#how do I tell my English teacher that no I can’t write an essay on symbolism right now because I have to be analyzing the symbolism HERE

[heliads]

sorry to send in two requests but if you've got the time Luke Patterson x reader where she is his tutor for English or something and he develops a crush, so even when he understands the stuff she's teaching him he pretends to be confused so that the tutoring sessions last longer. And then one day he gets a good grade and she's proud of him but that means the sessions are over so he builds up the courage to ask her out? You can put this at the bottom of the list or not even write it because I know how swamped your requests get, but ily.

do not apologize for two requests!! my blog exists for you!! and jatp s2 may be dead but my feelings for that show are not. xoxo

masterlist

Luke Patterson is currently fighting a one-man war against his English class, and he is losing. Badly. This was not supposed to be his problem class, he was thinking the biggest struggle would be math or science, but surprise surprise, there’s no such thing as a class you can just skate through. He tried to skate through English. He tried really, really hard, but instead of Spark Notes-ing his way through whatever classic book they threw his way, Luke’s staring at a bright red D on his latest essay.

This would happen to be the most recent essay they were assigned, the one Luke pushed off until the last minute because he was too invested in getting some good songs down on paper. He hadn’t meant to procrastinate, he never does, it’s just that whenever Luke had a spare hour or two, it’s always far more tempting to head out to the studio and mess around with some chord progressions than to do homework.

This essay had gone just like all the other ones so far this year. The book had been assigned, the essay followed not soon after, and Luke told himself that he was going to start it on time for a change. The only problem was that he came home late that day after a shift at his job, so he couldn’t start it that day, and then he was studying for a test the next day, and after that he was working on songs. Before he knew it, it was the night before and he was speed writing to get everything down in time. Luke doesn’t even think he had time to proofread before turning in that mess.

So yeah, he shouldn’t really be surprised about this grade in particular. Still, he isn’t pleased about it. He doesn’t want to see the look on his parents’ face when he dodges another question about his grades, nor listen to all the other kids in his class talk about how easy that essay prompt was. Everything just makes him feel worse.

And, if Luke’s day couldn’t get any better, his English teacher pulls him aside after class to talk about it.

“I noticed your last few assignments haven’t been going as expected,” she says sympathetically, “is there anything you want to tell me about that?”

There’s a lot Luke wants to tell her, such as the fact that this class is dry as a saltine and twice as bland. They’ve spent the last few classes just going over social hierarchies around the time when the book was written, talk about boring. If Luke wanted to study history, he’d read a textbook.

He can’t say all that without damaging his final grade even more, though, so Luke plasters on a grin and does his best impression of an earnest student who’s just had a bad string of luck. “Not really, I’ve just been so busy recently that I didn’t have enough time to really ponder the prompt, you know?”

Usually, this is Luke’s best strategy for getting out of these kinds of nonsense conferences. He’ll whip out a few key words like ‘time commitments’ and whatnot and his teachers will fall for it every time.

He might have done this too often, though, because his teacher just nods and refuses to let him go. “That makes sense to me. Do you think it would help to spend a little more time exploring the prompt or connecting the book to the essay topics?”

“Sure,” Luke says vaguely. He’s only half paying attention; he just saw Reggie outside the door mouthing the words what did you do?? as dramatically as he could.

The teacher looks pleased by this. “That’s what I thought. I’ve gone ahead and signed you up for some tutoring sessions, you’ll start this afternoon after school.”

Luke blinks. “Wait, what?” Clearly, he hasn’t been paying attention nearly enough. Since when was tutoring on the table?

The teacher spreads her hands. “You need a little more help and organization to stay on track. Tutoring is the perfect answer to this.”

“Is it?” Luke asks feebly.

“Absolutely,” the teacher decides, and that’s that. Luke tries to wheedle his way out of it through repetition of how busy he is, like, all the time, but it doesn’t matter. She’s caught him in a half-lie and there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.

Reggie’s waiting for Luke outside the door when he finally leaves. “What happened in there?”

“Pure misery,” Luke groans, and contemplates giving himself a concussion by ‘accidentally’ falling down the stairs so he can go home without having to go to tutoring.

Unfortunately, Reggie enlists Alex in keeping Luke free of head trauma, and so he finds himself in an empty classroom later that afternoon, mournfully watching all of the other students leave the school with no doubt wonderful plans awaiting them.

Luke’s just starting to wonder if his tutor isn’t going to show up after all (after fifteen minutes, he’s legally allowed to leave, right) when someone slides into the seat in front of him.

“Sorry about being late,” they gasp, “I just found out I was doing this like ten minutes ago.”

Luke breaks his desolate stare out the window to glance at his tutor and instantly, he feels the crushing weight of shame bear down on him tenfold. It would have been one thing to have a total stranger be his tutor, someone Luke could avoid looking at in the hallways and never speak to again, but he knows this girl. More importantly, he’s thought she was cute for at least the last four years.

This is the worst case scenario, then. Y/N L/N is smart, she’s pretty, and judging by the fact that Luke always sees her in a group of friends laughing at her jokes, she’s funny, too. Definitely someone Luke would want to impress through gigs or shows instead of, say, his crumbling English grades.

“I’m Y/N,” she says, and Luke realizes that she’s probably been waiting for him to say something. Great, he can’t even introduce himself properly.

“Luke,” he answers, “but you probably knew that already.”

Y/N laughs, and judging by the slightly manic tone behind it, she’s just about as composed about the whole thing as he is. That makes him settle slightly in his chair, lowering his guard. “I was told that I would be tutoring you when I was trying to leave class. Ms. Brown pulled me aside when the bell rang and told me about it.”

“That makes two of us,” Luke grumbles.

The corners of Y/N’s lips quirk up before she manages to tamp them down again, and if Luke weren’t totally out of his mind, he might even say that Y/N has the same attitude towards their English teacher as he does. That would certainly make this whole tutoring experience a lot more interesting.

“So,” she says, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound official, “you wanted to talk about essay pointers, right?”

Luke starts to say something about how he didn’t want any of this, actually, but Y/N arches a brow and he relents. “Yeah, essay stuff. The last one didn’t go over too hot.”

Y/N tilts her head to the side, contemplating this. “Did you agree with her grading?”

“Yeah,” Luke admits, “she wasn’t wrong to mark me down, I kind of did it the night before in one sitting.”

Y/N frowns. “Really? Why’d you put it off so long? I thought you liked writing. Whenever I see you, you’re always jotting something down in that notebook of yours.”

Luke grins. “You’ve been watching me? That’s creepy, you know.” He’s obviously holding back a laugh, though, so the comment has no trace of a barb.

Y/N rolls her eyes, although her face looks a little hot at the moment. “Just answer the question.”

“Alright,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender, “you’re right, I do like writing.”

“Then why wait until the last minute to do the essay? I mean, I get not having a ton of time to work on assignments, but if you really do enjoy writing, it shouldn’t be all that bad, right?”

Luke groans. “ This is different. It’s not fun writing,” he tries to excuse himself.

It sounds bad even to him. Already, Luke can see how this is going to play out– she’ll laugh at him, maybe, say that someone who just got a grade like him can’t possibly be thinking about writing and fun in any way at all. She doesn’t, though. Instead, she nods and smiles at him. A real smile. Not mocking in any way.

“What is fun writing, then?” She asks.

Luke blinks in surprise. “Well, writing songs is fun, I guess,” he stammers, “stuff that actually matters, you know? All these essays are the exact same, but songs are all different. That’s why I care about them and not some pointless paper.”

Y/N nods. “That makes sense to me. So you release music, right?”

Luke isn’t sure where she’s going with this, but he’s perfectly happy to talk about music instead of that offensive red scribble all over his paper, so he plays along. “Yeah, me and my band. We try to, at least.”

“Have you ever gotten a review that bothered you? Not because they didn’t like it, but because they disliked your songs for the wrong reason? Like you had a whole story in mind for your album but the critics just ignored it?” She prompts him.

“Yeah,” Luke says, eyes widening with irritation, “Man, it’s so annoying. You go to all the trouble of writing out these ideas, and you make them have a really good meaning, too, and then it’s like they never read it at all. It makes me so mad sometimes, I want to write a column or something in response about how they totally missed my point.”

“Like, say, an argumentative essay about the real strengths of your chosen piece of writing?” Y/N says as casually as she can.

Luke’s about to argue and say that’s not like this at all, but on second thought, it is. It totally is. “Wait, you’re right. I never thought about it like that, but you’re right. Y/N L/N,” he decides on the spot, “I really like you.”

She grins back at him. “Luke Patterson, I like you too.”

That settles it for him. Luke had been annoyed at the thought of having to suffer through tutoring beforehand, but maybe he’ll be alright with it now. Y/N isn’t a part of the oppressive legion of teachers all conniving to make his life a living hell because he wants to be a musician instead of a doctor or a banker, she’s on his side. That makes it all better somehow.

And, unsurprisingly, it is better. Luke actually ends up having a really good time in his tutoring sessions with Y/N. They don’t feel like tutoring at all, more like a chance to hang out with a friend. They talk about Jane Austen and tell awesome jokes, read Shakespeare and spend more and more time together. Luke knows this is only a temporary thing until his grades get back up, but it’s too easy to forget that.

Until, one day, it isn’t. His English teacher hands back an essay with a bright red ‘A’ marked on the front, and tells him that she’s proud of all the progress he’s made so quickly. Instead of a sigh of relief, the only thing escaping Luke’s lips is a desolate sigh. After all, if Luke’s improved to this point, that kind of means his tutoring sessions will be over, right?

Y/N doesn’t know that, though. Y/N doesn’t have access to his grades. All she knows is what Luke tells her, and if informing her of his latest essay win means she’ll stop seeing him after school, why should Luke let slip a single syllable?

So, later that day, when Y/N asks him how the latest essay went, Luke shrugs and pretends to be disappointed. “I’d hoped for more,” he says, “she, uh, didn’t like my commentary.”

“Really?” Y/N questions, frowning slightly, “I thought you were really good at that.”

Luke’s eyes widen, caught in a lie. “Who knows with teachers, right?” He laughs weakly.

Y/N pretends to shudder. “I know, right? I feel like half of your grade is literally just how much she likes you. English classes are always so subjective.”

“Subjective?” Luke asks, grinning and propping his chin up on his hand, “Tell me about that.”

Y/N laughs. “Only if you promise we’ll talk Jane Eyre immediately afterwards. Immediately.”

“I so swear,” Luke intones, holding up his right hand with all the solemnity of a president being sworn into office.

Y/N swats him on the shoulder with her notebook, but she obliges, and maybe they don’t talk about Jane immediately. Maybe they laugh a little longer than usual. And maybe, just maybe, Luke thinks that he’s perfectly fine with obscuring the truth if it means he can have more of this when he needs it the most.

The truth, unfortunately, has a habit of making itself heard regardless of who is inclined to hide it. Luke comes into their usual study spot in the library one day to see Y/N waiting for him, not already in her seat like normal but standing tentatively at the side.

He frowns, slinging his backpack down on the ground and pulling up a chair. “Everything alright? You look like you’re about to run. If you’ve got something planned, we can do this another day.”

Y/N shakes her head slightly. “No, I’m free all day.”

Luke gestures towards the table. “Then sit down, my legs are getting tired just looking at you. We’ve got stuff to study, don’t we?”

“Well, that’s what I was going to ask about,” Y/N says, “Ms. Brown stopped me after class today, said she had someone else she wanted me to tutor. I said I was already booked with you and she was confused. Apparently you’ve been doing just fine for quite some time.”

Luke feels his breath catch in his throat. This is not how he’d wanted Y/N to find out. For what must be the hundredth time this year, Luke sends out a silent curse to all meddlesome English teachers.

“Yeah,” he says as carefully as he can, “I have, but only because of your expert tutoring. It’s like antibiotics, you know? You don’t stop taking ‘em when you start feeling better, only when the prescription is over.”

Y/N blinks at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to feel like everything is slipping out of control in an instant. “It was a simile, sorry. A bad one. All I mean is that we don’t have to stop this just because I got a good grade or two.”

Y/N almost looks like she’s smiling, but that could just be Luke being delusional. “I thought you didn’t want to do tutoring.”

“I didn’t at the start, but you’re different. We’re cool. We are cool, right?” Luke starts rambling more and more with each passing second, but he can’t help it. He’s overthinking everything. What if he’s literally just been a tutee this whole time, and she doesn’t think they’re friends at all?

Y/N stares at him a second longer, then takes a seat at last. “Luke Patterson, are you telling me that you like my company so much that you’re willing to keep going to extra English practice just to see me?”

Luke can feel his face heating up, but he does his best to ignore it. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds–” He still has a little bit of self control left, so he cuts himself off before he can make a truly terrible mistake.

Y/N catches him, though. “It sounds like what?”

“It sounds like I like you,” he admits, and Y/N’s smiling at him, so he decides to take the leap of faith and just do what he’s been wanting to do for quite some time. Since the start of this, actually. “And I do like you. I like you a lot. I might not need the tutoring anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop seeing you. So what if we met up sometime soon? Not for English, for us.”

Luke decides that he likes Y/N’s smile more than anything. “Are you asking me out?” She says.

“I am,” he affirms. “Are you saying yes?”

“I am,” she repeats.

