excuse to stop glaring at his biology textbook, Isak followed at her heels to his tiny kitchen. Ever since she’d found out he was utterly useless when it came to making tea, she’d taken it upon herself to teach him - even going so far as to buying him a kettle for his birthday and convincing him to use it every time they got together to study.

(Honestly, Isak didn’t really mind. He’d come to realize tea wasn’t that bad when brewed properly, and his and Even’s collection of tea bags had quadrupled since Sana’s efforts started.)

Sana watched him dip his tea bag in and out of his mug until she was satisfied he knew what he was doing and took a sip of her own tea. They were both quiet for a moment, enjoying their tea and each other’s company, before she spoke up.

“So,” She said, somehow managing to look down her nose at Isak despite being a foot shorter him, “What do you think of double dates?”

Isak frowned, not following her drift. “I think… they exist?”

“No, I mean-” She huffed. “What do you think of going on one? You and Even, and me and Yousef.”

Isak stared at her in dumb silence and a grin slowly formed on his face. “Sana! What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” She shifted on her feet, clearly embarrassed.

“You’ve gotten all soft! I knew there was a romantic somewhere under that hard shell. Seems like Yousef’s had a good effect on you.” He teased with a wink.

She sputtered for a moment, gesturing as she tried to come up with an excuse before settling on a huff. “Whatever. You’re the sappy one, living the domestic life with your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” He grinned dopily, completely unfazed by her attempt at teasing him, “I’ve got it pretty good, huh.”

“Ugh.” She put her mug down in a dramatic display of annoyance. “I take back my invitation, you are not going on a double date with us.”

“No, Sana, wait!” Isak whined, stopping her before she could pretend to stomp out of the room. “I’d love to. Okay? I’ll have Even text Yousef, he loves planning this kind of thing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if deliberating whether or not to allow it. “...Fine. Your invitation is given back.” She rolled her eyes at his excited fist pump. “Come on, you need to get back to studying solutions.”

“Do I really?” He complained, dreading the sight of his notes again.

“Yes, you do really.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hall, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not having you say I didn’t help when you still only get a five.”

---

The date took a little while to organize. Between school for Sana and Isak, and Yousef and Even’s work schedules, it took some effort to find a perfect time they could all agree on. Or, at least, they all agreed on it until the day actually came and Isak realized it required him to get up earlier than noon on a Saturday.

“Baby,” Isak whined, clutching Even’s waist as he attempted to get out of bed, “Just five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.” Even’s laugh was far too bright for it being so early in the morning. (Yes, okay, it was 10 in the morning and wasn’t really that early, but Isak had gotten used to his routine of clinging to his boyfriend like a koala until 2pm every Saturday. It should be illegal to make plans for a meal earlier than lunch on the weekends.) “We really need to get up if we want to get there on time.”

“We’ll just cancel it.” Isak tugged Even, trying to drag him back under the covers, but he held fast. For someone so skinny, he really could be solid sometimes.

“You know Sana would never let you live that down.” Even grabbed his arms and pulled him, complaining all the way, into a sitting position. He kissed Isak’s nose and tried - and failed - to hide his delight at how much his boyfriend looked like an angry kitten when he was this groggy. “Come on. If you get up now, I promise to make you that homemade tomato soup tonight.”

“...Promise?”

“I promise.” Even kissed him lightly and Isak could feel his resolve slipping. Really, who could say no to good food and a kiss from a boyfriend like his?

Despite finally agreeing to get up, Isak was still tired and a bit grumpy as he and Even walked into the cafe - enough so that Sana had to stifle a snort in her coffee at the sight of him. Yousef, the saint he was, ignored the fact that Isak looked like he was ready to file a personal complaint against whoever invented mornings and greeted the two of them with a broad smile.

“Sorry we’re late,” Even gave them an apologetic smile, sitting opposite Sana after ordering for himself and Isak at the counter. “It was a little bit difficult to get out of bed this morning.” Isak dropped himself heavily into the chair next to him, muttering bitterly about how they should’ve organized something the evening when he would actually be conscious. Sana’s soft laughter was getting more difficult to hide and he shot her a sharp look, to which she only smiled innocently.

Yousef, clearly using every ounce of his resolve to hold back a laugh of his own, nodded at his friend. “We only just got here too, don’t worry. We’ve only ordered drinks so far - oh! And we ordered for you guys, if that’s okay.” He added as an afterthought, gesturing to bring their attention the two extra mugs of coffee in front of them.

“Thank fuck.” Isak immediately grabbed his and a fistful of sugar packets, emptying them all into the drink at record speed. He started to take a sip, then paused when he found everyone’s eyes on him, expressions in various degrees of amusement. “...What? Keep talking, I just need to wake up.”

That seemed to be a good enough excuse for the three of them and Even quickly launched into an animated conversation with Yousef. Isak ignored all of them, instead opting to blow gently on his cup of coffee and lean on his boyfriend’s shoulder until he’d drunk enough to become a functioning member of the conversation. As chance would have it, his brain finally decided to turn on and tune into what was being said just as his name came out of Sana’s mouth.

“-and since apparently Isak has never heard of a brain to mouth filter in his life, he looked the teacher dead in the eyes and, instead of answering her question-” She looked at Isak and smirked, noticing his newfound attentiveness. Isak could only groan, knowing what came next. “-he looked her in the eyes and asked why she never wears a bra.”

“In my defense!” Isak yelled, shoving Even slightly when he burst into hysterical laughter. “In my defense, I was running on maybe an hour of sleep and I’d just had to deal with Magnus talk about Vilde’s boobs for like forty-five minutes, so I was a little pissy.”

“When aren’t you pissy, Isak?” Sana threw back at him, and, well, Isak didn’t really have a response for that.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve all done something like that.” Yousef made eye contact with Even and grinned. “Do you remember that time in physics?”

“Which time? I embarrassed myself a lot in that class.”

“So, this was during the American election, right?” Yousef started, ignoring Even’s interruption of “oh, that time”. “And we were all talking about Donald Trump - me, Even, and this other girl in our class. We’re all getting really pissed because, you know, it’s Trump, and the girl brought up something new he’d said, and Even just said at the top of his lungs- what was it?”

“Donald Trump can eat my dick.” Even said it with the confidence of a man who had seen hell and couldn’t give a shit anymore. Beside him, Isak just barely stopped himself from spitting out his drink. “And the worst part was the teacher was standing right behind me and had heard every word. He just stared at him in stunned silence for a solid minute and half, and I don’t think he ever looked at me the same way again.”

“You failed that class, didn’t you?”

“Oh, big time. I think I made a pretty consistent two in any class that required math. Plus, you were in that class, and I’m pretty sure we both dragged each other down.”

“Not a math fan, Yousef?” Sana half turned towards him, her eyes twinkling. Yousef laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, not really.”

“He once sat there for three minutes, trying to remember what six times three was.” Even laughed, and Sana joined him. Yousef looked embarrassed for half a moment, but Sana’s hand slipped into his and gently squeezed, and suddenly he seemed incapable of looking anything but ridiculously happy. Yousef squeezed back and turned his grin to Even.

“It’s a good thing us math failures are fortunate enough to be with the two smartest people in Nissen, huh?”

“Well, you’re fortunate enough.” Sana teased. “I don’t know if I’d call Even lucky to have Isak.”

“I’m right here!” Isak squawked, but Sana just smirked back at him. Yousef not-so-subtly leaned across the table and stage-whispered to Isak.

“Don’t worry, she’s told me all about you. She says you’re one of the smartest people she knows, but you didn’t hear that from me.” He put a finger to his lips to imply secrecy, despite having whispered loud enough for the rest of the table to hear him.

“Aw, Sanasol,” Isak preened under the compliment and his smug expression only increased when he saw how Sana was fidgeting, “Did you really say that?”

“I-” She seemed to search for an excuse and, upon finding none, she sighed and gave him a smile. “You’re useful.”

The grin that put on Isak’s face lasted all the way through their brunch date, and he was still feeling smug when they left the restaurant and made their way down the sidewalk towards the park.

It was a crisp day in Oslo, and dead leaves crunched under their feet. Isak had one of his hands shoved deep in his pocket and the other one was kept warm by Even’s hand. A few paces ahead of them, Sana and Yousef both had their hands in their pockets, jackets hefted up high and shoulders brushing affectionately. As they meandered their way into the park, they spotted a long abandoned soccer ball and shared a look that Isak didn’t understand but was sure was some inside joke of theirs.

Yousef broke away from Sana’s side, dribbling the ball between his feet and then kicking it upwards towards her. She laughed brightly and caught it, turning towards Isak and Even with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Two on two?” She said, gesturing to the two of them, then towards herself and Yousef.

“Are you challenging me, the master of football?” Isak grinned.

“No. We’re playing basketball.” She challenged, bouncing the ball at her feet a couple times.

“Basketball? That’s not even a basketball!”

“It bounces well enough! You’re just worried I’ll beat you.”

“No I’m not! I think you’re just too scared to leave your comfort zone. You gotta branch out with your sports, Sana!” That made her roll her eyes, and she gave up on him in favor of turning to their boyfriends.

“What about you two?”

“I’m actually with Sana.” Even admitted, laughing embarrassedly at the outraged noise that drew out of Isak. “Baby, you’ve seen me play football. You know I’m terrible.”

“So that’s three against four!” Sana declared, looking smug.

“Sorry Sana, but I think I’m with Isak here.” She whirled around and stared at Yousef, stunned. “It is a soccer ball, you know.”

It took a couple minutes of back and forth before they finally decided on a compromise: they’d play basketball, and every time Isak or Yousef scored, they’d switch to football until Sana or Even could score. They found themselves running around the park, laughing and jeering. Isak really was terrible at basketball, despite the several inches of height he had over Sana, but Yousef was good enough to make it so that they’d cycle through the sports pretty quickly. The same went for Sana and Even’s team; Even hadn’t been lying when he said he was terrible at football, but Sana was deceptively quick on her feet and kicked Isak and Yousef’s asses with ease.

They lasted like that for a while, following the rules of their respective games and the ones they’d made up, but as time went on, they dissolved further and further into just kicking and throwing the ball, caring more for having fun than following their rules. By the time Sana’s phone was announcing Zuhr, they were all flushed with exertion and the chilly air.

The fact that it was time for a prayer effectively ended their game, and after a few tight hugs and the assurance that they’d do this again soon, both couples headed off in opposite directions.

Isak could feel Even’s eyes on him as they walked home, clasped hands swinging between them. He did his best to ignore it, but after a few moments, he couldn’t help himself.

“What?” He asked, turning his face to meet Even’s adoring gaze.

“Nothing.” Even squeezed his hand, his eyes crinkling happily. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.” He didn’t say it, but Isak knew there was more to it than that. How lucky I am to be here. How lucky I am to be back in contact with Yousef. How lucky I am to be with you.

Isak smiled and squeezed back. He couldn’t verbalize it either, but when he thought about how good his life was now, how happy he was with Even, and how grateful he was for Sana’s friendship, he was couldn’t help but think about how out of all the parallel universes out there, he was glad to be in this one.

“Yeah,” He answered simply, “I’m pretty lucky too.”

#skam secret santa #skam #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #sana bakkoush #yousef acar #evak #yousana #my writing #okay to reblog

[silverthunderstorm98-blog]

The Math Teacher. (STUDENT X TEACHER...18+ story)

Catalina was sitting in her room studying for the upcoming math test. Being the nerd of the school, everyone was picking on her and was trying to make her feel like shit, everyone except her math teacher, Mr. Tyler Knight. At the age of 23 he is already teaching for 2 years and Catalina had a crush on him. "Honey, I just wanted to inform you that dad and I will leave for the wekend, we will go to the mountain cabin. Do you need anything else except money?" "No mom I am fine, have fun guys!" With a kiss from her mother and father she goes back to studying. Her long blond hair is up in a messy bun, her crop top clutching to her chest and her small booty-shorts are simple comfortable for her. Suddenly someone knocks on the door and she ruhses sown to answer it, forgetting completely what she was wearing. At schools she is a shy girl who wears baggy clothes, two numbers larger that what she wears inside her house. She opens the door, not looking at who is it and she rushes to talk. "What did you forget guys?" The door opens and her crystal blue eyes widen to their limits. Her math teacher, Mr Knight is standing their with dark eyes, scanning her body up and down and holding her...notebook. Catalina looks down at her feet and sees her almost naked legsand then it hits her, she opened teh door in just her tight booty shorts and mini crop top.A blush goes to her face making her cheeks bright red as her teacher clears his throat and shakes his head, looking deep into her eyes with his dark green eyes. "Um...I am sorry for the disturbance but you forgot your notebook at class and I thought that you will need it." "D-Did you open it?" Fuck my stutter, why can't I be normal for once in my life? "No, of course not. So how is studying going?" "Um...good. Would you like to come in for a drink maybe?" He scans my body again and this time he licks his lips, and just like that my blush is back. "I would love that, thank you Catalina." I close the door behind me and we go to the kitchen. "You look different Catalina, why is that?" As I purr jis coffee in the mug he slowly comes behind me as he asks the question. I was sure that he would do something inappropriate but he only reached for sugar at the top cupboard. As I was tip toeing to reach it he puts an arm around my bare waist to stabilize me and he slowly puts down the jar with the sugar. "There you are." The tip of his hands caress softly my bare skin, making my breath hitch and my blush to hit my face again. "T-Thank you." And he goes back to his seat like nothing happened but I can feel my private areas clenching. God, what is happening to me? As we drink our coffees I find it easy to talk to him because we have so many things in common. "Now would you like me to help you with the test?" "This is not fair for the other students, I mean I would really like your help but I can't do this." As I stand and take the mugs to the sink I think again over and over how dark his eyes were and how sensual that licking of his lips, is. "Catalina, I am  not going to give you the answers I just want to know how you are doing, come in let's go to your room." He walks ahead of me and waits for me to show him my room. As soon as I step in there, I spot my black lacy bra hanging from my desk cahir and he slowly walks towards it. "No! Don't go there. I-I mean please you can sit on the bed, it's more comfortable." He raises his eyebrows and nods. He takes of his suit jacket and tie and unbuttons the first two buttons. "Okay let's see you work on some problems." He writes down three problems and gives them back. As I start solving it a few pieces of hair start falling in my eyes and I push them back every now and then. As I am solving the last problemI feel a hand going to my neck and slowly trailing to my hair. "W-What are you doing?" "Keep writing sweetheart, I am just keeping your hair up." And he takes a fistful of hair and gently pulls them back. "S-Stop, please." I try to move away from him and thank God he does but not before leaving a soft kiss on the side of my neck. I pull myself away from him and finish. "I am done." I give it back and tun my back to him because I can't even look at him. My neck is still on fire from his little kiss, I have never been kissed before and I have never had a boyfriend before. "This is all wrong, you are going to fail." That makes me turn around and go to his side just to check them. "What? Mr. Tyler I know that they are right, I-I double checked them," "And I say that you will fail my sweet Cataline except..." He throws away the paper and in a flash his arm is around my waist bringing me against him. I can feel something hars poking my stomach so I look down between us and I can see the blulge. Panic starts suffocating me and I try to push away from his hard body but it'HAND AND PUTS s useless. "Shh, now listen up. You and your little body are driving me fucking insane, I wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless until you forget your name. But you always find a way to avoid me and I know that you want me." As he speaks her bends down and starts leaving kisses all over my neck going slowly to my exposed clevage. "P-Please, let me go, please don't do this." I have my eyes tightly closed. I can't explain this weird feeling, I am getting hot and I can feel wetness escaping my pussy. I know that it's arousal but it scares me since it's the first time I have ever felt that. "I lied, I did read your notebook and I want to make that wet dream of yours come true. I want to lick your pussy and then have you wrapped around my dick as I pund inside your little body. Do you feel this?" He takes my hand and puts it forcefully on his hard clothed dick. My blush becomes worse and I try to move away from him. "I-I have never...please let me go and I will not tell anyone." Instead of letting me go he walks us to my bed and as soon as the back of my knees touch the edge of the bed I fall on it and he falls on top of me. "Baby, Catalina, I know that you are a virgin and I really want to be with you. You are a senior, we can keep it low until you graduate and then we can openly be together. I want you because you are so innocent, so beautiful, and I love it every time you smile or blush and all I dream about is you. I know that you want me, I have this weird feeling every time are close and I really want to be with you." His hands go up and down on my legs and slowly he makes me wrap them around him, my hands on their own accordgo around his neck and my mouth falls on him. I have never kissed a man and I really don't know what to do so I just peck him and pull back. "Fuck, I want you." He growls and his mouth falls hungrily on mine, this time kissing me with force and I just can't keep up so I turn my head away. "Please go slower, this is my first kiss." I look up at his deep green eyes and a small smile goes to his lips. "I am sorry baby, I will go slower, whatever my princess wants." He comes closer and slowly he nibbles at my lower lip, making me moan and respong with a small nibble on his upper lip. He groans and our lips meet, slowly melting together with soft pecks and nibbles. His hand goes under my crop top and caresses my belly, his tongue licks my lips asking for entance and I slowly open up for him. Our tongues meet and I feel like foreworks explode behind my closed eyelids. His hand goes higher and I tighten my legs around him, bringinf his hard cock against my hot pussy. I grind against him as his hand squeezes my breast and his fingers pinch my nipple. "Tyler..Oh God, Tyler please fuck me." He growls against my neck and in an instant he rips open my crop top. I gasp and try to cover my breasts but he pins my hands on each side of my head and slowly bends his head to take a nipple in his mouth, his hot mouth closing around my flesh has my back arched to him and my hands being free again, grab roughly his hairpushing him towards me. "Ahh, please Tyler." I moan as he sucks my tits and his hand goes to my shorts. "Can I play with your pussy baby? Prepare you for my cock?" He kisses the space between my breasts and looks up at me. "Yes, yes please make me come." "Is this your first orgasm baby?" His fingers go around my shorts and underwear, he looks up one more time and I nod. Slowly he pulls them down and his eyes bever leaving mine until he pulls them completely ofd my body. "Spread your beautiful legs baby, open up for me." I shyly bite my lip and open my legs, slowly, teasing him and gaining some time for me, I can feel wetness leaking down my thighs. He locks his stare with my bare pussy and he starts undressing. Whis his black shirt is off I can see his magnificent body, his broas shoulders and tight six-pack, his deep V which leads my stare to his hard manhood. As soon as he is fully naked I feel my fears getting the best of me and I close my legs as he goes to climb between them. "I-I am afraid, I can't do this, you will not fit." "I will fit baby, maybe it will be a little uncomfortable but I will fir." He puts his hands on my knees and opens them up himself this time but as I try to close them again, his hot tongue licks me from bottom to top. My legs fall open wide and he throws them over his shoulders as he keeps eating me out. I moan and grind against his face and he takes my clit between his teeth and sucks it in his mouth. A finger goes to my entance and opens me up like a flower, his smouth falls there and his tongue goes slowly around me, gathering my juices and then it goes in and that's when I scream from pleasure. "Tyler! Oh my...yes, yes like that Tyler, please...ahh don't stop." Something hot id building inside me and it gets closer with every lick he gives. "Come for me baby." He commands and thrusts two fingers inside me, pumping them in and out of me. At first I felt a small pain because I have never been stretched in there but God, his tongue on my clit makes everything feel amazing. As he pumps jis fingers suddenly he curls them inside me and hits my spot causing me to cry out and then I feel a wave of pleasure taking over my body and light explodes behind my eyes. "Oh fuck, Tyler!" I scream as he keeps licking all my juices. He starts kissing my body, taking his sweet time, my legs, my hip bones, stomach and again my tits, he growls each time he sucks my nipples in his mouth it's like he is tasting me all over again. As he reaches my lips and kisses me I can taste myself and suprisingly I moan against him. His body nestling against mine and slowly I can feel his erection rubbing against me. I tighten my legs around him making his cock to slide between my folds and nudge my virgin entrance. "Are you ready baby?" He murmrurs against my lips and rubs his dick back and forth between my folds, using my juices for lube. "Can you please be gentle?" "I will try to be as gentle as possible." He pushes forward causing the tip to slowly slip inside me and I gasp from the pain. I clutch tightly his shoulders, digging my nails in as I try to take breaths. "Shh baby, I know, I know but I will have to thrust so I can break your hymen, baby please forgive me." He says and before I can stop him he draws back and slams inside me, splitting me in two and sending his cock in my deepest, secret paths. He is huge and he throbs inside me but thank God he doesn't move. "Fuck, you are so fucking tight baby, your sweet pussy wrapped like a tight silky glove around my hard cock, my balls resting on your beautiful ass and I will make sure to take you again and again so I can slap my balls against this little tight ass of yours." Oh my heart, his dirty talk is doing things to me and I feel my walls tighten around him. "Let me move baby, tell me that I can move." "I am okay, it's okay. I need you to fuck me." He goes out and slowly slides inside me then keps steady again giving me time. "Baby we are making love, after you are used to my cock I will show you how the real fuck is done." He smashes his lips on mine as he starts going in and out. As he pulls completely out of me my body craves him and I run my nails along his back. He thrusts back inside meand the pain slowly fades and in its place the sweetest pleasure comes. "Hmm Tyles, yeas baby, like that. Split me with your big cock, make me yours." He bites my neck and curses as he starts thrisuting inside me with force making the bed bang against the wall. "Yes! Don't stop, harder please, faster." I scream as I feel my orgasm closing again. He takes my legs and puts them around his neck and goes to his knees. That way he thrusts even  faster and ahrder inside me, rubbing against my G-spot and sending me over the edge. I scream his name and close my eyes as my orgasm takes over me and my walls suck him inside me, robbing him of his seed. He groans my name and throws his head back causing his tendons to stretch and as he yells out my name he starts ejaculating hard inside me, every shot of semen feels like a thrust inside me. "Fuck baby, I love you." He says and shocks me but I can feel it inside me too. As he falls on top of me I put my arms and legs around him, keeping him to me. "I love you too Tyler, from the first moment you walked in I feel in love with you." Slowly he keeps his weight on his elbows and raises his head, our noses touch softly. "I love you too Catalina. ypu were the only girl I wanted to lose my virginity to, thank you." My eyes widen in shock and he kisses me roughly. Holy Crap! He was a virgin too?

[chelsea--writes]

Introducion Post

(the uni student in me thinks i have to write every post like an essay so stay tuned to see if I grow out of that)

I've always wanted to have and write my own blog but up until now I was scared of people truly knowing me. I only just turned 23 so i know I'm still young and someone older could read this and be like whaaat, but regardless of that i feel like i have a lot to say, I've been through a lot and i'm finally ready to be open.

trigger warning: eating disorder, self harm, and more. (i don't go into detail too much and towards the end wrap things up quickly)

My name is Chelsea, i was born on the 7th June 1996. Obviously no one has memories from being a baby (but looking back at the pictures i reckon i was pretty cute. ha) so my first memory i remember clearly was when I was 3 or 4 years old. I had drawn on the walls with crayon, my mum found it cute, my father overreacted and hit me, sent me to my room and he didn't want to hear a peep from me. As a tiny 4 year old i don't remember much but that scarred me which thinking back to seems dumb.

When the time came for me to begin nursery, i didn't speak to my teacher for a whole year, when approached i would nod or shake my head, i wouldn't answer the register either... my teacher would call out my classmates names "...Demi?" "yes miss" "...Matthew?" "yes miss" "...Chelsea?" and i was silent. I would shake, i was scared to death and thinking about it, there's probably a connection to why I've been shy most of my life. Teachers have tried countless times to help me overcome it, from at nursery when Mrs Triska nominated me to play Mary in the nativity play and i dropped the baby Jesus doll and ran off because i was scared to in year 6 when Mrs Howard gave me a big speaking part in the leavers assembly and again i ran away. And even in high school, i was always described as reserved, quiet, shy but "always a pleasure to teach" which was good enough to keep my parents off my back.

I started to gain confidence in year 10, not in myself but in my abilities, my art abilities that is. Being encouraged in my art lessons in high school was the best thing ever. and since losing my nan in 2007 (the same year i started high school) being in art made me feel the same kind of safe I'd only ever felt with her, so in a way i filled the hole in my heart with art.

Art helped me though many dark times i faced at high school, most things i kept hidden but i struggled with an eating disorder ( i wouldn't eat and if i felt eyes on me, i would and later make myself sick in the toilets, i wore thick pyjamas underneath my uniform to hide my weightloss and no one batted an eyelid for 5 years - this crept up on me later in my life but that's another story) i struggled with self harm (my ankles mostly, because i could always keep them hidden and the one time in P.E when a student noticed blood on my sock and i said i caught my leg on the door) i struggled with my parents constantly fighting during year 8, feeling useless, hopeless and at one point i was suicidal - i told one friend about this and she helped me through it, just by listening and keeping my secret. But regardless of all of my struggles, art had my back and i knew during those lessons nothing could hurt me.

Results day came at the end of year 11 and obviously i failed maths (maths and i do not get along) but i got my highest grade in Art which i remember crying with happiness over. The one subject that i loved, i felt loved me back.

i started college in 2012, studied art of course and my confidence grew even more, to the point i believed that maybe, just maybe i could go to university. and i did. I studied fine art and ended up graduating with first class honours, again i struggled with my eating disorder ( the thing about EDs is that they never go away, you can recover and help yourself but the voice inside my head remains.) and i began to struggle with self harm and suicidal thoughts again, but one subject repeatedly took me away from my dark mind and was there for me.

Now? I'm about to graduate from university again with a masters degree in photography, after finding a love for it in 2016, (my darkest year.) i am able to do presentations in front of crowds confidently and this skill has leaded me to apply to learn to be a teacher from september 2020 which I'm so excited for. i want to teach the subject that saved me in hopes it does the same for someone else. i want to become like the teachers that have inspired and encouraged me to be where i am today. teaching just seems like a rewarding career and i feel it'll make my heart happy seeing the impact art can have on a person.

I've learned that once you find something you're passionate about, never let it go and spread it around with all the love you have. Passion for something like a subject can save you and no matter what you're going through, be the one that rescues you. surrender to it and let it help.

aaand wow if you read that far thank u so much. please reach out for help if you need it (call 116 123, Samaritans)

lots of love

Chelsea

[theotherrookie]

Since this is under a cut I won't watch my language. So, you've been warned.

I really needed to get it off my chest.

So, new year’s starting and I'm already so pissed I'd rather close my hand in a drawer over and over and over instead of waking up at 6 AM, put up with an hour on a bus full of mostly sick people and that might not even make it to the destination at all, and attend lessons I couldn't be less interested in.