Suddenly, Luke feels like the luckiest kid of all. Maybe he does have to throw in a good word or two for meddlesome English teachers after all. Sometimes they have a way of connecting you with the best people in the world.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

jatp tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @callsign-scully, @lovesanimals0000, @amortensie

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson oneshot #jatp #jatp imagines #jatp x reader #jatp oneshot #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms oneshot #jatp luke #jatp luke imagines #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke oneshot

[calaisreno]

Point of View in Fiction: Some Observations

I did a poll on point of view in fanfiction a while ago. The results didn't surprise me; I knew that some people just don't read 1st person stories, and most people don’t care about POV. I was more interested in the reasons people gave for their preference.

It's a personal thing, how someone tells you a story, and if you don't like the narrative voice, you will associate it with other things. Readers don’t often think about voice, but it is one of the most important ways a story draws you in, or sends you to the back button. I suspect it's narrative voice that is affecting some readers more than POV.

I’ve never hit the back button on any fic because of the POV. I have hit that button because of format, paragraphing, and a few other issues. I’m an English teacher who taught creative writing for many of those years. Now I don’t read things that feel like student writing-- simply because I can’t enjoy reading something if it feels like I should be grading it. If there are spelling errors or common grammar mistakes that I see over and over in student work, I don’t read it. It might be a good story, but I can't put myself in the right headspace to appreciate it because it feels like work.

Judging from the replies to the poll, some people associate first person POV with bad writing, but there are many other things that flag a story as badly written. And a badly written story isn’t necessarily a bad story. (Barbara Woodhouse assured us that there are no bad dogs; this may be true for stories as well, but choice is an individual matter. There are some breeds I would not choose as a companion.)

I was given the task of teaching creative writing because the admin in charge of the schedule at my school needed another English elective and I had a hole in my schedule. I was an avid reader and had written a lot of original fiction at that point, and thought having students write poems and stories might be a nice change from essays and book reports. My feelings about it were not relevant. Nobody cared whether I was qualified; it was either Creative Writing or Study Hall (i.e. Purgatory) for me. I did not hesitate.

The reality: I loved it and hated it.

Many of my young writers were reluctant, having been placed in my class to fill a hole in their schedules; they did not enjoy writing in the least. A hundred words was an accomplishment for some of them; if they could break this barrier, they got smiley faces and exclamation points. Others were wildly enthusiastic, producing pages of badly spelled and punctuated narrative, a chaotic jumble of scene and dialogue with random flashes of brilliance.

Grading a story is not like grading an essay. The fledgling writers who are serious need to know that spelling, punctuation, and grammar matter: it’s the suit you put on for the interview so you get the job. The ones who dislike writing need encouragement to see that it doesn't have to be punishment. It can be play.

A few observations from my years working with student writers:

Inexperienced fiction writers tend to use POV 1st person more often. Most of these writers are also enthusiastic readers. First person POV helps them find the camera eye focus they realize fiction needs. However fantastic, the story they write is their story, intimate and personal, and 1st person feels most comfortable to them. They need encouragement and a few friendly suggestions, not a paper bloodied by my red pen. In writing process, first drafts are allowed to be horrible.

The non-readers in my class were the most reluctant writers; they often failed to understand POV and wrote from an outsider third-person POV which ended up being more of a summary than a story. My job was to show them how to pull scenes out of the summary. People talking, doing things.

We all start somewhere.

Publishers note that first submissions are often written in first person. It is not that they reject these stories because of that; the stories have other amateur flaws and the POV is just a flag for other issues. First person is not bad, it’s just harder for new writers to pull off well.

Several novels I’ve recently read use first person narrator to good effect: Piranesi comes to mind, The Rule of Four, and Moriarty. The Left Hand of Darkness is a story I can’t even imagine in third person-- and it has two narrators! The original Sherlock Holmes stories (all but a couple) are written in first person, with Doctor Watson narrating.

There are choices even within a first person narrative. The main character doesn’t have to narrate. Watson isn’t the main character in ACD’s stories, Holmes is. Watson is an involved/interested observer (a common use of first person); he stands in for the reader, seeing the mystery unfold, not understanding what all the clues mean until— surprise!— Holmes reveals the solution. I have read mysteries where the first person narrator turns out to be the murderer; the shock value of this fades if you use it every time, but it’s effective on some stories. First person is not bad, if chosen for a good reason.

And third person has its own set of problems. The multiple “he” and “his” that need clarification. The accidental wandering out of limited point of view into semi-omniscience. Even a close, third-person limited narrative provides some distance from the viewpoint character.

Second person is rare and considered gimmicky. I wrote a story in second POV once; the only comment from my most admiring reader: NO. Just, NO. Since that horror, I’ve used first person with second person address in a couple stories (Blessings and The Story of Us, if you’re curious). It’s not a choice I’d often make, but sometimes it’s the right one.

Several of my favourite fanfics use the first person brilliantly. (Pointing to ivyblossom’s The Progress of Sherlock Holmes and The Quiet Man.) When reading, I generally don’t notice point of view unless I think about it; if the narrative flows, the choice obviously works. I don't read much in other fandoms, but think that the Sherlock fandom has a lot of really talented and experienced writers, better than many published stories I’ve read.

I use first person in some of my stories, usually because I’ve found a narrative voice I like. I’ve also rewritten stories after the first draft, changing POV (first to third, or third to first) because I thought it would work better. My feeling is that neither is better in general; in a specific story it should be a deliberate choice, not an accidental one. It’s one of many things to think about when writing a narrative. Voice is one of the most important.

My conclusions:

Reading for pleasure means that the best story is the one you love. It’s a personal choice, not a debate.

Writing well develops over time, as a product of many things. If you’re writing for pleasure, not pay, you should write what you love. Do not change your story because of what a poll says.

If you’re unsure or unhappy about what you’ve written, find a beta reader. Ask them questions. Pay them in adoration. Return the favour; it’s a great way to learn.

Polls are useful only for provoking thought. My thanks to all who participated!

#writing fiction #writing advice #fanfiction #writing for fun #point of view

[violets-and-books]

I did a thing a while ago and just found it again in my drafts collecting dust and I think I might revisit it after FH 😂:

“Sit down, Fahey,” Pekka Rollins said, striding into the room with a suit way above his pay grade. Rollins was their English teacher and he was the worst. “Well,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and sauntering further into the library where Saturday detention was being held. “I can’t quite decide where, boss.” Rollins frowned. "Sit next to one of your fellow delinquents." "Delinquents is a little harsh-" He pulled out the chair next to Wylan, the force so harsh it clattered against Nina and Matthias' desk. Wylan flinched at the noise. Jesper whistled at the action, earning a snort from Nina. Rollins snapped at the chair, pointing to its seat, a silent command to sit. He flopped down, putting his hands up with fake innocence. Rollins continued to watch him, and he sighed, scooting his chair in. "Happy?" "Almost," he said, smiling in a way that resembled a snarling animal. He stalked back to the front of the class, grabbing something off the book return box. Coming back down the rows he set a single piece of white paper and a pencil in front of all of them. Jesper raised an eyebrow at it, disinterested. Wylan swallowed. Kaz glared at Rollins, looking at the pencil with disdain a moment later. Inej closed her eyes. Matthias picked up the pencil and inspected the paper. Nina tucked the pencil behind her ear and started looking at the paper as though trying to find the best way to defile it. Rollins stalked back up to the front, his shoes clicking impatiently on the floor. "You're going to write me an essay of no less than five hundred and no more than a thousand words." Jesper groaned outwardly.

It's a Breakfast Club AU ✨✨✨

BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU BREAKFAST CLUB AU

I NEED TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS

THE BREAKFAST CLUB IS IN MY TOP 3 FAVOURITE FILMS

AJSFJDJAAKENRGHDJAJRIRND

"as if she were looking for the best way to defile it" Nina, have I mentioned today I'm in love with you?

Rollins, you mean mean man! At least let Wylan draw it out!

Wait, I'm imagining Wylan in my head as Brian but who's gonna write the essays at the end? Wylan sure as hell can't

I'm assuming Wylan's a mix of Brian and Claire, if Jesper's Bender. HOLY SHIT DO WE GET THAT SCENE IN THE SUPPLY CLOSET WHERE CLAIRE GIVES BENDER HER EARING BUT WITH JESPER AND WYLAN

DO WE GET THE KISS AT THE END WHERE BENDER CHASES CLAIRE'S LIPS BUT WITH WYLAN AND JESPER!?!? BECAUSE THAT WAS OFFICIALLY THE CUTEST SHIT

I love, please write it, I'll die, I'll get down on my knees and BEG you to write it after FH

#lore <3 #blaize answers #lore's fics #lore's ideas #bestie please write it ill scream

[stqrgirl444]

Sometimes I think abt if my English teacher and F were to have a convo, bc I turn in extremely well thought out and well written essays into my English class, and my English teacher even let me do an AP LIT prompt for my final unit essay bc he “knew I would just ace the other ones”, the paper I wrote was 8 pages and my English teacher said it was some of the best work he had seen, but whenever I turn things into my social studies, I just feel like it’s shit, because I can’t be analytical, and that’s what I’m so good at, I just wanna impress him so bad, but everything I write blends into mediocrity and it drives me insane, I just want my English teacher to tell F How good I can be, I don’t want F to think I’m stupid, and I think that’s what he thinks, I want to be perfect for him, I wanna turn in the best damn answers he’s ever seen, I wanna go above and beyond and make an impression, but i never get the chance to, I wish I would just shut up during class, so I can make my impression all over again, not some loud annoying girl.

#male tcc #male teacher crush #tc feelings #tc thoughts #teacher crush community #tc community #tc crush #teacher attachment #teacher crush

[dadsbongos]

"O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night.”

Chapter 3 / Series Masterlist / Previous Chapter

6.1K words

~~

MONDAY. 2:50 PM.

“Tryst?”

“Tryst.”

“That’s not a word that’s a medication or some shit.”

“No,” you bat his arm and shake your head, “‘tryst’ is a bona fide word. It means an agreement to be present at a specified time and place.”

“Okay, and how do you spell bona fide?” he shoves a spare piece of scribbled-on loose leaf paper in front of you, “Because I swear to God people like you are just making up letter arrangements and calling it words.”

“People like me?” you write down the word and pass the sheet back to Eddie, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Smartasses,” he teases and looks down at the paper, “Oh, shit, I’ve been spelling this so wrong.”

“How did you spell it?”

“Uh, I can’t look at you while I do this,” he averts his eyes, “B O N E I F I E D - all one words. And yes, I did use it in a school paper - multiple, in fact.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, “Eddie Munson, why would you use a word when you don’t know how it’s spelled?”

“Because I wanted to sound smart.”

“Well, I bet your teachers appreciated the effort.”

“Definitely didn’t, considering I’m 19 going on 20 and still in high school.”

You had your materials for English set out by the time Eddie arrived at the library. But Eddie was prone to distraction and you were quickly finding that when it came to him, so were you. 

“Tryst, though,” your leg starts bouncing before you realize it, without noticing that Eddie’s leg was bouncing this whole time, “I was thinking,” you watch Eddie actually pull out his work now, “about the play I mentioned Friday. I was wondering… if you would like to come? It probably won’t even be packed, but I figured I’d just ask.”

As if he can sense your nerves, Eddie grins, “Hell yeah, who wouldn’t wanna see our resident genius on stage?”

You return his smile and kick your legs on the chair, eyes falling to the clock on the wall, “I can’t remember the exact date,” a lie, but you choose to not seem overeager, “but I can secure you two tickets. So you aren’t alone or anything.”

Little do you know, Eddie just thinks the way you’re trying to not show how excited you clearly are is adorable.

Now, however, it’s his turn to be embarrassed as he moves an unfinished essay before you. It’s marred with lead smears and eraser marks - his introduction paragraph showing clear signs of being written and rewritten repeatedly. 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck and is more than ashamed to reason, “I have no idea how to write a thesis statement.”

“Oh, - it’s just a line of reasoning or argument,” you scooch closer to Eddie and he automatically leans into you, “Like, if we were fighting right now about the best color and you were to say it was black and I said it was green - your thesis statement could be something as simple as ‘black is the best color’,” he nods slowly, brows furrowing, “But since this is an academic paper, you’ll need something more complicated.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie shakes his head, his pencil’s eraser jabbing into his paper, “I just don’t how mine is wrong.”

“Let me see,” your eyes scan what he has written down so far.

The novel 1984 shows the impacts of widespread communism by it’s mass surveillance and use of doublethink.

“It’s literally all I could think of and she keeps just telling me it’s wrong and I don’t know what to do,” you can hear how frustrated Eddie sounds and it makes your heart clench.

You shake your head at him and hope that the action is enough to give him hope, “No, this is good - it’s just more about totalitarianism than communism. So, think of something that’s related to communism and how you can form that into the essay.”

“Uh,” Eddie turns to stare at the paper, eyes closing as he thinks, and you wait patiently until he shrugs, “economy’s shit.”

“Yeah,” you nearly bang a hand on the table but refrain for the sake of other students’ in the library, “so, what more about that?”

“Well, what’s-his-ass lives in a bad apartment, right?” you nod and Eddie continues, “And everybody eats poorly, so there’s not enough to go around,” you hum and make an effort to quietly clap.

“Good job,” you tilt your head, laying it in your palm, “I’ll let you in on a secret. The only other point I could think of was the political control, which is breaching totalitarianism again, but if you’re vague enough then she just gives you the points.”

“Are you serious?” his eyes widen, “That’s such bullshit.”

You hum in agreement, “I know, right?”

“So, political control - “ Eddie clenches his eyes as he thinks, “The Party is the only form of government and they just torture whoever so that they can get confessions to crimes, right?”

“Pretty much,” you nod and then sit up straight, “So, now that we have our reasons - we should work a bit of formatting.”

“What’s wrong with my formatting?” his brows furrow and before you register what you’re doing, you reach out and smooth out the skin.

Instead of focusing on your own actions, you start talking, “Nothing, but there’s just a more specific way that teachers like…” your eyes dart from Eddie to the clock and back to Eddie, “It’s weird.”

“Then, show me your magic, princess,” he leans back as if to give you free reign of his paper. 

The nickname that rolled from his tongue is meant to be nothing but a tease at your infamously proper nature, but the way he says it leaves your chest tighter than you’d like to admit.

“It’s really easy, I promise,” you assure, “For starters, essays can usually be started with something like, ‘In the novel 1984, written by George Orwell’,” Eddie’s fingers come down to rhythmically tap the table as you speak, “Then you just reference your topic and the details you’re using. Also, you used the wrong form of contraction. It should be ‘its’ with no apostrophe - since you’re using it to reference a noun.”

“Uh,” Eddie moves the paper back in front of him, “okay. Okay,” he nods, “Okay.”

Once again, you wait patiently for Eddie to gather his thoughts before he starts erasing and writing over his marks. Then, he passes it to you, leg bouncing faster and his hands drumming quicker against the table. 

In his novel 1984, George Orwell shows the effects of widespread communism by the economic difficulties and political control by The Party.

“I kept wanting to write hard-on instead of difficulties but, you know,” Eddie admits once he can tell you’re finished reading.

“I can sense that,” you nod, “This is really good, you should be proud.”

And he is, he can feel his chest puffing up at your praise. 

“Now, let’s talk about how to format our evidence,” your eyes fall back to the essay and you nearly wince at the lack of pages cited, “and citations.”

“Great, great, great,” Eddie nods, “and what are those?”

…

If you wanted to be able to get to work on time by walking from school, you should’ve left five minutes ago - at 3:40.

“Oh my gosh!” you shoot up from your seat and start packing away your work.

“‘Gosh,’” Eddie squints at you, “are you a cartoon character?”

“I’m gonna be so late,” you shake your head, “Sorry, Eddie, I have to get to work. Like, now.”

“I can drive you,” Eddie almost laughs at how surprised you look to hear him say that, “I’m not a dick, princess.”

“I never said you were,” you pout as Eddie hauls his bag over a shoulder after shoving his papers away.

“I could see it,” he waves off, guiding you to his van in the parking lot.

“You couldn’t see anything because I wasn’t thinking it,” you insist, hurrying to catch up with Eddie’s long strides.

He hums like he doesn’t believe you and knowing his experience in school, you can’t blame him. 

Eddie puts on the radio and another song your parents would puke from hearing comes on. You look at him and he takes a glance at you.

He pretends that your doe eyes have no effect as he only says, “Black Sabbath.”

“Ah,” you pretend to know who that is.

Once again, you can feel something break out within your veins while sitting next to Eddie listening to metal. Exhilarating, you decide.

“You know,” you break the silence, turning and resting your head to look at Eddie, “about the play - you should have auditioned.”

His hands are tapping at the steering wheel with the rhythm of the song, something you now assume he does often, “And give everyone more reason to make my life hell? Doesn’t sound like my best option.”

He’s right, but even so, you can’t help from muttering, “Bummer. Would’ve been great working with you, Munson.”

“Then I’d miss out on your leading lady performance from the audience. Also not my best option.”

Flattery usually doesn’t work on you, but the way Eddie says it so simply - like it’s absolute fact - makes your heart stutter for just a moment.

“I never got the idea of performing like that,” he admits, “I mean, don’t get me wrong - I like giving a show to my band’s five drunks - Tuesdays at The Hideout, by the way,“ he winks and you can’t help but giggle at the obvious plug, “but school plays sound so…”

“Shit?” 

If Eddie weren’t driving, you’re certain he would’ve scrambled to clutch his pearls, “Swearing? You? No way.”

“I’m sheltered, not a child.”

“Of course, of course,” he relents, “but yeah. School plays just sound like an invitation for a public meltdown. You fuck up one line and everyone hates you.”

“I think that’s almost part of the appeal,” you shrug, “For me, at least. It’s weird, but I think I like that adrenaline.”

You know you like that adrenaline, but something about that commitment is lost on you when you’re explaining it aloud (Neurasthenia, you decide, from neuro for ‘nerve’ and asthenia for ‘weakness’. Coined by a young Dr. George Miller Beard in 1869. Now more commonly referred to as ‘anxiety’).

You want to know what it’s like. To be thrown to the wolves - just for a moment. For someone to lock you outside in the middle of a zombie horde before dragging you back in, you crave the pounding of your heart in a controlled setting. Class presentations are sluggish hell that nobody is really paying attention to. But school plays are just out of reach enough to be desirable. You want to feel alive - in a controlled setting.

Everyone coming is expecting flubbed lines and poor choreography. It’s all families and friends and a few teachers - nobody important is coming.

But when Eddie throws out a line about sitting in the front row just to see you all dolled up as Juliet Capulet, your mind blanks.

“Huh?” you dumbly mutter.

“I look forward to seeing you all fancy,” Eddie repeats.

Not exactly the way your brain translated it, but if you clogged your ears enough - you could act like it’s really what you heard.

“Well, I look forward to seeing the Eddie Munson actually at school for longer than he has to be.” 

“The Eddie Munson is not as excited about that, but,” he grins and you think the sight is more charming than anything the basketball team could drum up, “anything for you, princess.”

“Why do you call me that?” you tilt your head, dreading the fact you can see Family Video coming closer into view - halfway because work and halfway because it means you can’t talk to Eddie anymore.

“You’re like a princess,” he shrugs, “sweet ‘n’ pretty,” he turns to you and unbuckles as you do, “I can also see you leading an army.”

To say Steve’s eyes widen like dinner plates when he sees you walk into Family Video with Eddie “the freak” Munson would be an insult to dinner plates. You wave at him and Robin before rushing off to the bathroom to change into your uniform.

Eddie, meanwhile, strolls over to the counter and leans in so his head is resting on his hands, he looks up at Steve and smiles sweetly, “Hi, Harrington.”

“Munson,” Steve bites back bitterly.

Robin steps up beside her friend and waves, “Buckley.”

“Buckley,” Eddie nods at her in acknowledgment, “How are you two on this fine evening?”

“Cut the shit, Munson, what’re you still doing here?” Steve glares down at the metalhead.

“What? I can’t catch up with beloved former classmates?” Eddie sardonically pouts.

“Not when you’re doomed to repeat senior year until the state makes you drop out as a 21-year-old burnout,” even Robin gasps at that.

All humor suddenly drops from Eddie’s face as he stands up straight, “Fuck you, Harrington, I’ll get it this time,” he points at the bathroom you just ran into, “I got the smartest person in Hawkins helping me, so just watch. I’ll graduate.”

“Yeah, and stay away from her, by the way,” if it weren’t for the fact that they were trapped within the confines of a public workplace, Steve would be grabbing Eddie by the collar and shaking him cartoonishly - he’s sure, “You’re a bad influence and she doesn’t need that. Especially when she’s so close to getting valedictorian.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie pretends to think as he glares at Steve, “‘cuz I was always the one that people had to protect their daughters from.”

“If you so much as- "

Before Steve gets the chance to finish, you come out of the bathroom and flit to the backroom to punch your timecard, then return to the front counter.

“Lookin’ good, princess,” Eddie drawls as you approach him at the counter.

“Keep it in your pants, Munson,” Steve huffs.

To his surprise, you push Steve away and shake your head, “Don’t mind him.”

“Never did,” it’s a lie and everyone can tell, but he’s granted a small mercy in the form of nobody saying anything.

Eddie can’t determine what it is exactly, but with you leaning against the counter and staring up at him with those sweet eyes - his chest aches in a strangely delicious way. His angel of Family Video, is the intrusive thought to follow, and he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of it.

“You know,” your brows raise as he speaks, “if you want another ‘taste of the other side’, you’re always welcome at my trailer.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not off for a few hours,” you look at the clock - 3:52 PM, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t wanna disrupt your schedule.”

Eddie’s grin makes you snap to the realization that he’s about to tease you, but you can’t bring it in yourself to shut him down, “Do you have a bedtime, princess?” 

You sigh but respond in kind, “I try to be in bed by ten.”

“Well, that’s plenty of time,” Eddie throws his arms out, “Doesn’t matter the time, just the company - and if you’re there, the company is mighty sweet.”

The giggle that pulls from you makes you feel foolish, but the way Eddie brightens at the sound seems to make it well worth, “I’m off at 8:40.”

“I will be here at 8:40,” Eddie raps his knuckles to the wood counter before walking backwards out of the store, “That’s a promise!”

“I was almost hoping he’d trip,” Robin admits once Eddie’s out of the store.

“I was expecting you to start giggling and kicking your feet,” Steve stares at you in disgust.

“Yeah, whatever,” you huff but there’s still the remnants of a smile that you notice seems to come up whenever Eddie’s in question.

Robin is also grinning, hers, however, is more ribbing, “Someone’s got a crush.”

“Shut up,” you shake your head, “I do not. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”

“Even that is too far,” Steve interjects.

“Whatever, Mom,” you and Robin groan in sync and roll your eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Robin leans in to mutter, “that was adorable and you were so cheesing.”

“I was not cheesing, also that’s a gross way to put it.”

“Cheesing!” Robin sings.

“I was not,” you huff.

You totally were.

9:10 PM.

To be fair to you, you did say you try to be in bed by ten, not that you always are.

Fifty minutes until your parents would have wanted you asleep and yet you’re in Eddie Munson’s trailer bathroom changing out of your work uniform. You’d called your mother just minutes ago and lied to her directly for the first time since fifth grade when you said you did all your math homework but had not, in fact, done all of it.

“Keith just needs me here for a little while longer. I’ll call when I’m off, I promise. Yes, Mom, I’ll get a ride. Yes, I have my key. Okay. Okay, bye. Love you.”

“Oh, Dad’s home  - do you wanna say hi?”

You pretended to already be in the process of hanging up and simply clicked the phone to the receiver. 

Once again, the exhilaration of rebelling against an iron fist was returning. And good God did you find it addicting.

You can only imagine what your parents would be saying to you right now. How shocked your teachers would be that their beloved little top student was hanging around Eddie Munson. In his trailer no less. 

Scandalized, you think. That’s exactly what they would all be.

When you get to Eddie’s room, his head shoots up and you can see he’s rooting through his metal lunchbox. 

“Sorry,” his eyes flicker from you to his pale of drugs and back to you, “I didn’t hear you.”

An absolute lie, but he’d been on a roll of counting stock and didn’t want to stop because he knew he’d forget later.

In the time you take to respond he quickly finishes counting but before he can shut the box you stammer, “Actually, I- uh - was thinking.”

“Oh?” 

“I think I wanna smoke…” you mumble.

“Think or know?” Eddie raises a brow, “That’s very important.”

“Know,” you nod curtly and settle down onto the carpet next to him.

“Alright, princess,” he rises from his place against the wall of his room and points at his bedroom door, “I have to get a few things - and then I’ll show you how to take a hit.”

You nod eagerly and Eddie leaves - returning moments later with two glasses of water and a lighter tucked between his teeth.

Taking the water he hands you - you watch Eddie pull out a small bag of weed and take the lighter from his mouth. And you especially watch as he rolls the weed into a small square paper, or more specifically - you watch the way his muscles flex and the peek of his veins as he moves.

“You’re just gonna suck it, sort of like a straw,” Eddie holds up the joint between two fingers once it’s lit, “but not too much. Just little hits right now, and only a couple at a time so we can see how you feel,” you nod meekly and he brings the joint to his lips, “I’ll do it first - just watch, okay?”

You’re thankful he does it multiple times before passing it to you because if you’re honest, you had trouble paying attention during the first example. Too keen on seeing how his cherry lips carefully came around the joint and how he quietly gasped as he breathed in the smoke. Eddie was pretty, of course, he was - you may not know why it’s now that you’re paying so much attention, but you do know you don’t mind all that much either.

Carefully, you bring the joint to your lips and copy how Eddie did, though not for as long as he did. You let go and breathe in quickly to hold the smoke - waiting for a beat before releasing it. Your face scrunches and Eddie can’t help but chuckle quietly when you start to cough, though he does pick up the water at your side and press it into your hands.

“I don’t feel anything,” you look at him once the coughing has died down.

Eddie nods, “It doesn’t kick in immediately. Most drugs don’t.”

You take another hit and Eddie watches with sweet bambi eyes. His eyes are just as dark and endless as an abyss but whenever you look up and lock eyes with him, you can’t imagine why anybody would ever be afraid of him.

He’s loud. And he mocks cliques openly. But he isn’t afraid to make himself the fool for a laugh from his friends.

You think you adore him for that. The confidence with which his body moves even though everybody points and laughs. The strength he uses to resist the pressure of conforming. Certainly more of a hero than Jason Carver who taunts you for not doing his homework and harassing Chrissy when she tries breaking up with him.

Another coughing fit suddenly rattles you and Eddie rubs your back as you gulp down water. Eddie takes the joint and you wrap your arms around yourself, leaning into his side as he smokes.