I'm tired, I can't bring myself to find a point to all this shit, and if there is, then it's probably that I'm doing it so people will shut up and leave me alone. But while I'm quite used to doing things because I have to and not because I want to, I'm tired of putting up with all this crap they call the Educational System. I could go on for a hours listing everything wrong with this hell of a university, but I'll just talk about this morning.

This morning, a Saturday morning, I had to wake up at 6 AM to go take an exam. A goddam English exam which is extremely useless given how incompetent are the people that teach this subject and what it's actually done in class. But guess what? They do their best to make it needlessly hard to pass. But aside from this, what pissed me off is what happened before the exam. We had to be there for 9 o'clock. All 500 of us got there well before that time, the teachers didn't arrive till half an hour later and they didn't even have the tests with them. First, they told some of us to go in another class on the second floor, because they happened to notice that some people were sitting outside of the class because there’s 300 sits and even we can do that math. Then, they sent more of us in another class and left us freezing in there, because of course the heathers weren't working, for another half an hour. Finally, at 10:35, we finally got to do the test. Too bad I was already too out of it to do things properly.

Now, I don't know what's going on with me, if something's wrong or it's just me making things bigger than they actually are, but I just can't keep up with uni anymore. Even when I try to read, the words just go over my head and I can't concentrate on anything. I've been studying for part two of this fucking test for a good two weeks, if I didn't pass part one I'll be extremely pissed because, first, I wasted two weeks of my time, adding to the stress related to some personal matters, and second, because I'm supposed to get done with this shit by the end of the year but I can't because there are four fucking subjects where they just do their best to slow you down so you have to pay for another year.

I'm tired of this but there’s no way out.

#it's just me ranting about things #I needed it because I'm fed up with everything #long story short #I hate uni

[jobethdalloway]

Prompt: we’re both prefects and we broke up a food fight in the great hall, but it got messy and dungbombs were involved, and now we’re both disgusting and in immediate need of a bath, and it’s okay, we can both use the prefects’ bathroom at the same time, i promise i won’t look

(btw, heads-up for a Brooklyn Nine Nine reference!)

"What the hell...?"

"Rizzoli!"

"Isles!"

"Get your house in order!"

"Don't tell me what to do! Get YOUR damn house in order!"

Maura dodged a large spoonful of mashed potatoes from one of the Weasley twins, which wound up smacking Vincent Crabbe square in the face. Jane saw a mischievous glint flash through the anger in Maura's eyes, and Jane flared up.

"You wanna go? Throw something at me, Queen of the Dead, bring it on!" When Maura did nothing but continue to glare, Jane said, "I'll even strike first!" and she grabbed a turkey leg and threw it at Maura.

Maura whipped out her wand and silently halted the turkey leg mid-air before letting it fall to the ground. "You'll have to wake up earlier in the morning than that, Rizzoli, if you want to-"

This time, Jane grabbed a handful of mashed yams, and Maura learned the hard way that a freezing spell was not very effective against less solid food. It splattered not only her face but her pristine clothing, and for several moments she was frozen in shock.

"I think you broke her," Angelina observed. "Well done!"

Jane wanted to laugh, but couldn't tell if Maura was still angry and thus if laughter would be cruel. Her face was covered by too many yams to be able to read her expression. In the blink of an eye, she magicked an enormous bowl of Brussel sprouts at Jane, where they pummeled her as painfully as paintball bullets. While Jane was distracted trying to fend them off, Maura picked up a spinach quiche, walked over, and smashed it in her face.

"How's that?" Maura asked, yelling over the food fight intensifying around them.

Though she was laughing, Jane sputtered, "Well I hate spinach and I don't love quiche, so..." She wiped the gooey green substance out of her eyes and tried to blink.

Maura moved close enough to whisper in her ear: "Oh, that's too bad." She ran her finger down Jane's cheek and sucked the quiche off. "I really love it." She winked before she walked back to her table, leaving Jane rooted to the spot.

The food fight had gotten so loud and out of control, nobody - not even Jane's friends - had noticed one of Slytherin's prefects coming on so strong to one of Gryffindor's.

Maura jumped when something wet was sloshed against her backside; she turned to see Jane holding the now-empty bowl of yams, which she promptly dropped as she walked to the Slytherin table.

"D-do you like yams?" she asked, her hand wavering near Maura's waist. "I could clean that up for you if you want."

Maura pursed her lips, trying to fight off a smile. "Big, bad, brave Gryffindor," she murmured.

They had been dancing around a mutual attraction for weeks, and this was the most direct Maura had ever been with her. Jane was so warm, she felt like she was on fire - which she soon realized she was. She jumped and looked around for something to douse her robes with, and then remembered her wand. She was about to put it out with a charm, but Maura had acted first, dumping a vat of mulled apple juice on her robes.

Jane meant to thank her, but then she saw a chafing dish at the floor near her feet. "Did one of your heathen students throw that at me?"

"Is one of those awful ginger twins about to throw a dungbomb?!"

Most of the teachers had filed out of the Great Hall before this all began. Dumbledore contended that a food fight was a healthy way for the students to exhaust themselves of nervous energy, and he was too absorbed in his magazine to pay much attention to the goings-on. The only remaining faculty were the heads of houses, on hand in case any of their students got dangerously rowdy.

"Oh, I think I've seen quite enough!" snapped McGonagall, leaning over Dumbledore to look at Snape. "Gregory Goyle just threw a chafing dish and the fire under it at Jane Rizzoli!"

"Don't work yourself into a dither, Minerva," he said, not returning her gaze but rather staring out into the melee with boredom. "Rizzoli may be muggle-born, but I believe after more than four years of magical education, she ought to be up to the task of completing a simple dousing charm - or are you worried your prefect isn't capable of such a simple-"

There was a small explosion, and almost the entire student body fled the Great Hall. George's dungbomb had gone off, a new prototype he and Fred had developed over the summer which was more powerful and painful than any other on the market. When the rotten-egg-smelling smoke had cleared, Jane and Maura were revealed to be the only students left in the hall. Both were trying to locate the dungbomb with the intent of vanishing it.

McGonagall and Snape approached, looking none too pleased; both appeared to have conjured a full-body of a Bubblehead charm, which Jane and Maura assumed was intended to keep the dungbomb’s stench from sticking to them. 

"I would have hoped for better behavior from prefects!" McGonagall said, eyeing the food splattering both girls' clothes. "Would either of you care to offer an explanation for this disaster?"

Out of devotion to their students and a desire not to be a tattle-tale, neither spoke at first.

"Miss Isles?" Snape prompted her.

"Well, Harry Potter started it by throwing a turnip at Draco Malfoy," she said. "But-"

"Potter, hm?" said Snape, shooting McGonagall an unsurprised look.

"That's only because Malfoy called his friend a mudblood!" Jane protested. Glaring at Snape, she missed the sympathetic expression on Maura's face. "If you ask me, Malfoy's lucky it was a turnip and not a hex!"

"Such tolerance in Gryffindor house," Snape said with a sneer. "If you truly believe hexes are the answer to name-calling, perhaps you would be better-suited for Durmstrang, rather than the office of a Hogwarts prefect."

Jane looked at McGonagall incredulously, and her head of house did not disappoint: "You would do well to ensure your students know the difference between name-calling and blood epithets, Severus," she said. "And that goes for you as well, Miss Isles. It would behoove you and Miss Rizzoli to learn how to better de-escalate inter-house tension."

"Yes ma'am," Maura said, staring resolutely ahead.

"Which class are you off to?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts."

McGonagall's nostrils flared at the thought of her students, especially the beloved Jane Rizzoli, being subjected to the awful woman posing as a professor for that course. "Yes - well, as punishment for failing to meet our expectations as prefects, you will both be one class behind your classmates."

"What's that now?" Jane asked in confusion.

"In case you have failed to realize it, Miss Rizzoli, the pair of you smell worse than a squid ruminating on spoiled beets," McGonagall went on. "Subjecting your classmates to this stench would no doubt be a dark art of its own, and I insist you both take this next period to bathe and cleanse yourselves. I will speak with Professor Umbridge about your absence; rest assured, this is a house matter."

Snape merely nodded his consent, and Jane and Maura turned to leave the Great Hall together.

"I feel like McGonagall kind of gave us a break back there," Jane said once they were far out of earshot.

Maura looked tense. "Normally the thought of skiving off class would give me hives, but I have to admit I doubt we're missing anything by skipping Umbridge. What a joke."

"What a jerk, more like," Jane scoffed. "We're probably on the brink of war any day now, and she doesn't want us getting any practical experience!"

"An utter embarrassment. I've taken to practicing spells myself between classes, since she's so useless. I even give myself homework sometimes," she admitted with a small laugh.

Jane chuckled too. It was easy to picture Maura holed up in a classroom, teaching herself hexes and spells on her own. She seemed like a solitary person, which Jane could only imagine was by design. After all she was a beautiful, intelligent pureblood in Slytherin; Jane was sure there must've been dozens of kids in that house dying to be her friend. Jane was tempted to tell Maura about Dumbledore's Army, because surely defense against the dark arts was best practiced with other people. But she wasn't sure how thrilled the others would be with a Slytherin joining the group.

"How come you're nice to me?" Maura asked out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Most Gryffindors wouldn't buddy up to a Slytherin if their lives depended on it."

"Most Gryffindors are stupid that way. Don't tell them I said that, though." She smiled when that got Maura to chuckle. "What about you, Isles? You're in Slytherin, but you don't seem to be a muggle-hater or otherwise a dick."

Maura laughed again, but this time it was sour. "You know what I am?"

"Hot?"

Maura stopped in her tracks, as did Jane, who looked horrified that the word had slipped out. After a few moments of painful awkward silence, Jane cleared her throat and kept walking.

"Do you think so?" Maura asked, sounding pleased.

"What were you going to say?"

Maura smiled, deciding to leave it for now and show that Slytherins could be nice. "I am ambitious, I’m resourceful, I’m determined, I'm intelligent, I'm loyal but prefer to work alone, I'm very hardworking and I take pride in my accomplishments. I'm also a pureblood," she added as an afterthought.

"So it's kind of like a rectangle-square thing," Jane said.

"A what?"

"It's like Slytherins and bad people. How all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles." When Maura did nothing but frown, Jane sighed, "this is why wizards need to teach their kids math. It's basic geometry."

"I get your intended point, I just think it's a flawed syllogism," Maura snapped. "You're saying that because you know me, you know not all Slytherins are bad. And believe me, I know, my house has a reputation. But with your analogy, all bad people are Slytherins?"

"Well...that's just a thing people say, isn't it?" Jane asked awkwardly. "There's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin?"

"What half-baked, prejudiced first year did you overhear saying that?" Maura balked. "You really think that every person who was ever sorted into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor has gone on to be a total angel?"

It was hard to imagine any Hufflepuff going rogue, but Jane had to concede Maura had a point. After all, hadn't Harry Potter himself said in their first DA meeting that the wizard who helped Voldemort come back had been a Gryffindor? She shivered at the thought.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was stupid of me, you're right."

Maura was silent for a few moments, then muttered, "You sound just like my parents."

"What?"

"My parents went to school here, but moved to France after they graduated. That’s where I was born and where I grew up - and where I learned geometry, by the way,” she added snidely. “I was invited to attend Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, but my father had just accepted a position at the Ministry, so we moved to England. All of that is to say, I grew up outside of the anti-Slytherin culture produced here, and I think my parents just took it as a given that I would be a Ravenclaw like they were, so they never discussed the houses much with me. I was so excited to be sorted, and wrote them at once to tell them about it."

"What'd they say?"

Maura chuckled mirthlessly. "I can tell you word-for-word, because the reply was so short: 'We are surprised to hear you are in Slytherin. Good luck with classes.'" She sighed and shook her head. "I went home for Christmas and overheard them arguing one night. One of my aunts refused to visit while I was there. She didn't want her young kids consorting with a Slytherin. That's how I found out I was adopted, actually," she added. "It came up in their fight. My dad implied my birth parents might've Slytherins."

Jane was stunned. "Were they?"

"I don't know, I've never tried to find out anything about them. I just heard my mother mention their pureblood status and then I left. I didn't want to hear anymore. Given my dad's comment and his feelings about Slytherins, though, I'm not sure they're people I want to know." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, that was the last time I went home for Christmas. I don't want to cause any unnecessary family drama just by showing up."

Jane followed Maura to the prefects' bathroom as if in a daze. Coming from such a warm family herself, it was mind-numbing to imagine Maura's could be so distant. Her mind was buzzing, trying to come up with something comforting to say as Maura gave the password for the bathroom ("fizzy lifting drinks") and turned on the nearest faucet for the pool-sized tub.

"Do you wish you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw?" Jane blurted out, desperate for the silence to end.

Maura frowned, undoing her robe. "The Sorting Hat considered putting me in there," she said. "And who knows; maybe if I'd been aware of the deep-seeded mistrust of Slytherins in our society, I'd have asked for Ravenclaw. The Hat could tell I was indecisive and said it thought I could..." She blushed, fumbling with her tie, not wanting to sound conceited. "It said I could really distinguish myself in Slytherin, like I could really be someone special and go far." That had been a very attractive promise to a lonely child desperate to make her neglectful parents proud. "Is it weird that I feel bad for letting down a Hat?"