You are wide-eyed and naive and you didn’t know that Special K was code for Ketamine until he told you in his van five minutes ago. You’re dense and you always let the flirtations roll off of you because it’s safer than assuming someone is actually interested in you. You come from an entirely different world than Eddie does and sometimes it’s so painfully obvious.

But Eddie can imagine himself taking you out on a date and that’s dangerous. For better or for worse, though, he’s never been the best at avoiding danger.

So he loops his arm around your shoulders and tilts his head back until it thunks against his wall. He doesn’t notice he’s doing it but he’s drawing the tips of his fingers over your arm in light circles. Then he observes, “You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, honestly anxious as you’re waiting to feel what you’d overheard about marujuana from your peers.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie continues his soft caresses when you relax under his hand, “‘s just that if you’re all tense and worried, then you don’t have as nice an experience - so I’ve learned.”

“Right,” you nod slowly and hold out your hand, “Can I…?”

“You sure?” Eddie places the joint between your fingers, but still holds it just in case you change your mind.

But you nod resolutely, “I’m sure.”

It can’t hurt. Besides, Eddie’s here - and he promised to take care of you.

You don’t know when it starts happening, but eventually you realize that your chest burns a little bit - but not in a way that you hate. It feels like your bones expand as you breathe; ribs a little heavier and your eyes start to droop. But you don’t hate it.

Eddie looks at you and grins and you return the gesture. He can see the red coming through your eyes and the way you keep licking your lips.

“Someone’s high,” he murmurs in your ear and puts out the joint in his ashtray.

“‘m not high,” you protest, but the way you’re nearly boneless against his side says otherwise.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“Maybe I’m a little high,” you throw your head back so it rests on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I know, sweetness,” the pet name makes you giggle and he definitely hears it, “What’s so funny, huh?”

“Uhh,” you stare up at his trailer ceiling and decide to play it off as best as you can, “thinking about my audition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you then turn your head, cheek squished against the material of Eddie’s Hellfire shirt as you look up at him, “I did Juliet’s monologue for it and now I’m, like, super embarrassed looking back on it.”

“Why’s that?” he turns so he’s looking down at you. Those bambi eyes now fitted with dilated pupils as they carefully watch you bite your lip and giggle. For a moment, he thinks about pressing gentle kisses to the lip you drag between your teeth.

“I totally axed my words,” you mumble but you pause, mouth slightly open as you think - then you giggle again and you know it’s only the weed, but something inside you likes feeling this way, “Don’t even know how it happened, but sometimes I used modern English instead of Shakespearean English.”

Eddie places his free hand over his heart, eyes widening, “That’s tragic. How’d you recover?”

“Stop,” you bury your face into the material of his shirt - it smells of pot and cheap cologne and you know that when you have to leave, you’ll miss it - “I just asked to start over and Mr. Harvey let me ‘cuz he knew I was nervous.”

“Well, I’m sure you still blew those other girls out of the water,” Eddie nods curtly and his hair falls into his face.

You don’t think before reaching up and brushing the hair from his eyes. Eddie’s gaze falls to yours and you two pause. It feels like the rest of the world could corrode and neither of you would notice - too busy staring into one another’s eyes.

A little smile comes over you and Eddie smiles back. You two giggle and Eddie takes the hand you used to brush away his hair and holds it. He squeezes your hand three times.

“You know what a shotgun house is?” you squeeze his hand back.

“Cannot say that I do.”

“They’re really common in New Orleans - it’s a house that has a direct line of sight between every doorway. So, if you shot your gun through the front door, it’d go straight through to the back.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he mutters, “Why would they name it based on how easy it’d be to kill all the residents?”

“No clue but it sounds badass,” he chuckles at your state and you move so your chin now rests on his shoulder, “How’re your grades?” 

Eddie’s attention couldn’t be ripped away from you if a fire caught right next to him. Your lips are barely inches away from his and it’s like he’s in the Garden of Eden, a snake coaxing him into reaching for the apple.

“They’re awesome,” they’re alright, “Actually looks like I’ll be on track to graduate this year.”

You squeeze the hand he’s holding and nod slowly, “That’s great, Eddie. I knew you could do it.”

“Well, I couldn’t have without you, princess.”

The nickname surely started out as a way to tease you, but now it feels more affectionate. Like he’s really trying to convey how dear you are. Tomorrow you’ll blame it on the weed, but right now you decide to bask in it.

“You’re really smart, Eddie,” when he looks at you skeptically, you push further, “‘m serious. You’re smart. I’ve heard from Dustin the kinds of campaigns you make and what a good storyteller you are. You need real brains to do the stuff you do and you make it look so easy. I think you should be more proud of yourself.”

“Yeah,” he nods but the way he spat the word drips with sarcasm, “I’m sure all our school’s beloved students would agree with you. Especially my best friend, golden boy Jason Carver.”

You pout and he has half a mind to kiss your forehead and get rid of the upsetting thoughts he just undoubtedly stirred within you.

But to his surprise, you just snicker and say, “They’re all the same like that. Saying something wildly insane and then only claiming they’re joking when it isn’t received well,” you huff, then grin, “Schrödinger’s douchebags.”

You’re giggling after the jab but when you look at Eddie, the laughter slowly dies when he only looks at you quizzically.

You press your lips and blink up at the ceiling, “Sorry, it’s dumb.”

You’ve never been good at talking to others. Even back in elementary school, you couldn’t form friendships with other students. You didn’t try to make them feel less than, but your words were too big and your jokes too clunky or specific. Kids would shove and pinch and point and grumble and you would always tell the teacher but nothing would get done.

You haven’t changed much and it makes you wonder if Eddie will grow to hate that about you, too.

“No,” Eddie insists, and your gaze returned to him, “I just have no idea who Schrödinger is or why he’s interested in douchebags.”

“Oh,” you bite your lip again and he admires how clearly you’re thinking despite being high, “Schrödinger was a physicist in Austria. He had this thought experiment that basically was like - a hypothetical cat in a hypothetical box may be dead or alive because you can’t see it, so you don’t know,” you wait for him to nod before continuing, “Therefore, the cat could be considered both alive and dead,” you gesture to the ceiling as if the basketball players would be up there, “Schrödinger’s douchebags.”

This time, Eddie nods and a small chuckle draws from his lips and you don’t think you’ve ever been more proud of making someone laugh before. You decide to keep this jewel and not blame his good humor on the weed.

You and Eddie sit like that. Quiet. Staring into one another’s eyes. Holding hands with his arm around you.

Then, suddenly, that beautiful smile came over his lips, “You relaxed?”

Like the cartoon character he’d accused you of being, you practically ‘teehee’ as you nod, “Yeah.”

…

It’s 11:10 by the time you actually end up at home - both you and Eddie wanting to sober up before he drives you home. Eddie’s tolerance was much higher than yours and he hadn’t had enough to genuinely inebriate himself, but even so. 

You lean back into the rolled down passenger window before Eddie can take off, “Hey, what’re some albums you recommend?”

He shoots you a suspicious glance, “Why?”

“There’s a record shop right next to Family Video and I wanna know what I’ve been missing out on.”

“Alright,” he pats the dash, not looking at you as he thinks, “I think, for now, we’ll just do one. And I’ll do you a favor and tell you about the greatest album of all time - Led Zeppelin four: Roman numerals though, so look for IV. Technically a rock album,” he suddenly whips to look at you and points at the ceiling, “but I have yet to find anything that compares.”

“Then Led Zeppelin IV it is,” you step back and wave goodbye to Eddie as he drives away.

Quietly, you unlock your front door, knowing that your parents were sound asleep by now, but you also know one girl who’s never asleep at this time of night. No matter how often you lecture her on proper sleeping habits, she’s up late watching romcoms and doing homework in her ridiculously exorbitant bedroom (even a TV that your jaw drops at every time you see it).

You make an effort to be as quiet as possible while you dial Chrissy Cunningham’s number.

It picks up immediately and you can hear the girl’s nails as she taps them against the nearest surface, “Cunningham residence - Chrissy speaking.”

“Chrissy, hi,” you murmur, “Do you have a sec?”

You can hear the way her voice lifts with a smile as she replies, “For you? Of course, what’s up?”

“I may or may not have just had the best night of my life so far.”

TUESDAY. 12:15 PM.

Chrissy is still grinning at you at lunch, “I can’t believe you got high with Eddie and didn’t invite me.”

“It was a more…” you can’t reason why exactly it wouldn’t have felt right for Chrissy there, you just know that it wouldn’t have, “private affair.”

She gasps and her hand lands on your shoulder, “Oh my God - my sweet girl? Is she,” she dramatically shakes her head, “no way, is she getting a crush?”

“What?” you laugh but something inside you clicks at her suggestion, “No way. We’re just getting friendly. It makes sense ‘cuz I tutor him, we should be friends. You know? It’s totally normal.”

“Mmmm,” she nods but you know it’s only for show, “that’s why he’s totally staring at you right now.”

“You’re joking,” you refrain from whirling around to check, but Chrissy just shrugs.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“You act all nice, but you’re really a witch sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s what I do best,” she jokingly flips her ponytail from one shoulder to the other.

You turn and see that, yes, Eddie was looking at you. You wave and he returns it, though he then quickly turns to one of the boys at his table and you can hear Chrissy giggling.

“I’ll actually be right back,” you stand from the table and you can just faintly feel the hands of Chrissy shoving you closer to the infamous Hellfire table.

Eddie, for once, isn’t trapped in the throes of an impassioned speech on the bullshit of forced conformity for his table’s enjoyment and you take full advantage of that.

It feels like you’re invisible to the cafeteria until you get just a little too close to the table of D&D kids. Then, the stares are hot and they scorch through your clothes as you dig around your pocket for two front stage tickets to Hawkins High’s production of Romeo & Juliet. Then, the people start whispering. 

But good God, the way Eddie’s eyes light up as you approach him makes the looks and whispers and points more than worth it. In fact, they fade away once when he throws out both arms at his sides and cheers, “Princess!”

“Special delivery,” you jest, holding out the tickets to Eddie, “I hope you like the show.”

“With you as our beloved star?” he takes the tickets and your fingers brush for just a moment, but it feels like everything else slips away in that mere second, “How could I not?”

“You’re in the play?” Mike does what Mike is best at and sneers at you.

“Yes, I am,” you actually feel proud to admit it when Eddie’s said so much about being eager to see you, “and I’m Juliet.”

“Oh,” the boy nods, “have fun killing yourself on stage.”

“I’ll certainly try, Michael,” you fiddle with your fingers and turn back to Eddie, “but, yeah. There’s two,” you feel stupid for mentioning it since he can definitely count that high, “so you can bring someone.”

Eddie immediately turns to Dustin and raises one of the tickets, “You in, Henderson?”

Dustin, ever the ray of sunshine (when he chooses to be), nods and takes it, then turning to smile up at you, “I’ll see you there.”

“Fantastic!” you give the boys thumbs up and awkwardly grin, “Can’t wait - hope you like it!”

Before you can leave, Eddie gestures for you to lean down and when you do, he whispers and you try to ignore the way it makes you shiver, “I was so kindly invited to a party tomorrow for the favors and treats I come with, but if you’d like to go - I could definitely use a plus one.”

You pull back, now genuinely beaming at Eddie and you nod eagerly, “I’d love to - yeah.”

“Sounds good,” he ignores the peculiar stares the Hellfire boys shoot him and says, “I’ll pick you up around six, yeah?”

“Yeah. That works,” you like the way Eddie smiles and how he’s playing with his hair while he talks, “Definitely works.”

You return to Chrissy’s side and Eddie skims the ticket before putting it in his metal lunchbox - since he truly does pay more attention to that than his own bag. He waves off the stares and jeers and hey, how’d you do that? that he gets from the Hellfire Club.

Meanwhile you’re practically tripping over yourself to update Chrissy on what the hell just happened between you and Eddie Munson - not caring how many of the cheerleaders stare or gag. You truly can’t be bothered when the only person to really make you feel alive is gladly paying forward the attention you wanted.

In retrospect, you should’ve noticed the way that Ms. O’Donnell and Mr. Harvey were whispering to one another while monitoring the cafeteria. Furthermore, you definitely should’ve picked up on how odd it was that Mr. Harvey gave you two front row tickets (and reserved seats with them) for free when you mentioned that Eddie Munson was the one you wanted them for.

Backpfeifengesicht (something that’ll come to you when you finally do make those realizations) a German word meaning - of a person - ‘in need of a slap’.

~~

Taglist @homiesexual-or-homosexual @chainsaw-man-inserts 4 u <3

#within six days #wsd fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[erisolitudediaries]

Cups of Coffee and a Pile of Books: The Truth About Becoming an English Major Becoming an English Major means a chain of cups of coffee and a huge pile of books. This is often the representation of others when they hear about this course – my course. While this isn’t always true, at least, for the most part, I can’t help but feel like the perception of people that becoming an English Major is just essentially - to teach, has some veracity in it. However, for people like me, that is to say, you guys who are also taking this major, know very well that being an English Major is more than meets the eye. It’s more than its face value, and far deeper than just teaching grammar and educating kids about the universal language. Hence, stay with me for a few minutes as I share four hard-earned lessons that I experienced first-hand, as we dive deeper into the real spirit of becoming an English Major. 

Words can tire you out for real.

I remember the time when I first entered one of my major subjects’ class. I thought, “this is it; I’m finally coming closer to understanding what my course really is”. I later found out I’d spend most of my time drinking unlimited coffee just to reach a deadline for thousand-word essays and scanning through pages and pages of books. One would think it’s easy and enjoyable, and all you do is write and read, but let me tell you, words can be exhausting and repetitive. Imagine writing throughout your college, I mean, that’s what it felt for me. Yet, as time passed by, you learn that just because your course is a repetitive cycle of words and pages, means it ends there. Yes, I’ve been burnt out countless times, but the skills and knowledge I’ve earned from these seemingly endless words, made me realize just how improved I am now with the language and how important English really is.

2. What’s so important about English, anyway?

I often ask myself this before too. I get it, English isn’t our first language, so why dedicate an entire degree for it? Let me share a deep insight regarding this. Communication is most likely the single most important skill that man has ever developed. It will always be vital in our co-existence, especially now with so many cultures and politics dividing us all. Hence, being able to understand each other, no matter the race and culture, will build lasting bridges between nations. This being said, with English being the universal language that all nations are, in some sense, required to learn, it probably is the most significant language to mankind today, and I couldn’t agree more. You see, learning English has global implications, and through endless flow of words, we, English Majors, nurture this huge bridge that develop understanding and comprehension.

3. People are asking: “What is your future with your degree? Become new generation of teachers?”

Yes – and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. As I’ve mentioned earlier, learning, and developing English as a language has global implications, and being able to share this knowledge with the youth, will hone the future of nation building. Teachers are often underrated. Indeed, we do not win Noble Prizes for curing diseases, and we don’t carry arms to fight for freedom, but let me tell you, there won’t be genius scientists and world leaders without education. Every profession starts with us! We don’t just teach you how to read and write, or develop skills and intelligence, but also compassion, emotional development, and inspiration to “rule the world”. Teachers are called our second parents for a reason! This in itself gives pride to educators. Imagine seeing that one mischievous student you’ve spent so much time teaching in grade school, become the next President someday. That means the world to us.

4. We aren’t just valuable inside the classroom; we are community builders too!

Not because we spend so much time writing reports and visual aids for teaching, it means we’re only important in schools. There is so much more opportunity for English Majors outside the classroom too. I’ve seen journalists, news writers, published writers, and leaders that stemmed from our degree as well. With our knowledge in words and story writing, the scope of what we can do is endless. We study this language for years, so you can just imagine how we can contribute to the future of our society, especially with humanity relying solely on communication for its evolution and progress. I mean, what good is a discovery or an invention if you can’t translate it into understandable words, right?

Yes, I get the presumption about English Majors. You see us gulping through countless cups of coffee and scanning through endless pages of books every day, and that we are being equipped to essentially – teach. However, with all these being said, I hope I have imparted with you a very special lesson. English Majors aren’t just teachers, we are nation-builders, developers of the new generation, and principals of communication. There is so much more I can share with you about my course and experiences, and there is a mountain of lessons I myself still have to confront in the near future. I guess, after earning the degree and facing the outside world, I can share with you my new knowledge then. For now, let me clean up my spilled coffee and put a bookmark on my pile of books, I’m yet to see that light at the end of this tunnel too.

#english #englishmajor

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023 Day 18: Alt Prompt 11: Panic

Ro

It’s fine. You’re fine. Ro, you’re fine.

I keep trying to tell myself this, my heart beating way too fast. Why does it have to happen on the day I turn in the essay worth half my damn grade? I’m terrified. I know it’s a good essay, but my teacher can be really strict and harsh about the small things.

I gulp as my teacher slaps my essay on my desk with a frown and a big red F covering half of the first page. “You’re lucky I don’t expel you for this, Potts.”

“W-What?” I gasp. “Sir, I worked on this for an entire month. I put a lot of effort and a ton of hours into this. Why are you giving me an F? I’ll fail this class if-”

He holds his hand up to stop me from talking. “Please, don’t embarrass yourself further in front of the class. This was clearly written by someone else. You either plagiarized it or had someone else write it for you.”

The students around me giggle.

My jaw drops. “W-Why would you think that? I swear, I wrote it all myself. Please, I-”

“Get out of my classroom if you decide to continue disrespecting me.” My teacher. Mr. Carson snaps.

My cheeks go hot and I feel my anxiety reach its peak. “I…I s-swear I…”

He points to the door. “Out. Now. Please, everyone, take note of what NOT to do and what I will NOT tolerate in my class.”

Legs shaking, I stand up and grab my essay, looking at the big red F in shame, listening to the snickering of my classmates until I’m outside and running to the bathroom to cry. I worked so hard on this paper and I’m being called a cheater. It’s not fair.

Contemplating calling my dad, I let my finger shakily hover over his contact name. “Get it together, Aurora. You’re fine...don’t freak out…it’s okay…”

The bell rings, signaling the end of the class. I need to get to my next one, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit through it without bursting into tears. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what to do now. I can’t skip, but I can’t stay.

I’ve been anxious about that essay all day. Of all the things I thought could happen, I didn’t imagine this. I’m heartbroken. Like the perfectionist I am, I have straight A’s. I’m Tony Stark’s daughter. I have to be impressive. Even if the general public doesn’t know of my parentage, I still hold myself to an impossible standard.

Looking down at my phone, I try to decide what to do. I can’t talk about my essay. I’m too scared to admit what happened. And I’m not even sure if Dad would believe my side of things. Sometimes he just…doesn’t understand.

I’m not an effortless genius like him.

Forcing myself to go to my next class, I try desperately to ignore the stares that follow me down the hall. Peter sits at the desk beside mine and smiles before noticing my demeanor. “Ro? Hey, what’s wrong?”

I struggle to keep my breathing even and normal. “Everyone thinks I’m a cheater.”

I put my essay on his desk. “I got a big fat F for cheating or not writing my paper. That’s what my teacher Mr. Carson said. I swore up and down that I didn’t cheat but he humiliated me in front of the whole class. I worked so hard, Peter.”

He frowns and looks at my essay, flipping through it. “This is really good, Ro. Maybe he thought it was so good that you couldn’t have written it yourself? I mean, that’s not a good reason to give you an F though. I’m really sorry.”

I nod. “My dad is gonna be so disappointed. I’m…I’m not like him.”

“You’re my best friend. I know how amazing you are. Your teacher is wrong. He’s just plain wrong.” Peter reassures me. “I’m sorry he doesn’t believe you.”

I exhale, deflating in my chair. “Yeah…thanks.”

The teacher from my English class walks in, making me go pale. I look at Peter. “That’s him…” Why is he even here? He doesn’t teach history.

He frowns sympathetically and grabs my hand from under the desk. “I’m sorry.”

“Hello, class.” Mr. Carson says. “I’ll be taking over for Mr. Dell today. He had a family emergency and had to leave. I’m Mr. Carson and I will be your substitute history teacher for the last class of the day.”

I gulp and he makes eye contact with me, recognition washing over his face. “Today we’ll be talking about Jacob Epstein and his famous case of plagiarism. My specialty is literature so I thought I’d bring something from history that involved what I know best. It’s a nice change of pace for you all.”

He looks at me again. “Plus, Miss Potts here knows a lot about plagiarism so it shouldn’t be a difficult assignment for her.”

My lip quivers as the students around me snicker. “Mr. Carson, I swear I-“

“In fact, why don’t we study Aurora Potts’ essay as an example?” He interrupts.

I hold back the urge to throw up, eyes darting to Peter. He squeezes my hand. “It’s okay. Ro, it’s okay. Look at me. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Mr. Parker, do you have anything you’d like to share with the class?” Mr. Carson asks him.

Peter looks surprised. “U-Uh…well, I just don’t…I don’t think you should jump to conclusions about Ro’s essay. In fact, I know how hard she worked on it. It’s not fair to give her a failing grade and tell the whole class that she plagiarized or cheated or whatever.”

God, I love Peter Parker. I’m so glad he’s by my side. I don’t have the mental strength to fight for myself right now. This day has caused too much anxiety already and I can’t take much more before I crack.

Mr. Carson slowly nods. “I see that you like to stick up for your friend here, and I’ll commend you for that. But a cheater is a cheater.”

Peter tries to rebuttal, but decides against it and holds my hand again. “I’m sorry.”

I am silent with a lump in my throat as Mr. Carson tells us to take out our notebooks, beginning to write on the board behind him.

Plagiarism Cases in Modern History: Aurora Potts

My stomach clenches and I’m almost certain I’m about to puke. Peter notices my quickened breath. “Hey. Hey, I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

I want to appreciate his words, but this is sending me over the edge. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. I can’t take the sound of my classmates giggling and taking pictures of the whiteboard.

Unable to take it anymore, I stand up from my desk, gaining the attention of Mr. Carson. “Miss Potts, you’ll have to wait until the bell rings to be excused.”

My voice shakes as I answer. “I-I c-can’t.”

“These are the consequences of your actions and you have to get used to that before you’re out in the real world. Nobody’s gonna hold your hand, and your parents are only going to be disappointed. What would your mother and father say?”

“M-My mother…” I squeeze my eyes shut at the painful memory. “My mother is d-dead.”

His face changes slightly and I think he may tone it down a little. “Have any siblings?”

I shake my head. “N-No…”

Mr. Carson sighs. “That’s a real shame. I guess your father will just have to live with a daughter that cheats her way through life. If you were my daughter, I’d be very, very disappointed. Your dad should be too. I’m sure he will be.”

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I burst into tears and run out of the classroom, desperate for refuge.

I hear Peter calling after me and it only makes me more anxious. Slinging my backpack onto both shoulders, I run for the exit and don’t stop booking it until I’m home.

Peter has called me a few times now. School will be out soon enough. I feel badly for worrying him, but I just couldn’t take Mr. Carson’s cruel words.

Sobs with my face in a pillow, I find it hard to breathe and hug it instead. He’s right. My dad deserves a better kid. Someone much smarter and stronger than me.

With all of this on my mind, I sob and heave heavily, unable to catch my breath. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“You seem to be in distress. Would you like me to notify Mr. Stark?” FRIDAY, the compound's AI assistant asks me.

I quickly shake my head. “N-N-No! No…don’t bother him.”

I sit on the floor next to my bed and find a shoebox under it. Oh yeah. I forget I had this. It’s been so long since I felt I needed it.

Opening the box, I see a razor blade and an old Polaroid of my mom. God, I miss her so much. I miss her more than anything.

Fidgeting with the razor in my hands, I contemplate using it. I’m such a disappointment. I can’t deal with all of this pain. Not anymore. Not without punishing myself for my own failures.

I slash horizontally across my wrist a few times, finding it almost comforting to see the blood trickle down. It’s what I deserve.

There’s suddenly a knock on my door and I begin to panic again. “Ro, are you okay? You’re home early.”

Dad. No, no, no. “I-I’m fine. I j-just…felt sick.”

“Can I come in?” He asks.

I shove the razor back in the box and put it back under my bed before rolling my sleeves down. “Y-Yeah.”

Dad enters my room, looking surprised at the state of me. “What’s wrong? Kid, what happened?”

Starting to cry all over again, I cover my face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I’m such a f-failure.”

He sits on the floor beside me. “You’re not a failure.”

“B-But I…m-my e-e-essay, it…” I try to explain, anxiety getting the better of me. I hyperventilate and pull at the ends of my hair so harshly I might rip some out.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop. Ro, stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself. Take a deep breath.” Dad tries to persuade me.

I’ve already hurt myself, so there’s another disappointment to add to his list. I can’t stop myself from spiraling.

Small clumps of hair come out as I continue to pull, worrying Dad more. “Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? Come on, look at me. You’ve gotta stop.”

His raised voice makes me crumble and he tries to grab my hands, causing me to cry out in surprise and panic. “No! No! No! Don’t touch me!”

He pries my fingers off of my hair, finally getting me to stop. He holds my hands gently as I shut my eyes tightly. “Ro, it’s alright. What’s going on, mini?”

Mini. Like Mini Stark. It’s one of my nicknames along with Tiny Stark, Micro Stark, Little Stark, etc. Anything to do with being the miniature version of my father.

But I’m not like him. I’m not strong, smart and confident. I’m just…me. “I can’t breathe.”

“Okay…alright. Look at me. Everything’s fine. You’re safe. Just look at me, okay?” He requests.

I slowly and fearfully open my eyes, looking into his. He’s kneeling in front of me now. “Good, Ro. Copy my breathing. Can you do that for me?”

I nod and he gives a small smile. “Okay. Breathe in…”

He does an exaggerated breath in. “Breathe out…”

This continues for a bit until I’m able to copy him long enough for me to calm down. I sniffle. “I’m sorry.”

Dad hugs me, tenderly cradling me in his lap as we sit on the floor. “Oh, mini…it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened today?”

I gulp nervously, clinging to him. “I got an F on my English essay. Because my teacher thinks I cheated…he thinks I plagiarized it or something. He berated me in front of my class and then he filled in for my history teacher and made an example of me there too. Everyone laughed and took pictures. Well…except for Peter. I ran out of class and he tried to chase me but I just kept running until I got home.”

He massages my hair. “I’m so, so sorry, Ro. I know you didn’t cheat. You worked really hard on it. I remember. And your teacher…I’m gonna have to have a word with him. I’m gonna fix this for you, alright?”

“It seemed like the whole school was making fun of me…laughing…gossiping.” I whimper.