"Are you kidding? You didn't let anyone down! Except maybe your dipshit parents, but they're dipshits," Jane said, getting Maura to laugh a little. "Come on, seriously. I think you ARE distinguishing yourself. In Ravenclaw, you'd just have been another brain. In Slytherin, you get to be this amazing, intelligent, unique prefect who actually cares about helping out. That food fight may not have been a great example, but most of the time I feel like you have my back. I think you change the way a lot of people see Slytherins."

"Aw, Jane."

"Hm?"

"That's really...that's really sweet!"

Jane tried to act nonchalant. "Yeah, well..."

"Take your clothes off."

"What?!"

Jane's eyes widened when Maura calmly unbuttoned her own shirt and took it off. "Get undressed. Did you forget we're here to rid ourselves of the combined stench of rotten doxy eggs and Stinksap?"

In all honesty, Jane had forgotten. She'd been so swept up in Maura's history that she hadn't been paying attention to where they were going or why they were going there. It wasn't like her to get so preoccupied and oh God is she taking off her bra?!

Maura couldn't contain a giggle when Jane twisted away from her. "Are you getting shy on me, Rizzoli?" she asked, letting her bra slide down her arms. "Or is the thought of having to look at me disgusting to you?"

Jane whipped around to confront this notion- "you know that's not true!" - but quickly finished the full 360 because now Maura was topless and taking off her skirt.

"You weren't planning to bathe clothed, were you?" Maura asked. "I mean, you knew we were coming here."

"Yes, I just wasn't ... thinking this far ahead," Jane said, taking off her tie. "Because I’m stupid. Incidentally, the Hat didn't offer to put me in Ravenclaw."

Maura laughed and walked over to the faucets (Jane pivoted as she moved to avoid seeing her), then turned on one that would leave a thick layer of bubbles over the water. "You were raised in America, weren't you?"

"Yes..."

"Hm, that explains your attitude."

"Oh, ha, ha, the American is a Puritan, very funny."

"What's a Puritan?"

"Never mind."

"Well don't worry, I'm not interested in making you uncomfortable," Maura said (though Jane strongly suspected otherwise). "These bubbles are very dense; you can't see through them. I promise not to look when you get undressed."

Jane took the extra precaution of doffing her clothes behind a large sculpture of a merman. Once completely undressed, she peeked around the side of the statue to make sure Maura wasn't looking. Maura's back was to her, and Jane nimbly stepped into the enormous tub. At the sound of the water shifting, Maura turned around at once.

"There, now was that so bad?"

"This just feels weird."

"Why?"

"Because I like you and I haven't even had the chance to ask you out yet and now we're like wet and naked and only eight feet apart. And no, I can't convert that to meters but you get the idea."

Maura was smiling, but didn't say anything for a few long moments. "So you like me."

"I...I wouldn't have said that if I wasn't pretty sure you liked me too," Jane said, already feeling her resolve might crumble. "Please, don't make fun of me, just be honest with me."

Another long pause, this time with a smile that was harder to read. "How well do you think you know me, Rizzoli?"

Was she about to extend a sultry invitation to get to know her even more? Oh God please yes - God please no - this is exhilarating and terrifying and why am I feeling so dehydrated all of a sudden??

When Jane failed to answer (from nerves but also because she thought it was a rhetorical question) Maura went on, "If you knew me well you'd know I would never make fun of anybody. And as far as the question of whether I like you, I'd say it took you damn well long enough to notice. I've been flirting with you for the entire year."

Although it was what she'd been praying for for the last several months, Jane couldn't believe what she was at last hearing. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest when Maura swam closer. The water was lukewarm but she was starting to feel red hot - and, unfortunately, it showed.

"You're blushing," Maura observed. "I'm sorry, am I making you nervous?"

"I'm - no, you're not; the situation is," Jane stammered. "I mean, you're really cute and I don't imagine this is embarrassing for you - not that I looked," she added quickly, sure to keep her gaze fixed on Maura's eyes. "But you do look good. I mean, duh. I mean - oh, God..."

"You are so cute," Maura chuckled. “I mean don’t get me wrong; on a physical level, you are sexy as hell.” The fact that she could say this so simply, as if it was an objective certainty instead of a subjective compliment, was a little odd for Jane to process. Maura went on: “But your demeanor, that’s very cute. And I hope that doesn’t sound condescending; I mean I find it... kind of endearing. Given your conduct on the Quidditch pitch and the occasional bravado I’ve seen you put on, I used to assume you’d be cocky. A lot of Gryffindors can be cocky, though, in my defense.”

“Yeah, well. Feeling like you have a moral high ground can do that to a person,” Jane agreed. “So you watch the Quidditch games, huh?”

“I used to prefer taking the time to study, because it basically guaranteed that the common room - or any room - would be empty. But then I learned the Gryffindor team had a very cute Chaser, and I decided I had to check out at least one game.”

“Hm, Johnson? Bell?”

“Are you really going to tease me after I promised not to tease you?”

“I...sorry,” Jane said, averting her gaze. “Humor’s my defense mechanism.”

“What do you need to be defensive about?”

“My own nerves, I guessssshhhhiiit....”

Jane had turned to look at Maura, who was leaning sideways agains the wall of the pool to face her. Maura had innocently let her elbow rest on the edge of the tub, letting her head rest against her fist, and this had resulted in one of her breasts rising above the layer of dense bubbles. After letting herself look a second too long, Jane almost snapped her neck turning it to look away.

“I’m sorry!” Maura squealed, bringing her arm back into the water. 

“God, I’m sorry! I feel like a skeeze!”

“You’re not a skeeze, Jane. If I was worried about the possibility of you seeing me, I’d be on the other side of the pool and not letting anything but my head and neck above the bubbles. And you’d be a skeeze if you saw my discomfort and actively tried to make me show myself. Would you be this skittish if you were in here with someone else?”

“Someone I didn’t like, you mean? Probably not.” When Maura started backing away, Jane reached blindly for her hand underwater. She skimmed Maura’s waist before catching her wrist. “Don’t go, though!”

Maura smiled at the gesture. “I was going to distance myself so I don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay, this is a good kind of uncomfortable.”

“Hm. I didn’t know there was a good kind,” Maura mused. “Discomfort always makes me feel I’ve done something humiliating, or that I ought to hide myself away. What’s the good kind like?”

“Well, it pushes you to do something. Something you’d want to do, but would usually be too shy or too scared to do.”

“And you’re scared to take a bath.”

“Scared to take a bath with you!” Jane said, joining Maura in her laughter. “See, bravery means different things to different people. Sure, for Harry Potter it means fighting off Death Eaters. I’ll get there someday. Right now I’m working on the bravery required to be naked in front of a girl I like before I’ve even asked her out.”

Maura’s immediate response was, “Would you like to go on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not worried about being seen cozying up to a Slytherin?”

Jane paused to make sure she gave an honest answer. “We’ll kind of be like a Hogwarts Romeo & Juliet. Or, hm. I don’t know what the wizarding equivalent of that would be. I mean-”

“I get the reference,” Maura said, not unkindly. “Shakespeare was the focus of our literature unit in Muggle Studies this fall.”

“You take Muggle studies?”

“Yes, I think it’s fascinating. I’m not surprised by your surprise, though; I’m the only Slytherin in the class and Professor Burbage told me she doesn’t generally get a lot of us,” Maura admitted. 

“Oh. Huh. I hope we don’t end up like Romeo and Juliet, though.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, no. The play ends with their double suicide.”

“What?! It does?! Why do people like it so much?! Gah...never mind. What I should’ve said was, yeah, I’m sure some people might give me some guff about going out with a Slytherin, but I don’t give a flying bowtruckle fart about that. I’d be proud to be out with you, no matter what house you were in.”

Maura smiled so wide, Jane couldn’t help reflecting it. “Would it be a good or bad uncomfortable if I kissed you?” Maura asked.

“Here? Right now?”

“I can wait.”

“No, no, now’s...that’d be fine. That’d be great. That’d be--”

Jane shut up when Maura took gentle hold of her face. Her gaze dipped from Jane’s eyes to her lips and back again, then she leaned in and kissed her. Jane felt almost suffocated by immediate excitement, overwhelmed by the softness of Maura’s lips and the intensity with which her heart was pounding. The pounding was matched elsewhere when Jane instinctively brought Maura closer, pulling their bodies together. Jane was shot at warp-speed into new realms of pleasure, feeling as dizzy as if transported there by portkey. But within moments, the reality of what she was doing registered with her and she all but vaulted away from Maura, a stream of obscenities tumbling out of her mouth as she turned bright red.

“I concur,” Maura said breathlessly. 

Heart still beating rapidly, Jane glanced over at Maura and saw her smiling. “That was... wow. That was wow,” Jane said. “Judging by your expression, I guess I don’t need to apologize. That was just a ... a heck of a lot more than I intended to do.”

“I know,” Maura said, treading a small distance away. “I just can’t wait to come back here with you sometime after you’ve been dating me for a while.” She laughed when something occurred to her. “Maybe I can get some extra credit for my-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-Muggle studies!” 

“You dork!” Jane laughed, splashing her. 

“Well, as the Bard said: but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is a dork.” 

That one got a genuine laugh out of Jane. She couldn’t wait to see what else Maura had up her sleeves.

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #hogwarts #hp au

[guestbusters-blog1]

Chapter One: Life As It Is

I'll be honest. My life pretty much sucked.

Maybe it was because I had asthma, or the fact that I was just born small, but no matter the reason, I still remained an easy target for bullies to torment. Not that I ever complained back to them, of course. If I did, I'd be in much more trouble than I already was.

Often, I thought about standing up for myself. To face the bullies, or to confront my father who completely avoided me, and tell them all what I really thought. I sure had a lot of things to say. But the moment I reached my school, or saw my father's sour expression when he saw me, my courage immediately vanished. I couldn't change the way things were. That was just life as it was.

And, soon, I learned to live with it.

Sure, some days were more painful than others, and sure I often grew irritated with my surroundings, but I kept going. My mother was the reason why, actually. She'd whisper encouraging words into my ear as she checked up on me at night, when it seemed that no one else cared, she'd always be there just to listen, and she would always stick up for me when my father's language was too harsh.

Oh, my father… Stoick Vast Haddock, Mayor of the quaint little town of Berk. He had only been given the job a few years back, but that was all it took for him to forget that I existed. I missed my father a lot these days, with the bullying going on at school and whatnot. He used to set aside some of his time to talk to me, or spend a day fishing at the pond when I was down. He used to. Now, I barely ever seem to see him, and when I do, we usually just share a quick "hello" and "goodbye", but he'd never even look me in the eye.

Mom always said we'd spend more time together in the future; she promised that, if I wait only a little longer, his schedule would die down.

But it never did.

In addition to family problems, I had school problems as well. No surprise there. It wasn't that I was failing my classes. No, not at all. It just had to do with the other students. And the bullies.

First, there was the giant boy, Simon, who absolutely despised me- but everyone called him Snotlout because of a rather disgusting incident from the year before. He was the worst out of all of the other bullies, never ceasing to make fun of something I did, or cause me to trip on my way to the next class. And to top it all off, he was also my cousin, with a father that had serious anger issues teaching gym class at my school. How I was related to such people, I still had no idea.

Then there were the prankster twins, Remy (Ruff) and Tom (Tuff). Whenever anyone saw a loose guinea pig in the hallway, or a science test tube exploded confetti, the twins were always behind it. Unfortunately, they had taken a liking of using me as their "experimenter", and I often came home with my hair smoldering with smoke, or wearing a sign that said KICK ME! on the back.

There were other bullies as well: Alvin, Dagur, Savage, and a few others. They never seemed to tire of humiliating me throughout the years.

Next was Fishlegs. Now, he wasn't exactly a bully, but he did hang out with the group. He never personally said something offensive to me, yet it hurt to know that he would always just stand there and watch me getting beat up without helping.

Finally, there was Amanda Hofferson- but she preferred everyone to call her Astrid, due to her love of asteroids. She was a breathtakingly beautiful girl, with a stunning blonde braid and shimmering blue eyes that would captivate anyone. But I wouldn't want to get on her bad side any day. She was the toughest girl in the whole school, and I knew she wouldn't hesitate to punch or kick somebody if she felt the need. I had had a crush on Astrid ever since I first laid eyes on her, and I still dreamed of her noticing me and giving me one of her rare smiles. But how could that ever happen? I didn't even think she knew my name.

Still. Underneath all my… well… myself, I had some interesting qualities. First off, I could draw. I could sketch, paint, doodle away for hours without a care in the world. And my art wasn't bad at all. My mother keeps on saying my art is one of the most prettiest things she's ever seen- but then again, she's my mother. What else could I expect her to say? I was also pretty smart for my age, and excelled in math, science, and languages. I don't believe I've ever gotten below an A for a grade.

Now that all these introductions are done, you're probably wondering who I am, why I'm here, and wondering just what kind of story I have to share.

Well, I'll answer for you.

My name is Hiccup Haddock, and despite what everyone else believes, I'm more than I seem to be.

I let out a tired sigh as I entered the school building. Almost automatically, I hunched over, trying to keep as invisible as I could. I wasn't in the mood for bullying today. I had had to stay up late the night before studying for a math test, and I would be too tired to try to fight back against the bullies.

Well, not that I would win, anyway.

I made it to my homeroom on time, which just happened to be math class itself. I exhaled in relief when no one tripped me in the hall. Maybe today wouldn't be that bad.

After finding my seat, I tossed my backpack on the floor and dug out my math book. The room was almost full by now, but my teacher, Mr. Ryker, still waited with obvious impatience. I frowned. I had never liked him, as he was always trying to prove me wrong or get me in some sort of trouble. And it just so happened that his younger brother, Mr. Viggo Grimborn was the principal of the whole school. That meant if I got in trouble in math class, I'd get in trouble with the principal too.

Mr. Ryker gave the clock an annoyed glare, like he wanted it to speed up. There was still one more minute before the bell rang, and he wasn't happy that he still had to wait. Finally, the steady stream of students died down, which meant everyone had taken a seat. The room was full- except, there was still one place empty.

I felt myself blushing when I realized just whose desk it was. It was hers.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Grimborn," I heard her say as she entered the classroom. "My dog, Stormfly, got sick last night, and my mom had to take her to the vet before dropping me off here."

My head turned in her direction, and I could feel my bright green eyes widen with awe. Astrid Hofferson was standing right there. I tried to seem relaxed, but that was impossible. Astrid is right there. Ten feet away from me. Living. Breathing. Being her beautiful self…

Mr. Ryker snapped me out of my trance with a sharp comeback to Astrid. "See that it does not happen again, Amanda."

"Astrid," Astrid corrected, shifting her backpack on her shoulder.

My math teacher rolled his eyes. "In my class, we go by our birth names. We don't go by nicknames of such."

"But what about Hiccup?" Astrid pointed out. "He has a nickname."

I froze. Astrid had said my name. She knew I existed… that I was in the same room as her…that I was someone worthy enough to know the name of... heat rushed to my cheeks. "Um, actually, it's not a nickname," I said, surprising Astrid by speaking. I doubted she'd ever even heard me talk before. "I was given the name Hiccup at birth."

Astrid blinked, studying me. I was acutely aware of her dazzling blue eyes piercing into my soul. "Really?"

All I could do was nod. She was talking to me.

"Please take a seat, Ms. Hofferson," Mr. Ryker quipped, shutting the door. "We're already late enough as it is."

Astrid nodded. "Of course, sir." She made her way through the sea of desks until she reached her own, which was on the other side of the room. I tried to make eye contact in case she wanted to acknowledge me, but she was too busy getting out her books to notice. Besides, Snotlout was in the way- and that was when he noticed I was sitting right next to him.

Snotlout glared over at me, his fists tightening on his math book. Just the way his sneer was twisted made me shiver. "You don't stand a chance with Astrid, Hiccup," he hissed, keeping his eyes on Mr. Ryker in case he would be called out. "Face it, Useless. No one likes you. And certainly not Astrid."

Oh? And she'd prefer you more? I wanted to say back, but I held my tongue. Arguing with Snotlout would only get me a sure black eye later on, and I didn't wish for that. Still, the words hurt, so I forced myself to drop my gaze and stare down at my desk, silent. I heard Snotlout snicker in triumph from beside me; my heart sunk. Yet another battle lost...

Sighing, I looked up at Mr. Ryker, not at all eager to learn the things I already knew.

As I said before, life sucked.

But it wouldn't be until later on I would realize just how much.

------

Total of 5 chapters so far... please fave, follow, and review if you can! :D I’m aiming for 80 follows by chapter 6. Have a great day! :)

#thepurplewriter333 #fanfictionhttyd #fanfiction #httydfanfictionthepurplewriter333 #httydfanfiction #howtotrainyourdragonfanfiction #more than i seem #more than i seem by thepurplewriter333 #httyd #howtotrainyourdragon

[ulfwolf]

The Art of Dying

Suicide

One white and cold winter’s day in 1965 (February, I believe), I tried my hand at suicide. I wasn’t very good at it. It made for a pretty good short story some forty years later, though.

The night before I had managed thoroughly to upset my dad by not coming home (as promised) for dinner and by not even calling to say I was late or wouldn’t be there. I don’t know if they (mom and dad) were overly worried about this (and me) or whether it just pissed, especially my dad, off no end. Bottom line, though: he really had had enough of me by this time—dropping out of Technical Gymnasium and basically just hanging around the local news office of a province-wide paper that I wrote for now and then (for freelance-free, mind you, not like a job or anything). A good for nothing in my dad’s eyes, no doubt. Lazy. Useless.

Also, I had girlfriend trouble. A suicide would surely set her straight.

I remember walking into the news office (very warm, stuffy actually) from the cold and by this time snowing night outside. Robert, the local editor, looked up from his task as I entered the inner office and informed me that my dad had called and would I call him back immediately if I showed up. No please after that.

Well, up I had showed, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach (I knew I was in trouble, deservedly) I called home.

“Stay where you are,” he said, “I’m coming to get you.” Hung up. No please after that either.

I knew what route he would take to the news office, so I didn’t stay where I was told to but walked towards home instead to meet him and flag him down as he came. After some fifteen minutes, flag him down I did, and he made a U-turn. I opened the passenger-side door and climbed in.

You could literally (and I’m using an incredibly over-used cliché here) cut the atmosphere in the car with a knife. We drove for perhaps half a minute in silence, after which I tried to sound as smart-ass as possible with a “So, what’s up?” Not that I managed to get the whole phrase out before my dad exploded. And when I say exploded, I mean erupted from total silence to decibels far and above anything I’ve ever heard in my life before, or after (come to think of it).

“SHUT UP,” was the explosion. In Swedish we have a short, three-letter word for this: Tig. So, in this scenario: “TIG!!!”

As I said, I have never heard anything so loud, that close before, perhaps a foot or so from my left ear. It was terrifyingly loud, and I think, looking back, that I was well and truly shocked by this. For one, I had not expected anything this loud; for two, I suddenly realized how, indeed, furious my dad was with me; and for three, I was surprised and shocked at my own reaction which was one of near instant collapse—as if hit by something tremendously heavy in one fell blow. Blood rushed to my face, and I’m sure tears reached my eyes as well, or wanted to. I felt incredibly humiliated, helpless might even be the word. There was nothing, nothing I could say in return.

Nothing.

And then, slowly, but inexorably, the absolute necessity of revenge rose. A warm, consuming monster of a feeling: No one, no one ever, treats me like this. Not my dad, not my mom, no one. I would, I would show him. Yes, I really would show him, teach him a damn good lesson, and as this decision formed and grew into total certainty, the means also arrived: I would kill myself. That would show him, permanently.

Once we arrived home, I went inside before him and I remember entering the kitchen and now feeling very calm (and a little pleased) about the whole thing. Decision made, I would get a good night’s sleep and kill myself in the morning.

Not that I smiled, but I could have.

So, that’s the backdrop. Here I’ll hand things over to the story I wrote about this much later. Pretty much every word of it is true. Parts of the story does repeat what I’ve said above, but so be it.

So, here goes:

Killing Myself

I tried my hand at suicide in 1965. I wasn’t very good at it.

For one, while I have since learned that the lethal dose of regular 75 mg aspirins lies on the far side of 500 tablets, I attempted my lethal feat with 121 of the little darlings (yes, I kept a tally).

For two, I did lose my nerve late that fatal afternoon, and alerted my dad to my Bayeresque overindulgence.

This is not to say that this was not an interesting exercise, it was. I was sincere in my banging on that dark and final door—truly expecting it to open—having no clue that it would take at least four times as many of these small, white, bitter tablets to even begin to pry it open. I’ve since learned that people have even survived a thousand or two of them, when treated swiftly and correctly—but who on earth would have the time, or patience, to pop two thousand aspirin? I mean, by the time you’re done with the second thousand the first will have worn off: do you see my problem?

Yes, that one: aspirin is definitely the wrong suicide medium.

Be that, however, as it may: blissfully ignorant that my undertaking (yes, pun intended) would only lead to a few months of ringing ears, as I rounded the even century of these bitter pills, I was certain I’d face Mr. Reaper in short, and relatively painless, order.

Why did I do it?

Why, to get even, of course. And to place the blame for his son’s premature demise squarely on my dad’s guilty shoulders.

Were there other reasons?

Well, if truth be told, I was also a little curious.

:

Pill #1 minus 14 hours:

I had recently dropped out of school. The schooling I had so abruptly abandoned was the first year of what we then, in Sweden, called Technical Gymnasium. But here’s the conundrum: since I had had among the highest acceptance grades that particular school had ever seen: what on earth happened?

And here’s the answer: girls, that’s what happened. Girls and alcohol, that’s what happened. Never a good mix, especially not at that age.

And math, that’s what happened. The math I was so brilliant at in 9th grade and so effortlessly earned the highest possible grade in (capital A, we called it in Sweden) had turned infernally hard in the 10th.

Incredibly hard.

So hard, in fact, that some of the first words out our math teacher’s mouth that first day of the fall semester were, “You had better eat well, because you are not going to sleep much.” Translation: nothing less than long, sleepless nights over books and books of trigonometry, integral calculus, et al. would earn you a passing grade.

Unfortunately for me, that summer someone had apparently translated all these books from math to Greek, for that’s all they were to me.

Well, I ate okay, and I didn’t sleep much (I got that part right), but what kept me and the Sandman at odds most nights was not piles and piles of math homework, but girls. Girls and alcohol. Nary a math book in sight. Inevitable result: I flunked my first math test. The math star of the class flunked his first math test. That was truly embarrassing.

By snowy February truth was writ large on the proverbial blackboard: I was failing, and failing badly.

Onto plan B: Drop out, start from scratch next fall (with less girl and alcohol distractions). The problem here was that I never let my parents in on plan B, not even after I had implemented it.

However, five days into this well-conceived and up to this point splendidly executed plan, the school tattled on me and fatherhood was not amused.

Motherhood was a bit down about it as well, but supportive in a way.

So, now officially a dropout, I had to play the part. And play the part I did. Not very well though, and not very enjoyably. I spent most of the time away from home, hanging out with girls, or with guys contemplating girls, until the girls got out of class so we could hang out with girls.

Some days, as a freelance, I wrote articles for a local newspaper. I loved writing then, I love writing still.

Now, to be honest I don’t remember whether I had promised fatherhood something specific—such as “I’ll be home tonight, by dinner-time. For sure. I promise.”—or not, but I have a feeling I must have, for as dinner-time rolled around I felt guilty about something. Uneasy. Should have been elsewhere, most likely at home.

At home, at about the same time, fatherhood has had his fill of me. Absolutely enough of me. To the brim of me. Pacing the floor perhaps, arguing with motherhood perhaps, I don’t know, but pretty wound up, that is for certain.

Then he begins calling around for me, calling those numbers he did have, including the paper where, as I said, I wrote the occasional piece. He didn’t track me down, though, for he didn’t have her number. Where I had spent the day, and well into the evening.

Eventually, about nine or so as I recall, I began to saunter homeward. On the way I stopped in at the paper to see if there was any work the following day. The editor greeted me with, “Call your dad.”

Said rather emphatically, curtly, even. No preamble. The sort of voice that spells trouble. Something heavy shifted in my stomach. I called.

It was a strange conversation. All he said was, “Stay where you are, I’m on my way.”

And hung up.

Odd. Frighteningly odd, to be honest.

Well, I was not going to stay where I was, so there. But I didn’t have the nerve to completely disobey (as in vanish), so back out into the snow, and into a slow saunter toward home—I’d be sure to spot him when he came, there were very few cars about in weather like this and he was bound to take these streets.

And fifteen minutes later, spot him I did. And spot me he did. He burned a sliding-in-the-snow U and pulled up. I opened the door and eased myself into the passenger seat.

I know that in writing—whether fiction (such as this) or non-fiction (such as this)—clichés are to be avoided at all costs, but I just have to press this one into service, because you could cut the atmosphere in that car with a knife. He was boiling, or somewhere very close to boiling. I was actually afraid of him at this point, but I tried to act as nonchalantly as possible.

We came to a stop sign, then turned right. I opened my mouth and drew breath to say something clever like “So, what’s up?” but I never got that far, for that (me drawing breath to speak), apparently, was the detonator fatherhood was waiting for to explode him. And explode he did. A foot or two to my left, at the most top of his voice I have ever heard:

“SHUT UP!!”

This was a first. He had never, ever, yelled at me with such, what’s the word: venom, before. Never. The loudest possible intense venom.

So loud, in fact, was his scream that I felt like I had been shot. Stopped dead, frozen in whatever tracks I had planned to head down. In retrospect: he had shocked me. Petrified would describe my condition.

For several moments after this detonation I don’t think I thought a single thought. Everything blown apart and away by the fatherly explosion. Out of sight, under cover, something like that. And rationality, too, had scrambled for cover.

What arose perhaps a minute later into the vacuum of this shock was decidedly not rational. It was the most intense urge to strike back I have ever experienced, made even more intense by the fact that I could not physically execute. He had never hit me, and I could never hit him. Physical violence was not in my genes. Nor in his.

But I had to strike back, at any cost, for no one—fatherhood included—treats me like this and gets away with it.

This was what flooded me and flooded me and flooded me some more and refused to leave. And truth be told, I didn’t want it to leave, for there was a sort of wonderful finality about this: I knew how to strike back.

I would kill myself.