“Kids are assholes.” Dad replies. “There’s always gonna be people like that and you can’t control it. You just have to believe me when I say it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“Thanks…” I mumble.

He situates himself beside me again, looking down as his hand bumps into something. “What do we have here?”

Dad pulls out the shoebox and I instantly panic. “Nothing. Nothing. It’s private. Please, it’s-“

He opens it and sees the Polaroid and razor, face darkening. “Ro…”

I’ve disappointed him for real this time, haven’t I?

Examining the blade, he lightly gasps. “There's blood on this. Fresh blood.”

Wrapping my arms around myself for comfort, I bow my head and cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I deserve to…I…I should be hurt.”

“Show me.” Dad mumbles softly.

I know what he means, but I hug myself tighter and hide my arms. “I don’t wanna…”

“Let me help you. Please, let me help you.” He replies.

I don’t protest as he carefully takes my arms and rolls up my sleeves, seeing the cuts on my left wrist. “Oh, baby…baby girl. It’s alright now, Ro.”

“It’ll never be alright.” I say mournfully. “I’m never gonna be as smart or as strong as you. I'm not like you…I’m hardly a Stark. I shouldn’t have this name.”

Dad helps me up and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and we can talk.”

We go to the bathroom and he has me sit on the toilet seat while he gently cleans my cuts with a warm washcloth. He’s so tender and focused.

“I'm sorry.” I say quietly as he works.

He doesn’t look up at me. “Don’t ever be sorry. If you ever feel like doing this again, you call me. You tell me.

No matter what time it is or where I am, you’ve gotta tell me so I can help you. Can you do that for me?”

I nod. “Mmhm.”

“Good.” Dad replies. “And for the record, you’re not a disappointment. If anyone deserves the Stark name, it’s you. You’re empathetic and wise beyond your years. And incredibly smart and strong willed. You’re everything I could ever hope for, baby. I promise you that.”

Sighing, I shrug my shoulders. “Okay, Dad…”

“It’s true.” He reiterates. “You’re going to be a great woman all by yourself. You won’t even need me.”

“I’ll always need you.” I counter, almost urgently.

Dad smiles. “I’ll always need you too, kiddo.”

Applying medicine and wrapping my wrist with bandages, he kisses it softly. “There you go.”

I’ve never seen him so soft and caring. He grabs my hand and lifts me from the toilet seat, wrapping his arms around me as we stand there.

He sighs contently. “I love you endlessly, mini.”

“Love you tons.” I reply, burying my head in his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it. What do you say we order some cheeseburgers and watch something? Anything you want.” Dad offers.

I grin, wiping my eyes after all of the crying. “Yeah, okay.”

He grins back. “Let’s get downstairs. I’m starving. You go pick the movie and I’ll order us some grub.”

Nodding, I go downstairs to find what I want to watch. And I’m actually smiling.

My dad loves me endlessly. He said as much.

That gives me more comfort than anything ever will.

#whumptober2023 #no.18 #panic #iron man #the avengers #mcu #fic #anxiety attack tw #bullying tw #self harm tw #blood tw #angst tw #hair pulling tw #panic attack tw #tony stark #aurora stark #ro stark #avengers #mcu oc #tony stark is a good dad #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark’s daughter #tony stark's daughter oc #peter parker #peter parker is an angel #whump #fanfiction #ironman #Tony loves her endlessly #altprompt 11

[ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit]

bestie how did it go???

Omg bro it was insane

So like I think I did okay, like maybe a four??? Idk

BUT THE FUCKING PROCTOR

not to make this long but omg I have to tell you about this guy.

So a couple weeks back, in my English class we had this sub and he wasted 15 minutes of class telling us that if we couldn’t sign our names neatly that we had no respect for ourselves and would never get a job. This was not on the plan our teacher left and like made it so we had less time to get our actual work done.

So of course, who does the school department pick to run the AP exam?

This half senile motherfucker.

So he starts reading the instructions for how we’re supposed to write out our names and full out the codes and nobody can hear him and he’s fucking it all up. Like that’s not just me being biased, the lady who runs the AP stuff at my school was visibly taking deep breaths and getting frustrated. She tells him what to do and when we start the multiple choice section she leaves us with him.

Then we get to the short answer questions and she told us last week that we would be able to get extra paper if we needed it but he was saying over and over again “no! It’s plain black and white on this paper, they are supposed to be brief!” So we make him call Larson (the lady who’s running it) and it turns out that yeah, it did say that we could have extra paper if we needed it, HE JUST DIDNT READ DOWN ENOUGH

(This man frustrated me so much, I’m sorry this is so long but I am venting to everyone I know about him)

So anyway we get our break, and he just allows like 20 of us to walk outside by ourselves we could’ve left if we’d wanted to like  some kids from other classes mixed in with us, it was a shit show. We ended up coming back in later than we were supposed but then he said we could go to the bathroom and when I got back from the bathroom there were three other people locked out of the testing room.

So we eventually get back in and we’re about to start the essay part. He could not get the times right. Like I think it was supposed to be reading time starts at 11:45 and writing ends at 1:30. He could not do this math. 

So during our reading time, he writes on the board that we ended at 1. Someone said that wasn’t right. He goes back and tries to figure it out. Then he writes 1:15. So I speak up and I’m like “no that’s not right.”

And this motherfucker is like “yOu’Re iN thE foUrTh rOw wiTh a MaSk oN I cAn’t heAr YoU” in a tone that made it sound like he was annoyed that I was wearing a mask (my brother has a disability that could make it bad if he got sick, like girl what…) and my friend who was also wearing a mask felt the same way when he spoke to her.

So he ends up writing on the board 1:25 which I’m pretty sure wasn’t right but this was after he had been trying to talk to us about the time WHILE WE WERE TRYING TO WORK ON OUR ESSAYS. 

He also had a timer going off for a few minutes and did nothing about it which was annoying.

He did not say anything about “hey reading time is over now” or “hey you should be about done with your dbq by now” 

AND THEN HE GOT A PHONE CALL. HE ANSWERED THE PHONE CALL. AND WE COULD NOT HEAR THIS BITCH WHEN HE WAS GIVING US THE INSTRUCTIONS BUT WE ALL HEARD HIM LOUDLY TELLING HIS BUDDY THAT “no [he’s] not busy, what’s up with you” LIKE WE WERE ALL DEATH GLARING HIM, MY FRIEND A FEW SEATS AWAY WAS LAUGHING THEIR ASS OFF, THIS WAS DURING OUR ESSAY WRITING TIME.

Anyway he gets off the phone and people are and throwing pens at each other and he of course does nothing. Boys next to me keeps saying penis while I’m rereading my essays.

Um so I really hope nobody tells college board or else all our results won’t count 💅

Sorry this was so long, tl;dr: our proctor was so bad this was absolutely horribly done

#I think I’d did. okay tho #Like I completely blacked all the questions out of my mind #But I think I did okay #Sorry again this was so long #<3 #troys amazing mutuals tag #marvelwasmadeforthebis

[jo-harrington]

Eddie Munson/Stranger Things Headcanons Part 4

I went and hung out at a friend's pool this weekend and it rained so it was honestly just shooting the shit with a bunch of randos that I went to school and worked with. So OF COURSE I thought of our favorite guy and all of his misadventures. I am becoming THAT disconnected from reality.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 before reading because I like to double back on my own thoughts and reference them...might not happen as much in this one but eh knowing myself I probably will. I should honestly just make a masterlist at this point but maybe if there's one more of these...which I know there will be. (I already have the ideas.)

Minors, please do not interact...please...

Eddie is an amazing storyteller. And before we go "well he's the DM for Hellfire, so he has to be Jo; we all already know that." No. I don't just mean the fantasy theatrical stuff ok? He can make any story exciting, he knows how to hook his audience.

Let's just start on an academic front. English/Literature/Launguage Arts whatever the subject is called? That's the class he does the best in. Just across the board. (I know I said he got an A in Home Ec. That was 1 semester/1 year, doesn't count.) Actually, I lie. Because I don't think it's actually a consistent A through this high school experience, but he does retain the most information. (Honestly, if the subject interests him in the slightest, he will retain the information. He has a memory like a steel trap. It's getting him interested in the subject that's the issue.) He would rather craft his own stories than write persuasive essays and all that junk. But BUT any way that he can twist an assignment back to storytelling or creative writing? A topic that actually interests him? He does. And more often than not, the teacher is impressed by the work he actually puts into it that he gets a decent grade anyway.

Eddie takes a Creative Writing elective his first senior year when he takes over as the DM for Hellfire Club (oh shoot...did I ever write that minor headcanon that he didn't found it? Well here it is now...it was a club someone formed in 76/77? Shortly after D&D was first published. Before he got to high school. But it was never as big as it was until Eddie took over and actively went recruiting his sheepies. Done.) He wants to hone in that skill and do more with home-brewed campaigns. He loves the source materials, but as I've said before fantasy worlds have always been his escape, and he doesn't want to just limit himself to someone else's ideas. (Am I projecting again? Well shit) He gets an A. Honestly Eddie either having an A in his classes during his first senior year or an F. Which combined with…not the greatest track record for grades in the years prior really shoots him in the foot. Needless to say when he repeats and has to choose his classes he is a little disappointed he can’t take creative writing a second time.

Eddie is and always has been this larger than life character to all of his friends. And part of that has to do with all of these misadventures he gets into and then regales them with fantastical stories after the fact. Honestly, it doesn’t help how other people view him either...many people say that his classmates aren't phased by his outburst in the cafeteria in S4E1 because they are used to him jumping on the tables and making a scene. Absolute facts. It's not always a big declaration, it can be as simple as telling his friends about the wild Thursday night he had. If you live in the Midwest, in a dinky town with not much entertainment--even less for kids--you kind of have to find your fun where you can. Eddie gets up to some trouble as a kid, but as soon as he gets his van, that's when you start getting the crazy stories.

The time he picked up a hitchhiker whose car broke down on the side of the road and ended up fighting their boyfriend and he is not a fighter. Period. So he had to talk his way out of it. Turns out that's the bartender at the Hideout and that's how they got their first gig.

The time he and his friends went to Rick's to hang out and they ended up bartering weed and beer for an afternoon on a neighbor's pontoon boat that Eddie said he knew how to drive but actually didn't. Did someone end up going overboard? Yes. Was it Eddie? Also yes. Did he somehow catch a huge fish? Absolutely.

Just so many stories like that and all of his buddies--including the ones who are there to witness it--don't really believe the things that happen to him. And he just smoothly can navigate his way through any situation with some slick words and an easy smile. Max Charisma. Honestly, Eddie is a big nerd and acts that way around other kids...but he can navigate through conversations with adults like no other. Now I said before, Hopper has a sweet spot for Eddie, poor kid just can't stay out of trouble and Hop does not want to deal with the paperwork. Don't tell me the ONE TIME, the FIRST TIME, Eddie got brought back to the station for them to call Wayne he didn't sweet talk his way through actually getting into trouble. Shooting the shit with Hopper, flirting with Florence, making jokes at Callahan's expense but Hopper and the other officers are just going with it. He's just a big mouth 16 year old kid; he's harmless. "Ok kid you're good to go. Stay out of trouble."

And then he never does.

Kind of on that note, let's talk about another resident of Hawkins that has a HUGE sweet spot for Eddie--Joyce Byers. And first off, Eddie has always had this wide-eyed crush on Joyce. (Who doesn't have a crush on Winona Ryder ok?) I don't see his mom being good friends with Joyce or anything, but they're neighbors/acquaintances and they're nice to one another and all of that. Joyce was the friendly, pretty lady at Melvald's. Whenever his mom would let him pick out a piece of candy and he would go at the decision like it was the most difficult decision in the world, Joyce would always sweetly encourage him. And she always remembered what his favorites were. She would talk shop with him as though he was just another adult and not a 7-year old. Then once he's older, his own father is gone, and Rick’s in the picture…well Rick ALWAYS was a flirt with his mom. Pre-teen Eddie thinking he's flirting with Joyce but obviously he’s just a kid, and she's just awwwing at the whole thing and maybe ruffling his hair something like that. Joyce doing wellness checks on Wayne/Eddie/Rick in the weeks after Eddie's mom dies; yes she has a lot on her plate but she can't NOT do it. Brings over a casserole or a lasagna and gives Eddie the biggest hug. And as the years go by and people start whispering about Eddie the freak, she knows he's just this misunderstood kid, and she definitely sees a similarity between Eddie and her boys. She's always extra nice to him because she would hope that's how people treat Jonathan and Will. When Jonathan starts high school, she tells him that he can probably go and sit with Eddie at lunch if he doesn't have anyone to sit with. He doesn't.

Ok but Eddie being, like, first in line for search parties when Will disappears. Like not only because of Joyce--I mean, a little bit, she's always been nice to him--but again that sense of community. Even if it's a night where Corroded Coffin has a gig or practice, he's picking up the boys in the van and driving to the high school for the rally and if any of them don't want to stay for the search, he's giving them shit for it. ("Not sticking around to help find the kid? Not very metal of you man.") He's taking down posters for the Battle of the Bands (even though he's, like, super pumped for it) so the posters for Will are more noticeable. When word gets out that they "found" Will's body in the quarry, he's beside himself. Works on some sad songs because he doesn't exactly know what else to do. He knows how upset he was when his mom died, but damn Will's just a kid, he couldn't imagine the pain Joyce and Jonathan are feeling. He and Wayne go to Will's funeral, just like the rest of the town does, and he doesn't want to overstep but tell me he isn't tempted to give Joyce the biggest hug, just like she did when his mom died.