:

Even today, I can recall, very clearly, the exact moment I made the decision, and that the decision was right, for any other path meant having to stand up to him, to the loudest scream I’d ever heard (and directed at precious me, to boot). There was just no way I could do that. Not in my petrified (which is the perfect word here) condition.

Dead, however, solved everything. And it struck back with a vengeance. That’s a lot of mileage for a single act.

Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow I will kill myself. I will wake up, and then I will take a hundred or so aspirin, and that should do the job. End of story.

Pleased with this decision I retired for the night and for a good night’s sleep. Yes, no problem sleeping at all, actually. I was quite at peace with my resolve, and on some level I was looking forward to checking out the following morning.

:

Pills #1-20:

My final morning was sunny and quite cold. The world outside was brilliantly white—this my last day on Earth.

I’m sure I brushed my teeth and combed my long hair and such first, but then I went straight into the kitchen, opened the cabinet door, and reached for the large bottle of aspirin. I brought it down and poured out a healthy helping into my hand; counted them, twenty-one. I put one back. Easier to keep track of how many that way. Twenty at a time. I then proceeded to swallow them two by two, with a little water in-between.

All twenty.

All right. On my way, then.

Mom came up from the basement. I could hear a washing machine rumbling down there, so she was doing laundry.

“Don’t forget the appointment,” she said, as I rinsed out the glass and put it on the counter.

“What appointment?” But as I asked, I remembered. Fatherhood had made an appointment for me (and him) to see some sort of consultant, or was it a shrink? I’m still not all that sure. We were to discuss (and resolve) my crashing out of school, and my unwelcome waywardness since then.

“About your future,” she said, stressing future.

I nodded, “Yes, I remember.”

“Your dad will meet you there.”

“All right. I’ll be there.”

“Three o’clock.”

“I know.”

Then the washing machine, or the dryer, yelled at her from below, and she ran downstairs again.

Twenty down, a hundred or so to go.

:

Pills #21-40:

My father owned and operated a small manufacturing plant that lay just a short walk up the road from our house, and I knew precisely where the employee medical supplies were kept. I also knew that among them nestled a gigantic bottle of aspirin. A 500-count, I think. Massive.

Before heading out, I read the thermometer mounted just outside our kitchen window. It read well below freezing. So I donned sweater, jacket and cap. No mittens. Mittens are for sissies.

I didn’t say goodbye to our house, come to think of it. Perhaps I was not that attached to it. I simply stepped out, closed the front door behind me with not a second thought, walked down the steps, out onto the road, and into the brilliant morning—this my final, cold, one.

On my way up the white and crunchy (from recently fallen snow) road, I could feel my pulse rumble a little as if to suggest that something was afoot. Whether this was from pills 1-20 or from the excitement of it all, I could not say. But I know that walking up that snowy road to fatherhood’s plant, large glittering fields to both left and right, things were moving about, balances were shifting.

To get to the medicine cabinet—which was located in one of the restrooms—I had to pass my father’s office. He usually looks up as you pass his window. Busy with something or other, this time he didn’t look up, much to my relief.

I found it easily enough. I shook the bottle a little to hear the many little pills tell me this gathering was almost full. Good. No one would miss twenty, or even forty, or even a hundred, would they? Then again, what if they did? It wasn’t like I’d be around to face any sort of consequences.

Realizing I would not come upon a stash like this elsewhere, I counted out a full one hundred of my little helpers, then added one last one for good measure. That, I figured, ought to do the trick. And 121 is a palindrome, so it must be right.

I took twenty of these on the spot, then put the remaining eighty-one in my jacket pocket. Armed to the teeth.

Really on my way, now.

My dad did not look up as I left either, although I had the feeling he knew of my coming and of my going, but—and I had to smile to myself—he knew nothing of the where I was heading, though he’d find out soon enough.

:

Pills #41-60:

I had timed things well. The yellow bus for town eased around the bend just as I reached the bus stop. I didn’t recognize the driver but said “Hi” anyway. I flashed him my school pass (which I had yet to turn in to the administrative office, I realized) and he nodded his acceptance. The bus was empty, and I sauntered all the way to the back, where I spread out: just me, the driver, and my secret destination.

My hometown is not a metropolis by any stretch. But as cities go, I sure liked it. The bus pulled up at its end stop outside the Saga (which is Swedish for fairy tale, I love that word) movie theater and I let myself out the back door.

Normally, suicides are not very communicative, nor are they social. Private business, this killing of one’s self. And so they lock themselves away to blow out brains, or drown, or slice wrists, or, yes, consume far too many little pills. Not me, though. I was not the run-of-the-mill suicide at all. I was both communicative and quite social, to boot. And so, I had to spread the word. I had to tell someone, and I knew just the one.

We were sort of going out, Marie and I, though I think I took it far more seriously than she did. In fact, I think she found me amusing more than anything. A novelty. Also, we were viewed as a mixed marriage (nothing to do with race, but nonetheless quite taboo in our town). To borrow the dichotomy of the then dueling English youth cultures of the day: I was a Mod, she was a Rocker. Or, to use the soon-to-flourish one: I was a Hippie, she was a Greaser. And never the twain shall meet. But in our case the twain had met, and they still did, and it was for her house I was headed to meet yet again.

The bottom floor of her house was a café, owned and operated by her mother. Marie helped out at times as a waitress, but mainly she spent her days either with her Greaser friends (at another café, believe it or not) or as a guest at her mother’s place, reading some magazine and sipping some coffee. Smoking some cigarettes.

This cold February morning I found her at her mother’s place. Smoking, reading, not helping her mom. Not that the place was crowded, no help needed.

She looked up as I sat down opposite her.

“You get in trouble?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you had to be home by dinner last night.”

“Oh, yeah. Nah. Not really.”

She looked at her cigarette for a while, flicked off a little ash, looked at that for a while, then back at me, but didn’t say anything else. After a strange span of time (during which my pulse upped the volume a little and my internal balances shifted again) she went back to her reading.

“I’m going to kill myself,” I said.

Strange girl this. Cool as anything, she looked up at me. “Why?”

From this perspective, from inside the cozy café, now lighting a cigarette myself, this proved a question hard to answer. The night before, all had been obvious, so obvious that I was now going through with it without giving things a second thought.

Well, I thought of saying, it’s the right thing to do. But I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything. Instead I shrugged a no answer, searched several of my pockets before I found what appeared to be my last one kronor coin, which I then dropped in the table-side jukebox. I dialed “Little Red Rooster” by the Rolling Stones.

Then, with her still looking at me and with me not answering her question, I rose, and went into the bathroom. It was small and hot and dark. Very small, very hot, and very dark. At first I did not turn on the light. I just stood there in the far-too-well-heated darkness and listened to Mick Jagger. Would this be the last song I’d ever hear? I hit the light switch, and the weak, reddish-almost light seemed to add to the warmth of this closet-cum- bathroom. I scooped up another handful of pills, counted out twenty, put the rest back in my pocket, and downed pills 41-60 two by two.

Then I sat down on the toilet seat. “Little Red Rooster” was over, but now the Stones started up again with “Paint it Black” which Marie must have chosen. She had the run of these little table-side juke boxes (they were attached to the wall), her mom supplying her with coins or tokens, I guess.

How many was this now? I wondered. Forty or sixty? I sprang back to our kitchen: twenty. Then on to my dad’s factory: forty. And here, yes: sixty. And what time was it? I checked my watch. It was just past ten thirty. Almost two hours now since I set foot on this my final path. Shouldn’t I be dying soon, or at least start to?

What would I see? How would I know? What would I feel? Well, these pills were supposed to kill pain along with me, so I shouldn’t feel anything, should I? That was the beauty of the plan.

Still seated on the toilet cover, I reached up and flicked the light off. The hot darkness seemed somehow fitting as I sat there mentally probing my body to see where Death might be setting in—surely, He should have begun His doing thing by now. Couldn’t really find Him though. Just a denser and denser movement in the region of my stomach, or was it in my lungs? Like a fist, somehow. Closing. And I could hear my heart in my ears, thump-thumping away.

“Little Red Rooster” started up again, Marie must like it, too.

I cast my mind forward into an unknown, though not very distant, future. What would it be like? Just nothing? Blackness? Is that it?

I discovered nothing.

Then I stood up, turned the light back on, washed my hands for some reason that seemed like utter ritual, especially since I hadn’t gone, opened the door, turned off the light and returned to Marie and the Rooster.

“You get stuck?” she said.

“No.”

She turned the page, then looked up at me, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re really going to kill yourself?”

“Yes I am.”

She laughs at this. It’s a laugh that clearly says that she does not believe me, not in the least, whatever I say. Nor will she ever.

Well, I’m thinking, you just wait and see. You’ll be sorry, too.

:

I had not known Marie very long, a month at most. And as I said, we moved in very different circles.

For the most part, I moved in a circle of one for I was the town’s first hippie-like creature, and as such a target of her Greaser friends’ scorn. She was, very much so—and perhaps literally—in bed with the duck tailed, engine-grease crowd that cruised Main Street on weekends looking for trouble in restored (or very well kept) cars that had yet to develop into low-riders—that would follow a decade or so later.

We met by chance (mistake) one Saturday when I hooked up with a girlfriend of hers at a dance and we all wound up in her house, she with someone I knew, though not very well.

That evening was not very memorable from my perspective, and this was apparently a sentiment she shared, for when our eyes sometimes met that evening, we both saw attraction and curiosity. Enough for me to actually call her the following day—I called her mom’s café, which was in the book, and she was there, and yes, she would not mind seeing me.

She was quite beautiful—very beautiful, in fact. But, and I soon learned this, very much of that alien greaser tribe. Still, we met again, and then one more time.

Even so, we were spiritual strangers, so I don’t really know what I had expected from her in return for my stirring news that I was going to take leave of this world. Well, at least some sympathy, I would have guessed. Or some sort of interest.

She, convinced I was hot-airing it, offered up neither and I (beginning to sweat now, actually) decided to leave. Then did leave.

:

Pills #61-80:

Back out into the cold no longer quite morning anymore. Everything was white with the overnight snow, and all so very fresh, I felt one moment, and all so very padded, I felt the next. Padded, as in well insulated, for it would seem that Death had at last decided to make his appearance, or was at least preparing to. And this he did to the muffled fanfare of humming ears, and to the thump-thump drum of a racing heart. I did not feel very well, to be honest. But at least things seemed to be working according to plan.

At least He was knocking on my door.

Downtown, or what there was of it. I have since come to know the full meaning of the word, as in New York City, but that’s a different story. My current downtown, draped in its overnight coat of white was basically just a slightly denser conglomeration of nothing to speak of in the first place. It did, however, have a couple of department stores, one of which also had an upstairs restaurant. It was this restaurant I was headed for.

The Domus Restaurant was more like a large café than a restaurant, and it was a very popular school hangout. You had to buy something in order to occupy a table, though, that was the bad thing (especially if you were me, i.e., broke—which, as a rule, I was). The good thing was that a single cup of coffee would seat you for as long as you wanted—hours, in fact.

And, true to form, this morning I had spent my last kronor on Little Red Rooster, so I was definitely short.

I spotted Anders at one of the tables by the window, working through what seemed a hearty lunch. Anders always had cash. I could never understand people who always had cash, a different breed altogether. A phenomenon.

Money, in my pocket, had volition of its own, and the gist of it was to get as far away from me as possible, as fast as possible, and by any means. It would squander itself on just about anything, food, coffee, cigarettes, sweets, clothes, books, records, and in very short order. This was a known fact. I borrowed money often, more often than returning it. Flush people, like Anders, were not a little weary of me, especially when approaching them eating lunch, as I was doing now.

“No,” he said, hardly looking up. Much to his credit.

“Fifty kronor,” I said. “You’ll have it back tomorrow.”

Anders, at heart, was a very nice guy and one who found it very hard to say no, especially to the Hippie Tribe of one. So, out came his wallet, and here came the fifty kronor bill. “Tomorrow, for sure,” he said.

“Tomorrow, for sure,” I confirmed, knowing very well I was lying, for by tomorrow I would be dead.

It’s amazing what you can do—or promise—when you know you won’t be around to face any sort of consequences. And as I heard myself saying, lying, “Tomorrow, for sure,” I experienced an odd freedom. It was like a farewell, like a nice-to-have-known-you feeling, with a tinge of sadness, and a freedom. A relief, perhaps. I would check out, no longer a player. No more worries about money. And that, fundamentally, spelled freedom.

Would he feel tricked? I wondered next, when he finds out tomorrow that I have died. I really didn’t mean to hurt him, financially or otherwise—fifty kronor at the time, while not a fortune, was not an insignificant amount—but neither did I care, that is part of the freedom of snuggling up to Death.

I spent one of Anders’ fifty kronor on a black coffee, and another four on a shrimp sandwich and brought my tray to a table as far away from Anders as possible, where I now sat down to ponder Death (while enjoying the shrimp sandwich—they made a fabulous one here).

When would I die? How long would it take? How many pills had I taken? I went over the morning again and again arrived at sixty. Surely, that was not enough. I left the half-eaten sandwich (to indicate to the busboy that I was not yet finished) and went to the bathroom.

Two by two the tally climbed from sixty to eighty.

I was sweating again, I noticed. And the soft roar in my ears was no longer so soft. Was I shaking a little? I stood in front of the mirror and watched the reflection of my hand for quite a while. It looked still to me, but the hand itself felt like it was shaking. Odd.

I went back to my table. All in order. The busboy had not cleared it. I sat down. So how many was that then? Again I tallied in my head. Four stops, twenty pills a piece, makes eighty. Would that do it?

I had heard—or seen on television, rather—people die from twenty or so pills. Overdose, they called it. But those, I’m sure—well, of course—were a lot stronger than my little helpers. Prescription stuff. Sleeping pills, they were called. But four times that worth of aspirin, shouldn’t that do the trick?

I finished the shrimp sandwich in a private little last-meal-on-Earth ceremony. Then finished my coffee in a similar vein. All very final.

I looked at the clock hanging over the cash register. It said eleven-twenty. There was the appointment, of course. At three. Was it at three? Then I saw my mother by the stairs to the basement saying that very word, “Three.” Yes, that’s definitely what she said, so three it was. But would I still be alive then? Three and some hours from now. Judging by the way I felt, my guess was yes, I probably would be. At least a little.

How long does it take for aspirin to work anyway? I tried to think back to headaches, or leg aches (which I used to suffer from as a kid). An hour, at the most, I concluded. Which means that I would have sixty of the little guys working on prying Death’s door open right now, with twenty more on their way to help out.

But here’s the thing: I was not dying. Whatever I was doing at that moment, dying was not it. I did not feel good, definitely not. But I felt strangely alive, as if my body was telling me I’d have to do a hell of a lot better than this. Was this all I had? it hummed in defiance, and the humming hummed its way to my ears, which roared a little louder in response.

When was that appointment again? It was at three, right?

I looked around the restaurant. Anders had left. I wondered what he thought of me. Well, that didn’t matter, did it? That was the freedom part of this. It didn’t matter at all what anybody thought of me. I could not care less.

Where was this appointment?

I remembered. And yes, definitely three o’clock. The where was only about five minutes from here. Again: would I be alive by then?

Where should I die?

Oh, good question, and one that I had not considered until then. I ruled out the outside. It was too cold (not that this would matter in the grander scheme of things, but something spoke against it). Here? In the Domus Restaurant? No, not quite right. In some bathroom? Perhaps.

The roar in my ears seemed a little louder, and the thump-thump of my heart a little stronger. Was it objecting? Well, I’m sorry, you’ll have to live with it—smiling to myself at the terrible, terrible pun.

So, how dying was I?

I looked around the restaurant again. I recognized several people, even nodded in greeting to a few. More were coming in and lining up to get their coffees and snacks. No one was looking in my direction, and I wanted it to stay that way. Not much up for conversation right now, not with these humming ears and my thump-thumping heart.

:

Pills #81-100:

So, how dying was I?

Actually, I felt disturbingly alive.

How many was it again? Eighty?

Well, I thought, the more the merrier. I rose, and brought my tray to the conveyor belt window, where I slipped it on the belt for conveying to the dishwashers.

Then back to the bathroom. Someone was in there. I took up an unmistakable I’m-next position by the door. I heard the toilet flush, then the faucet, then the lock in the door, and here he came, the old guy. He gave me a brief look, but no smile. Didn’t even hold the door open for me. No matter.

Two by two at first, then four by four they went down. Twenty more. That made an even hundred, didn’t it? Surely that would be enough. How many did I have left? Twenty?

No, twenty-one, I remembered.

Really?

I sat down on the toilet seat (smiling at this new habit of mine) and brought out my remaining pills. Counted them once, twice, thrice: twenty-one each time. So, that’s settled then: twenty-one to go for the final palindrome.

I stepped out of the bathroom and considered what to do next. Where to go? Where was I going to die? was the question. Not outside, yes, I had already ruled that out. At home? No, not with Mom around. Here then? In the Domus Restaurant? What a headline that would be: Young man kills himself in Domus Restaurant. Oh, wouldn’t that be something? Would show Marie for not believing me. Would tech Dad such a lesson. What an embarrassment for him. Well, he only has himself to blame. Shouldn’t have yelled at me.

I checked my watch again, twelve-forty already. Was time speeding up? Was that part of dying? Was this roar in my ears part of dying? And the thump-thump of my heart? And the sweating? I also felt a little dizzy, as if my knees were contemplating buckling. They didn’t though.

It was terribly hot in there. I needed some fresh air. Or I needed a soft drink. Yes, I was very thirsty, so very thirsty. A soft drink first, then some fresh air for this dying boy.

Returning to the restaurant I had to stay in line for a few minutes before I got to the cashier. She took the five kronor bill and handed me back the change. I turned with bottle and glass in my hands and surveyed the floor. Yes, two empty tables. I picked the one closest to where I stood. Not so far to walk (with uncertain knees) and I did not, did not want to stumble and fall, not with the bottle and the glass, what a mess.

I didn’t fall, and made it to the table just fine. I sat down, poured the soda into the glass slowly, carefully so as not to effervesce over the edge. Carefully, carefully. Successfully. Then I drank, and drank. Oh, that was just wonderful. What an amazing drink, or how amazingly thirsty I was.

I refilled the glass and emptied it twice more, and that was the end of the soda. Now for the fresh air.

I checked the wall clock before I left, ten after one. Had that been half an hour? Really? I double checked with my watch and yes, it was ten after one. I found this disturbing. Had I lost my grip on time’s reins? Perhaps that was part of dying? Yes, very disturbing. But what can you do?

I exited the restaurant through the rear entrance and onto the second level parking lot. Lots of snow here, bright snow. Many of these cars must have been parked here overnight, so much fresh snow on the roofs. Can they do that? Do they allow that? I didn’t know.

Two more cars pull in. I hear their engines approach, but barely through the now constant—and loud—buzzing in my ears. Annoying, actually, the ears.

The fresh air felt good, though. My heart thought so, too. It thumped a little extra hard with all this newly snowed oxygen. I fished out, and lit a cigarette. I wasn’t a big smoker, just a now-and-then smoker. I enjoyed the taste, and the wooziness that followed after a few drags. But not now, not here in the cold and sparklingly white parking lot. The smoke tasted cottony, as if it wasn’t smoke at all, but something more substantial. Some sort of fabric, cotton candy consistency though bitter. Still, I kept smoking, wouldn’t do to throw half a cigarette away. Cost a small fortune, they do. Especially for the permanently cash-less one. Me.

The air did me good. I felt better, which, come to think of it, was not good. Not really dying at all. Well, the last forty had yet to kick in, I decided, and then I suddenly felt very cold, standing still like this, smoking away, looking up at the church only a block away, watching another car entering the lot, while another car was leaving.

I couldn’t stand here all day, had to move, keep warm. I finished the cigarette, and like a good citizen, I disposed of the butt in the outside, partially snow-covered ashtray. Cold hands in pockets now (mittens are for sissies), and off on a brisk walk.

Down to the canal. Snow everywhere here, too. The benches by the old boathouses covered. No way you can sit down there. Still, I walked down to the edge of the canal, onto the boardwalk, looked at the benches. Memories, these benches. This is where I had spent most evenings last summer, me—star of the nascent hippie scene—and many admiring girls (and boys). Would they find out? Would they miss me? Sure they would, on both counts.

Someone else, munching a hotdog, stepped down onto the boardwalk, looked over the edge and into the water (not frozen here, the current is too brisk) but never once looked in my direction. He finished the hotdog, turned around and vanished.

I’m cold again. And wooden, I think. Yes, that’s the word. Thick, muffled, wooden. With roaring ears. A roaring silence, though I can hear through it: the squeal of breaks as a bus comes to a halt at the traffic lights the other side of the canal. The bus looks warm. Cozy warm.

I am very cold right now.

I can see the building from here. Where I’m supposed to meet fatherhood in, what—I check my watch again—an hour and a half, a little over. Seems I’ll be alive still then, so I’d better show up. There’s a café in that building too, and a bakery. Perhaps I’ll wait there. I still have forty-two of Anders’ kronor left, a coffee at least, though I know that this café is very expensive. They’ll probably charge me five kronor just for the coffee.

And so they did. So I’ll die with thirty-seven of Anders’ kronor in my pocket.

I take the coffee—which is served in a cup and saucer—and carry it, carefully, to an open table by the window. From here, I’ll see fatherhood when he arrives. It’s not yet two o’clock, so I’d better make this one coffee last, there are no free refills in this little town—those came much later, and in a much bigger town.

Eighty? No, a hundred. A hundred aspirin. So, why am I still alive? Quite very alive, actually. And getting warm again, very. I sip the coffee and look out at the street. The snow is dirty here from too many cars, perhaps even a plow-sander has run through here. Cold though. I see the breath of those walking past rising up as if they were smoking. No one looks in my direction, although I’m sitting close by the window, leaning into it in fact, looking at people who do not have a clue about being looked at by someone dying. For I am dying, right? I’m at a hundred for heaven’s sake. If this had been prescription pills, I would sure have died by now. Like Marilyn Monroe. So, in a little while, I hope. Though not before three, that much I can say for certain. How many do I have left?

:

Pills #101-121:

Again, I run through my various pit stops, and decide that I’ve taken a hundred. An even hundred. Good even number. Twenty-one to go then.

All right, I might as well finish the job.

I leave my jacket on the chair to signal that I’m not done, and will come back, then head over to the bathroom. I am walking a little uncertainly. As if I don’t trust my legs or feet.

The bathroom is very warm. What’s with the bathrooms today?

Five times four plus one. One hundred-twenty-one. I study myself in the mirror. My face seems flushed, as if I’ve just been in a sauna. What am I saying? I am in a sauna for heaven’s sake. It’s very hot in here.

Two by two plus one. Down they go. I drink water straight from the tap. Who cares about germs at a point like this?

Well, if this doesn’t do it.

I make my way back to my table, and get there just before the waitress who carries a coffee pot. “Top it up?” she asks.

“How much?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing.”

That was a surprise. Special deal today for the dying?

“Sure,” I say.

I watch her pour the steaming coffee then look over at me. Is she concerned? Is that concern in her eyes? Could she possibly know? “Anything else?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Of course, this means that she expects a tip. Hadn’t thought of that. Well, I have thirty-seven kronor left, some tip that would be. No, I’m not leaving her a thirty-seven kronor tip.

Though, come to think of it, why not? Good question. It’s not as if I’ll need the money where I’m going. And this, after all, is my final-final cup of coffee. Worth a thirty-seven kronor tip, wouldn’t you say? Maybe a twenty kronor bill would enough, though. Thirty-seven would be ridiculous. My mind bounces back and forth between 20 and 37 a few times then lands on 20. Okay, I’m leaving her a twenty kronor bill for a tip.

I check the time again, two-fifteen, sixteen. Fatherhood likes showing up early. Not this early though.

Another bus rumbles by outside. So many buses. Smoke billows out from its exhaust, extra thick and extra white with the cold. In third grade, a boy at my school slipped on the ice (or was pushed, some said) just as the school bus arrived, and he fell under the back wheels. Crushed by the back wheels. Didn’t die right away though. Died later in hospital. No one survives the back wheels of a bus. And no one should survive one hundred twenty-one aspirin, but this one certainly is. My mouth is very dry though, and I take another sip of the cooling coffee. And yet another bus. Is there no end to them?

Fatherhood could show up any time now. He likes being early. Probably wants to be here especially early today, to make sure I’m here too. To give him time to perhaps find me if I’m not. This is an important appointment. My future. He’ll be early for sure.

He does not like my long hair, hates it in fact. Will not walk beside me in town for fear that people will connect us two, father and son. He is that embarrassed about my long hair. Crazy embarrassed. Hates it.

How many have I taken now?

One hundred twenty-one. The palindrome number. I’ve taken them all now, so why is life being so stubborn about sticking around?

I don’t feel good in here. The coffee tastes like liquid cardboard. Or is it that I can’t taste anymore? Have I lost my sense of taste, and smell? I sip it again, searching for that coffee taste that I really like. Can’t find it among all the bits of stiff paper. My taste buds are dying.

Do you mean to tell me that my last cup of coffee, ever, will go down like cardboard? There’s something decidedly unfair about that.

Two forty-five now. No fatherhood yet. I bring out my wallet and pull out the twenty kronor bill. I fold it nicely and place it under the salt shaker. What a tip. Record tip. Four times the cost of the coffee. My very last cardboard coffee in this world. Ever.

Still no fatherhood.

Then I see his car. He’s crossing the bridge, pulling up to a parking space on the other side of the street. Did he bring motherhood, too? No, that was just an odd reflection on the windshield. Just Dad. I watch him step out, then lock the car. He always does. Even at home. He looks both ways and then jaywalks to the building entrance. He has not seen me yet. I pull back a little from the window to make sure he won’t either. I lose sight of him as he enters.

Then he’s right there, by my table. He must have seen me after all.

“Are you ready?” he asks me.

“Sure,” I answer.

That’s all we say in the café. He heads for the door. We take a very slow elevator up to the third floor.

Mid-ride he asks me, “Did you leave a twenty kronor tip?”

“No,” I lie.

That’s all way say in the elevator.

We arrive early. But the counselor is ready for us says the receptionist. Good. I’m not sure I could have handled sitting with Dad in the very warm waiting room, saying nothing, waiting, saying nothing, waiting, saying nothing.

At this point I��m beginning to realize two equally important things:

I am going to be sick. And sooner rather than later.

I am not going to die anytime soon.