Once Will is found and all of that resolves? If Eddie ever saw kids picking on Will, he would absolutely stand up for the kid. I want to say the first few months of the 1984/85 school year, Eddie is a little reserved, keeps to himself and the Hellfire Club--he's just kind of suffered a big loss as his friends he's known for years have left him behind and given up on what he thought were their shared dreams--but he absolutely is going to look out for the outcast kids. Maybe Eddie never outwardly approaches young Will if he's being picked on, being called Zombie Boy and all of that, but he sure as hell is going to find those kids and scare the living shit out of them. Especially if it's some punk high school kid thinking they're gonna get away with picking on a middle schooler. The middle school is apparently across the street from the high school, which is convenient (according to some map of Hawkins someone created on reddit) but Eddie waiting for the Hellfire kids to all catch up to him after school and watching Will wait outside of the Middle School for Joyce or Jonathan to pick him up. He notices the couple of asshole freshman who are all too eager to cross the street and call him names and all of that. Not under Eddie's watch. Again, Eddie is not a fighter but he knows his own reputation, so it really is just scare tactics. And he knows a bully is gonna bully you if they really want, so it’s not like there’s anything he can do to fend them off permanently. But damn if he can’t get them to leave the kid alone after school. Does Eddie start skipping his last class more often so he can stand out by the van and smoke and look like a general menace? Absolutely. Admittedly, that’s one of the classes he’s failing so that doesn’t help with the whole…repeating senior year again situation. But god damn if that isn’t worth it to see those punks leave that poor kid alone.

This mutual respect between Jonathan and Eddie. Like I said, when Jonathan started high school, Joyce told him to go find Eddie Munson if he was having trouble with his friends or finding a place to sit at lunch or something like that. Again, Eddie is such an intimidating character and unless you know there's that softer side to him, you're really not going to see it outright. But as the years go on...well, they're both in different outcast circles. Eddie's got his crew of Hellfire, heavy metal nerds, and Jonathan and his handful of friends are a part of the pretentious artsy crowd. But once Jonathan finds out that Eddie stands up for Will...well he doesn't know the exact extent that Will is being picked on outright...but he hears that Eddie put those kids in their place and told them to scram. It's a silent head nod across the cafeteria.

Anyway, it's getting late for me. (Oh god, I just saw it's not even 9pm. I am OLD.) I, of course, have more thoughts. This wasn't even what I wanted to scratch at last time I had more thoughts, it was specifically brought on by being a loser from the Midwest with a bunch of bored friends.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson headcanons

[thekinkyleopard]

Hot For Teacher

Pt.3

Pt. 3 of a Non-Canon Remi x Levi Fic

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Possessive Behavior & Fluff

Author’s Notes: I literally love this series so much ugh. I’m hoping you guys do too! Shoutout to @aller-geez as always for the art and Remi! Thanks for having patience with the long wait guys, it’s been…rough, but I was able to squeeze this out. <3

Description: Levi is a newly divorced English Professor, at his local community college. Recently, he’s had a new student that clearly lacks boundaries. Can he maintain his purity as a responsible educator to society? Or will he submit to the taboo…

One Week later

It was a beautiful Monday on campus, Levi didn’t have any classes but he loved to spend his time at the college, grading, editing, and writing in the atrium. Sometimes, he even enjoyed scanning through the library to read and relax. It was around noon, the professor had taken a break after spending the morning slaving over grading essays, he was completely famished. With his sling case secured around his shoulders, he exited the library, where he had been, making his way into the campus cafeteria. The Professor waited patiently in line as he scrolled through the emails in his phone, he got to the front, looking now at the options before him. “Oh, uhm…shrimp fried rice and some orange chicken please,” he nodded smiling happily at the cafeteria person. Pleasantly she scooped up his order, handing him a to-go box and a receipt to take down over to the register with a pleasant smile.

“Have a wonderful lunch, Professor!” Taking it from her he grinned back, nodding to the woman before following up with a friendly response.

“Thank you! Don’t work too hard now!” They both shared a harmonious laugh together, before Levi made his way to the register, grabbing a grape soda halfway through, then paying for the items and leaving to the outside eating spaces. He passed by many faces and different types of people. It seemed to him that they all blurred and meshed together at this point. Every year it felt the same, which was a comfort, but also a curse. Keeping generally to himself, he found a lone table under a shaded tree, taking the opportunity he slid inside and began to unpack what he bought.

“That sure looks delicious, their Chinese food actually fresh ? I’ll have to give it a taste..” a familiar voice loomed over the back of him, he cocked a brow and swiftly turned to face the student.

“What are you doing here?” Asking surprised, looking the man up and down. He looked as he usually did, band tee, trashed jeans, campus letterman and his black bag.

“Well, Professor, I am a student…so…” he said it but followed up with a charming, yet playful smirk spreading across his face. Levi slapped his own forehead and laughed himself.

“Duh…” shaking his white styled hair back and forth before he turned back around to open the box before him. “I personally love their Chinese, can’t tell you much on the fresh front cause, well, I don’t work in that department and what I don’t know won’t kill me,” shrugging with genuine seriousness before cracking the tab of his soda now.

“Food poisoning can kill you..and I would be absolutely devastated to receive an email about your untimely death via spoiled Chinese,” tsking and shaking his head back and forth before inviting himself in to sit at the table Levi had claimed for the hour. The cat gave a nasally chuckle as he stuffed his face full of food, groaning with pleasure.

“If that’s how I die, know I died a happy man,” he laughed now that he had a free mouth after having chewed and swallowed. Remi also chuckled along side the educator, the two enjoying each other’s friendly banter. “What class do you have today?” The leopard asked casually of the other who shrugged and without breaking his gaze on the man, answered.

“Math and Shop, I’m in my 2 hour break period right now, was on my way to see what the cafe had before I ran into you here eating all alone and what not,” that same charming smiling never broke off the raven haired man’s lips, his emerald greens observing the other’s movements closely almost as if he was memorizing them. Oblivious to the other’s astute observations, Levi continued to eat, and drink his beverage in between sentences. 

“Yeah? You like your professors there?” Keeping the conversation casual, light. Professional. The key word. Biting his lower lip slowly at the sight of the other carelessly chowing down, Remi released it and shrugged his shoulders, sliding back into a proper sitting posture.

“They’re okay, no one I like as much as you though,” shooting the now suddenly blushing educator a quick cheeky wink. Clearing his throat as he finished up another very full bite.

“Well, I’m flattered I have such an influence on you, Mr. Connors, I’m glad to see that I can motivate you through your studies,” that outta save it. Right? Keep steering him into a platonic, professional direction. Or else, be damned. He was still pretending as if that evening after the test, didn’t happen. Rolling his patient emerald eyes, Remi brushed a flirtatious foot against the educator’s.

“You don’t need to be so coy, Levi, there’s no one listening,” smirking and still hungrily gazing at the other.

“You don’t know that, apparently, I have students out there watching me so carefully they know my coffee order,” shooting an accusatory gaze now at the man who could only laugh in a sheepish manner.

“I mean…It’s not my fault YOU aren’t aware of your surroundings all the time…” leaning forward, his elbows now on the table as his face rested on top of his laced together fingers. “However, I have an incredible sense of awareness so, you can trust me,” his foot grazed just gently against the other’s from under the table. It was subtle, smooth just INCASE there were cameras that could see the angle. He was indeed, obsessed, but he wasn’t an idiot. The educator blushed again, feeling their feet collide just barely.

“Remington…” Levi was getting started, ready to repeat the same dialogue he had been, but said man cut him off swiftly with a raised hand.

“What do you do when you get home? Who are you outside of being a teacher?” Trying to quickly distract the Professor, save him from the words he already knew he was going to hear. This wasn’t the time or place to argue boundaries with it being so out and open. No, there wasn’t anyone around paying them any particular mind, but if voices started to raise, that could change. To avoid ruffling the other’s fur, he just smiled, innocently intrigued to hear the answer.

Levi sighed, picking and shoveling through his food before he gently shrugged, responding shyly with a clear guard, unsure of the student’s sudden angle and change of subject. “I don’t know… I watch a lot of Rachel McAdams films…” avoiding eye contact, as it was kind of embarrassing how little of a life he really had.

“That’s it? Just rehashing cheesy hallmark movies?” Quietly slamming his fist on top the rather stable table, he gasped.

“Her movies are so much more than that !” Deeply offended by the other’s response, but also still unable to avoid the smile threatening to pull up at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, okay, she’s great I’m not mad at that but like…you don’t do anything else?” Curiously poking at the educator, wondering what drove his soul.

“Well…I really enjoyed roller skating and crafting back in my college years but like…I just don’t really, have the drive for it anymore I guess…” answering honestly now, forgetting almost that he used to have passions before his life, essentially turned upside down.

“Why do you think that is?” Remi’s head turned to the side casually, and curiously. It was clear by the look on his face that the wolf was listening very intently, registering every word that was said to him.

“Well….I was sort of forced into a business marriage, for my father…but it was horrible, and neither of us loved each other, I mean…we knew what the relationship was and it just became a hostile environment, and something like that will…” he paused looking down at his half empty food dish now as he scuffled some of the pieces of rice around. “Kill something inside of you, which poisons the rest and then, you just kind of feel like a ghost…living in reality,” looking up to see that Remi was looking at him with soft eyes. Nodding slowly, he considered his next words carefully.

“You know, I can’t imagine, what that must have been like for you…It must have been really, uh…well, hard,” nodding once before continuing “But, from where I’m sitting…you’re free to do what YOU want now, in your own space…so…maybe try something small? Like..a small project you can do WHILE …sobbing at cheesy hallmark movies,” his genuine thoughtfulness ending in a sarcastic chuckle. Levi broke out in a smile and looked down now, blushing lightly.

“You’re right..you’re right..I can’t keep living in that, when I’ve moved past it…I’ll give it a shot…look at you,” gaining the confidence again to look back at the other’s glowing greens. “Influencing me, how about that?” smiling sweetly, allowing Remington to see the human in him, not just the closed off educator.

The raven haired man’s heart raced inside his chest, it had been weeks of very careful observation from a far. Always keeping an eye on his favorite small teacher, but finally having the courage to just sit with him for once, and ask the questions he’d been dying to know. “I think we make a good influence on each other…” saying it so casually like a knife through butter.

“I would hope so,” and truly, in every context, Levi meant that, in some ways one could definitely argue otherwise, but Remi’s grades have never been better since being pushed to try harder. Levi, has never felt more alive since his marriage started, than he had starting this semester and meeting Remi. Whatever was here brewing between these two men, was undeniable to both parties, but such a dangerous…thin line to stand on.

“Let me take you on a date…please, just one,” the student was unable to take it anymore, he needed to see how, where and if he could advance this relationship, get the man to see him as a true romantic equal. Disappointed to see the white haired man shake his head back and forth.

“It’s against policy, Remi, I legally can not do that…” biting his lower lip, hating to say it, truly, because if it were in any other situation he would be over the moon. A handsome, driven man, wants him? However, teaching was all Levi had now. He couldn’t put that on the line for what would probably turn out to be a fling.

“We don’t have to tell anyone until after I graduate…I won’t make any moves on you while on campus…I’ve thought about it extensively and people do it all the time…” still being faced with the same stubborn educator he had been.

“I’m not those people, and I’m not risking it…” he furrowed his brows now, doubling down on his answer. “Graduate first…then ask again,” Levi now stood from where he was once seated, and stepped away from the table finishing the rest of his beverage in one final gulp. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Connors,” nodding his head with a subtle wink of his bright blue eye, he walked away tossing his trash in a nearby can. Leaving the wolf to sit there with many emotions flooding through him. Okay, so it wasn’t a full stop no…however, it would still be at least another year before he graduated…and this insistent need grew larger and larger in him everyday. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to simply keep their relationship platonic. However, he had a goal, and a date, eventually…well actually, confirmed, the man said it himself, ask again. That would have to imply he would say yes when they were no longer in a power dynamic, right? Right. It had to. Obviously. He could be a little clueless but he wasn’t brain dead. A confident smirk now spread across his face he scooped up his bag and made his way through the campus.

.

.

.

Later that Night

Levi pushed through the front door of his empty, dark home. Slumping his bag lazily down onto the floor of the main entry way, couldn’t be bothered to put it in the closet, or even make it to the counter. The man ran a hand through his soft wild mullet, looking about at the sheer emptiness of his dwelling. Remi was right…he couldn’t keep himself from freely expressing himself anymore, he was truly capable of doing whatever the hell it was he wanted. So, with what little time left in the night he had, he spent it on Pinterest. Looking through hundreds and hundreds of DIY home redesign…he was going to start a new project. Project Safe Space. Initially when his ex wife, without hesitation, signed over the house to him, he thought of it as a punishment. Having to live in the very space he felt like he spiritually died in. However, giving a lot of thought to what his student bestowed on to him today, he realized he could make it a place of rebirth. All on his own, by his hand and creation. He had spent all night researching paint, furniture, decor ideas, he even considered consulting with a professional home decorator for a second. However, he didn’t want to pay someone to make it his home. This was part of the healing.