The counselor shows up and shows us in and invites us to sit down in the two chairs he’s placed this side of his desk. We both sit down. The counselor walks around his desk and sits down in his chair. Dad sits to my right. It is very hot in here.

And now they begin to discuss me, as if I were not even there. As you discuss old (senile) people in their presence, or very young children. But my ears roar too much and my heart is racing too fast for me to really care. I should be pissed off, though. I know that. But I’m not. Pissed off is not available right now.

I have trouble following the back and forth of Dad and Counselor, who—I believe, now that I think of it—is supposed to be a psychologist. Is supposed to counsel not only me, but my dad, too, about the troubles I’m causing by dropping out of school and not getting a real job and God knows what else, for I’m losing the thread of things now. I can tell who is talking when, but that’s about it.

I feel like falling off the chair.

I really should fall off the chair. I’m not about to, not unwittingly, but I really should, wittingly. Make a statement. That would get their attention.

Now I’m no longer sure who is talking, just that someone is—my ears roar so loudly, and my heart thump-thumps with such determination, and I am so very sickly alive. This is definitely no quiet slipping away into a dreamed about nothing, into that tranquil blackness beyond, leaving behind a very sorry father, and a very sorry mother, and a very sorry she did not believe me Marie. A very sorry world.

No such thing. No, this is a body protesting its treatment like hell, while staying very much alive, thank you.

What the hell?

And I do not feel very well at all. Maybe dying is unpleasant. No, I don’t think this is dying. I’m not sure what this is, but it is not nice. At all.

And then I realize that they have both stopped talking. Neither says a thing. Both are looking at me. Waiting for me to say something. They’ve asked me something, one of them has. And I haven’t a clue who or what. Didn’t hear it.

“What?” I manage.

The counselor says something that I don’t catch, and now the first strand of fear springs alive and makes its way through my body. This is not according to plan. At all.

I feel more than see them both look at me. A shade of concern from Dad. Yes, I sense that. Something’s not right, he thinks, or feels. I can sense that.

“Dad,” I hear myself saying, though not looking at him. I’m looking at my hands, or the floor, or the front side of Counselor’s desk, or not looking at all. “I must tell you something.”

Next I know I’m in his car and Dad is driving faster on snowy city streets than would be advisable. I am only tangentially aware of the trip to the hospital, and only tangentially aware of someone—a doctor or a nurse—asking me to throw up.

Asking me to throw up? Aren’t they at least going to pump my stomach?

“How many?” she says.

“One hundred twenty-one,” I answer.

“All aspirin?” she says.

“Yes.”

Then she says something to Dad that sounds reassuring, or would to Dad anyway—and if truth be told, sounds reassuring to me as well. “He’ll be fine,” is what she says. I catch that.

I don’t manage to throw up, well, perhaps a spittle or two, but the doctor or nurse does not seem too concerned about that. Apparently better briefed about lethal levels of aspirin than I am.

They must have released me after a couple of hours of not throwing up, for I remember stepping out into the cold darkness, and walking over to the car. Still no Mom, just Dad, being very quiet. Well, serves him right.

He says nothing on the way home, and I’m not very talkative either. I feel a little better, and I’m certainly not dead.

Dad is still locking the car when I open the front door and walk in. Mom is right there, just watching me enter. Concerned. Very. I’m not sure whether she has cried or not, though she certainly ought to have. Dad comes in too, and closes the door behind him. Neither says a word. I’m not sure what to make of this.

“Are you hungry?” Mom says finally.

Actually, I am, but I don’t answer. “Would you like some hot sandwiches?” she asks, knowing I love the way she makes them.

I shrug my shoulders to say, sure, I don’t care.

Dad says nothing. He sits down at the table, where he still says nothing. Then he says, to Mom, “He’s supposed to drink a lot of water.”

There is something strange in this atmosphere. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s very much to my advantage, I can sense that. It’s as if I’m a land mine that almost went off, and now they are tiptoeing around me, carefully, lest I explode.

In retrospect, I’m not proud of this, but I saw my power very clearly: I had demonstrated what I am capable of. Don’t mess with me or I’ll kill myself again. For real this time. They were afraid, if not of me, then at least of what I might do. That much was obvious.

I could take advantage of this. Big time. Really should.

Did.

Before then I had never smoked cigarettes at home. Mom, of course, would have smelled smoke on my clothes and such (although I wasn’t aware of that at the time), and I’m sure she would have told Dad—or maybe not, they were not getting along too well by that time, and were in fact soon to divorce.

But here goes: I took out my pack of cigarettes in clear view of both of them, shook one out, and lit it. I dared them to object. One word, and you know what I might do.

“When did you start smoking?” Dad finally said.

Mom said nothing.

“A while ago,” I said.

::

Back to: Intro :: Clever Boy

#Short Story #Art of Dying #Memoirs #Suicide #Killing Myself #Unsuccessful Suicide

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4 SEO Tips For YouTube Videos That I Use To Get More Views

Do you want to get more views on your YouTube videos?

Here are 4 SEO tips that I use every time I record a video to get more views on it.

You want to make sure the videos you create can get in front of the right people when they search for them on the internet. I always follow these 4 steps every time I record a video. The first thing I do is make sure my video file name has the keyword in it.  Next, you want your keyword somewhere in the title of your video. You want to add the appropriate tags to your video (make sure they are related) and you want a good description with your keyword and supporting tags sprinkled in there as well.

Why You Should Be Using YouTube

Well for starters, YouTube is the second largest search engine only behind Google. Google actually owns YouTube, so what this means is YouTube is built on searchable content unlike other social media networks like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

When was the last time you got online and searched for something and an Instagram or a Facebook post showed up? Don’t get me wrong social media is a great way to build an online business and I highly suggest you learn how to properly use it.

But if you want that long term traffic and views to your videos, social media ain’t going to do it for you.

YouTube has people that are searching for answers no matter what business you are building. All you have to do is learn how to position your content to be found so when someone is searching for a particular answer your video shows up.

What Is The Meaning Of YouTube SEO

SEO stands for search engine optimization. It’s where you edit your video so it can be found for certain keywords. For example, you can SEO your video so when someone types in Lead Generation in Google your video shows up. That’s the basis.

The cool thing is when done right you can get that organic traffic (traffic you don’t pay for) to your videos pretty much every day. The higher your video ranks the more views you’ll get which can mean more sales and leads for your business.

To get those results from SEO will take some time and can be a little slow when you’re first starting. You could learn how to do paid ads for faster results but there can sometimes be a steep learning curve to paid traffic.

Why You Should Care About YouTube SEO

I’m all about creating leverage in my business and with video, they stay online forever and people can watch them any place in the world that has an internet connection.

I’ve been doing videos on YouTube for a few years now, and I still get leads and sales from videos I’ve created months and even years ago.

It’s like you do the work one time, and it keeps paying you over and over and over again.

I like to look back at some of the videos I did, in the beginning, to see how far I’ve come. You’d be surprised at the difference between your 1st video and your 30th video. With each video you do, you’ll see yourself getting better and better.

How Long Does It Take To See Results From SEO

If you find a very targeted keyword with little to no competition, you could rank as soon as you hit the publish button. I’ve found keywords like this before was able to rank instantly.

But for the most part, it will take a few weeks to know where your video will rank.

There are a ton of other factors that go into where a video will rank. Such as backlinks, watch time and social interaction.

Don’t worry about it if your video does not rank right away, instead focus on putting out consistent, quality content. You could do your SEO

What To Expect In The Beginning

I’m going to tell you up front, your first few videos are going to suck. There’s no getting around it. Everyone that is having success on YouTube had to go through it, I went through it, and to be honest sometimes I still do or at least that’s how I feel.

There is a light at the end of that tunnel though and you WILL get better the more videos you do.

How To Come Up With Content For Your Videos

Don’t over complicate this part as I did, just teach the day one version of yourself and take people along with you on your journey.

Here’s what I mean, let’s say you learned a new network marketing recruiting technique.  You could turn around and create a video based off of what you just learned.

Don’t worry about if someone has already created the same topic as you have. The point is YOU haven’t created yet. You can have 5 people with the same topic and each person will deliver it differently.

Think of this like your teachers in school, you can have more than one math teacher teaching out the same book. Some kids will prefer one teacher over the other but they are still teaching out the same book.

Content creation is the same, just put it in your voice and put your spin on it and you’ll be just fine.

If you would like some help with creating your first video send me an email at [email protected] and I’d be glad to help you out.

What’s The Best Equipment To Shoot Videos?

Are you ready for this? It’s the smartphone you have in your pocket right now.

You don’t need any fancy equipment. If you don’t have a smartphone most laptops have built-in cameras that are good enough to shoot videos on.

And if you don’t have that you can go by a handheld video camera for just a few bucks.

Seriously you don’t need any fancy equipment at all, I shot my first video on a Blackberry smartphone! The quality sucked, I sucked, the whole thing sucked lol.

But I uploaded it anyway and hit that published button.

How To Create Great Videos Every Time

My first video I was nervous as hell, I can’t tell you how many times I told myself today was the day I was going to record that first video and it never happened.

I finally said screw it and recorded and uploaded it. Was it my best video? Of course not but the key is I got started.

And since doing that first video I’ve learned a lot along the way.

Including this full proof 4 step formula for creating videos that will virtually guarantee you make good content every time.

Intro – You want to introduce yourself and say where you are located. Question – Ask a question. Content – Answer the question you just asked. Make it good meaty content. CTA – At the end of your video give them a call to action. Tell them exactly what you want them to do next. YouTube SEO Tips For More Views Make sure you have your keyword in the file name of your video. Once you upload it to YouTube you can’t change it, so make sure you do that BEFORE you upload your content. Have a good title and try to have the keyword you’re going after in it. Don’t force it though. If it doesn’t sound right or sounds weird leave it out. Add the appropriate tags to your video. This helps youtube better understand what your video is about. Write a good description. You can have up to 300 words I think in the description. Fill it up. Also, sprinkle in some of those tags if you can. Again don’t force if it doesn’t make sense.

Make sure you check out the video on this blog post. I’ll be showing you step by step how to do this. I’ll also show you my secret tool that will save you a tremendous amount of time.

Ways You Can Make Money From Your Ranked Videos

Like I’ve mentioned before getting more eyeballs on your videos can lead to more sales for whatever business you’re promoting. Here are a couple of ways you can earn money from your videos. This by no means is a complete list as there are a ton of ways to do it. I’m just sharing some strategies that I’ve used.

Affiliate marketing is a great way to earn money from your videos. It’s super easy, you go out and find a product that you like. Preferably one that you’ve actually used or purchased, you promote it on your channel and you earn a piece of every sale that you make. Super simple, super effective and a great way to add an additional revenue stream.

Just about everyone starts off with affiliate marketing. One bit of advice about affiliate marketing, make sure it is congruent with your target audience. For example, if your YouTube channel is about dirt bikes, don’t recommend a product on how to lose weight.

Oh and I highly suggest you buy the product if possible. I know you might can’t do that everytime but when you can do it.

I personally try to only recommend courses, products or services I actually use myself.

You can sale your own product on your YouTube channel. The biggest difference between this and affiliate marketing is you get to keep all the money from the sale. You could have a physical or digital product.

What Is The Best YouTube SEO Tool To Use

Up until recently, I was using a few keyword tools to do my youtube research but I just learned keyword tools are pretty much useless and not very accurate at all.

While this post is not about keywords I will say this, if your idea about a video makes sense record the video. Just make sure you have a killer title. Now that I got that out the way the one tool I do use is called Tubebuddy.

This tool serves a couple of different functions. For starters, it has a tool called the keyword explorer where you can add the tags that are relevant to your video.

I’ll be honest up until just a few days ago I had no clue on how powerful the keyword explorer was.

It will tell you in real time where your video will rank for a keyword or tag. Pretty powerful stuff.

It has a checklist for you so you can make sure you’ve done things like added a description, and your thumbnail.

It also has canned responses that you can use to quickly reply to comments. Sometimes you can catch deals on it but I think the price is well worth it considering the time you can save in addition to the SEO benefits it offers.

Check it out if you want it’s not a must-have tool but it does help, very inexpensive, and saves you time. I personally use it every time I upload videos to my channel.

I’ll be doing a full review of TubeBuddy very soon, so make sure you subscribe here on my blog so you’ll get notified when I release it.

[Video] Here Is My YouTube SEO Tutorial

Conclusion

Let’s pull all of this together. Make sure you have a great title with the keyword in there if possible. If you can’t work the keyword in there that’s ok just make sure your title is good. Name your video file with the keyword you’re trying to target. Put the supporting tags on your video.

And the main thing is to make sure your content is helpful and answers a question or solves a problem.

These tips are for on-page SEO but keep in mind that you can do all of these and your video still won’t rank as there are other factors that go into that such as how long people your watch time and how much it is shared out.

If this youtube SEO tutorial has helped you out, let me know in the comments below.

Oh and feel free to share this around with anyone you think could get some benefit from this training. Thanks!

If this post was helpful, please do me a quick favor, like and share on Facebook or your favorite social media platform.

To Your Massive Success

Text or Call Me: [phone] Skype: Reco.Cherry Email:[email protected] Need Some One On One Help? Check Out My Work With Me Page.

PS: My Buddy Just Released Some FREE Training With His Exact Strategy To Getting 225K Subscribers To His YouTube Channel All While Working Full-Time. Get Instant Access

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