Eventually, without much warning or notice? The educator fell asleep flat on his laptop. It was hours into the night, when his face turned slightly and scrolled down, clicking one of the, once silent, video ads. This caused a loud sound to emit from the computer’s speakers, waking the Leopard up instantly with a jolt. He sat back, eyes wide, incredibly flustered as his hands scrambled and prodded at the different keys, doing anything he could to make it stop. Soon enough, he got it, and took a deep inhale, releasing it loudly. “Fuck…” he cursed under his breath looking at the time on his phone. “Great…two hours before I have to be up…” shaking his head back and forth slowly, he stood up from the dining room table he once was asleep in and made his way over to his actual bed. Flopping into it without much consideration to the fact he was still in the clothes he had worn all day. Unphased, he fell soundly back to sleep.

What Levi thought to be 20 minutes was indeed, the last two hours of his sleep. Phone alarm now blaring loudly to signal that it was time for him to rise. He groaned angrily his hand searching desperately to find the source of sound. Unable to do so with his eyes closed he sighed, eyes snapping open against his best wishes, locating the cellular. Finally, he was able to silence the obstructive noise and despite every cell in his body screaming against him, he dragged himself out of the comfort of his bed. Trudging his way over to the closet he slung on a simple light pink button up, fastening a black tie to close, fresh pair of boxers and some black slacks. He sighed once more with tired frustration before making his way slowly to the bathroom, brushing, flossing, and making himself a little more alive than he felt. Snapping at himself less than confidently in the mirror he tried a few breathing exercises. Remembering that today, he would have class, and see his bright shining, eager to learn faces…Remi’s face…he let out another content, but cheerful breath now. “Yes, I get to see, my favorite student today…” smiling at himself through the reflection, instead of faking it as he had been. He knew he was tired, but he also knew why…because he had been up late doing something genuinely good for himself. All at the suggestion of that, persistent man. Sliding on his shoes and grabbing his bag by the door he swiftly made his way down to the bus stop.

Despite waking up right on time as usual, and getting at the bus stop in his typical manner, he somehow ended up a bit early to campus. This didn’t bother him though, it would give him time to prep, maybe grab a coffee…first he had to get to the class room. As he walked up to the door, there was a student there already waiting, one of his more laid back students. The man stood up straight from his once slouched position and nodded at Professor Levi. “Hello Professor! I wanted to get an early start, I know office hours are usually after class to 6, but I have work immediately after these classes…I was hoping you could make an exception?” The student was nervous, clearly. Lots of professors on this campus did not play games with their office hours. However, Levi wanted the success of all his students, therefore he had no problem making an exception if it would aid a student in his studies.

“Absolutely, Mr. Rodson, please…come in, what do you need help with?” Levi carried the conversation now unlocking his classroom door and allowing both of them to cross the threshold and over to the professor’s desk.

“Well…this new story we are reading, what relevance does it have to our studies really? I guess I’m having a hard time relating to the main character..” he was struggling to put together what it was about this book that he just couldn’t seem to get through. His body language turning slightly more confident in the space of the class, eyes looking the educator up and down. Levi hummed gently to himself before sitting down into his chair and crossing his legs over one another.

“Have you ever been exposed to indigenous people and culture, Mr. Rodson?” Asking out of genuine curiosity now.

“Well, not really I mean I grew up in a mostly white country town…” shrugging thoughtfully as he considered his experiences through the past.

“It may be hard for you to connect to the character Arnold, because he’s an indigenous boy, living in a completely different world and perspective than you…which, I’d say, Mr. Rodson, should be why the more you should be drawn to it….you have lived a life of relative privilege, Arnold did not, it’s important to hear those stories…and analyze the value in listening to other’s experiences,” the student seemed to be listening but he was also deeply staring at the professor’s lips, oddly enough, shaking his head he shrugged.

“I just don’t see the relevance of Indigenous experience to learning proper English…” slightly taken aback by this answer Levi sat back even more now looking the seemingly white passing student up and down.

“English class is about learning to comprehend, book material is less about what the plot is, and more of, did you understand it? Did you capture the proper imagery? Did you FEEL the author’s intended or lack therefore of, passion, I personally chose this book for the class as it is educational, funny and I think it’s very important to have some standard readings, but also expand past typical white writers,” he paused to examine the student’s face after he said this, receiving neither negative or positive response he continued. “I like diversity, my students should hear minority stories, and be able to comprehend what they’re saying without trying to disband or argue their experiences…while some themes and ideas can be used for creative discussion that can lead to say…you and another student to disagree…that doesn’t mean we are trying to argue the Author’s original experience,” students started to trickle into the classroom, Remi as well who immediately noticed the professor busy in a rather intense conversation. He sat closer, instead of all the way in the back to quietly stalk and observe the Professor, no, more accurately, he wanted to hear the discussion going on at the front.

“I mean, I see your point, but I think I guess, I need help finding that ability to retain information on something I can’t personally relate to?” Trying to explain it from a different angle, but still inappropriately glossing his eyes over down the the small man, that Remi caught as he was watching attentively. His fingers digging into the edges of his desk. Levi chose to ignore the student’s ogling eyes, excusing it as a nervous inability to maintain eye contact.

“Mr. Rodson, did you personally off yourself after falling in love with a girl you just met that you thought was dead but wasn’t?” Crossing his arms over his chest and looking at him now with a tired expression. “You can relate to a little girl that lives next to a man everyone has labeled a monster, but really it’s cause they’re all racist?” The student wanted to speak but he wound up closing his mouth again.

“Or maybe was it easier to put yourself in the shoes of other white characters? Expand yourself, Mr. Rodson, I don’t know what else to tell you…it’s a wonderful book, and I can’t make you read it, but I’d really think you’d enjoy it if you gave it a fair chance,” shrugging his shoulders now he turned around grabbing a marker from the board and starting to jot down the morning agenda. Stephen stayed where he stood, looking the professor up and down more openly now that he wasn’t face with him, lingering eyes on the way the slacks hugged onto his small but bubbly butt.

“Hey, whatever you say, Professor…I’ll give it a shot…” lingering still as he continued to ogle. The wolf’s blood was boiling watching another man eye down what he considered was his. I mean, Levi said it. Once he graduated…which is like the same thing as a promise ring. It’s a promise…date? Promise…ownership? It didn’t matter, his eyes were set on the thin educator and he’d be damned if he was gonna let someone treat him like meat. He stood up aggressively slamming his hands down onto the desk.

“Sit the fuck down, Rodson, ‘fore I make ya,” he growled low in his throat, daggers running straight through the other man who turned to look at the aggressor. He chuckled, feeling brave today, he crossed his arms across his chest and cocked a brow.

“That right, Connors? What’s the problem? Only you can have special chats with Professor Levi and I can’t even get a little help on the reading?” Firing back with attitude as the students who were present all stayed dead silent. Watching it all unfold in front of them.

“You don’t need help with the reading, you’re racist, you don’t want to read the story of a rez kid growing up between two worlds, and you were hoping you could shmooze your greasy way through with the Professor to get a pass, tough luck,” the wolf laughed at the other, stepping closer now from behind his desk, still a few decent paces away from him.

“I’m not a racist!” Immediately trying to defend himself with his palms up, face scrambled, looking about for any sort of help. Levi turned around swiftly and slammed his marker down. “Gentlemen, SEATS, please, no more of this,” he narrowed his eyes mostly at Stephen, and then over at Remi who stuttered backward hesitantly.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, white man,” huffing under his breath before turning back to his seat.

“Whatever, nobody,” unable to help himself in true, male fashion. Remi hesitated, pausing where he stood, and Levi could see it coming from a mile away.

“RODSON, if you can’t keep your mouth closed, I’ll ask you to leave,” quickly trying to step in as the enforcer of the classroom, hoping to keep off a fight. Remi smirked, still turned away, but not moving any further from where he stood.

“You’re going to defend him?? He’s calling me out of my name! Pft,” offended as he scoffed now “He must be really good at plowing that hole,” shaking his head back and forth, Levi was flabbergasted, he stood back almost like he’d been physically assaulted. Remi immediately turned around, like lightning he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, lifting him and shoving him against the educator’s large desk. Levi raising his hands in defense and immediately rushing over to try and pull the wolf off him.

“Say it again, I triple double dare ya…I got the money to defeat another assault charge, you wanna go?” He licked his growing incisors, his emeralds glowing a bright toxic green, the class around them all gasped and started rustling and whispering in terror.

“What’s the matter, tough guy? Don’t like sharing a piece of the pie? Why not let me have my shot at a good grade, hm?” Laughing in the enraged man’s face, feeling more than intimidated but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Remi began to cock his arm backward before Levi managed to squeeze his arm between the two of them, and putting an open palm down onto the closed fist.

“Both of you, separate now,” his voice was stern, serious, his face was enraged, fed up. This was not how today was supposed to go and he was absolutely furious with the both of these students. Begrudgingly, Remi stepped backward, knowing he would only screw his chances of coming back to this class if he hit the kid. He took his opportunity though to quick lurch forward and flex his fist at him. Stephen flinched inward, eyes closing as he prepared for some sort of impact, only left with passive laughter.

“Pathetic,” he stepped away, walking over to the desk he once was seated at, he snagged the bag off the floor, eyes still radiating as he left the class without a word.

“Mr. Rodson, I will be reporting your behavior to the dean today, as far as today’s lesson, go home, you’re no longer welcome in my classroom,” without a second glance or thought, Levi started his lecture. Leaving Stephen to collect his things and leave like the kicked puppy he felt like he was. It bothered the educator that Remi left…why? Maybe he had to gather his thoughts…he was pretty riled up. It didn’t look good that they were fighting over what they were fighting over. He didn’t like that because of a few instances that Remi has stayed behind to chat, and sometimes flirt, was being noticed by other students. There isn’t a chance someone saw them was there? No…the door had been closed when the kiss happened…right? Suddenly he found himself unable to remember. Oh no…did Stephen see? What if he reports him and then Stephen reports what he saw? There’s no way , there’s no factual evidence against him so even if he did, both he and Remi could deny said allegations. Nothing was even going on! There was one kiss and some intense flirtatious banter…nothing more or less. Everything was fine.

Finding himself more and more worried about the man who stormed out earlier, even long after class had departed and he had gone home, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to check in…and seeing as almost all the class emails he’s sent out have gone unanswered, it’s unlikely the wolf checks those. He was going to have to break code a bit…from home, through his laptop he accessed the student info database which was open to the professors based on their current classes. This was typically used for emergencies. Say a student hadn’t shown up, hasn’t answered emails, then they have the ability to access the data center for personal info like phone numbers and addresses. Levi put in Remi’s student information and up came the details he was looking for. Quickly entering the phone number into his own device, and saving it under “Remington Connors” he closed the laptop and drew up a text.

Hello, Mr. Connors, this is Professor Levi, I just wanted to check in with you. I know today was pretty intense and I still plan to report Mr. Rodson’s behavior tomorrow morning, just hoping you were able to find some peace today, I can email you the assignment I have at the end of today’s class if you would like.

He sighed sliding his phone into his pocket before going over to his kitchen and looking around. He really wanted to add more greenery to this space….maybe an indoor garden. He contemplated the many ways he could redesign this area when his phone went off.

Oh? I’m flattered you’d reach me through your personal cell…Im okay now…I just didn’t like how he was looking at you…and talking about you…

Levi read the text and couldn’t help but roll his eyes though it wouldn’t be seen by the other.

Mr. Connors, you don’t need to defend me I am a grown man.

Where does he get off? He could very easily have handled Stephen’s sour attitude himself, he didn’t need the wolf popping off and making everything look weird to the other students.

I know that, but I can’t help it…you’re mine.

The audacity. Levi knew texting the man would be a bad idea. He probably thinks it’s just harmless texts, it’s no big deal. No, it was. If he ever got investigated, they’d use them against him in court. Solidifying the end of his career.

Im not “yours” and you can’t be acting like that in front of the whole class, clearly people are talking…

Let them talk, they can’t confirm anything. Just stupid rumors

Are they rumors though?

Levi made a fair point, if they really were tip toeing the line and crossing it here and there, the rumors weren’t exactly far fetched.

I meeeeaaaannn….👀 they can’t prove it tho

The educator couldn’t help but chuckle at the use of emoji to plead his case. Setting his phone back into his pocket and leaving him on read he mulled over the many possibilities that danced in his head. His kitchen was definitely going to need a lot of love and care, Levi missed cooking and missed loving to cook. He knew once he tailored the space to him specifically he’d get back to making himself gourmet meals. Thoughts interrupted by the sound of his phone chiming off again. He gazed at the new text and found himself immediately blushing.

Since I have you here…send something sexy

Who does he think he is? Swear the man only used one head when speaking to him and it wasn’t the one on his shoulders.

Earn it

He shot back, and immediately regretted it. “Fuck!” Slapping his forehead and wishing he could unsend it but, it was too late. The message was read. He watched as the typing bubbles started…then stopped…again…had he stumped him? Nope. Incoming photo message. Oh no. What did he start? What did he do? He opened the message to see Remi, laying shirtless in his bed the angle was from his lap, he could see the start of a happy trail that lead up to his chiseled and tan chest. Levi wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t immediately feel something boil from deep within him. His face hot, hands clammy, he bit his lower lip and groaned inwardly. He was so…fine…his hair a mess, that cocky grin…

Am I earning it?

The photo was captioned with a text, and Levi shook his head back and forth. No! He couldn’t give in like this…right? It would incriminate him later….wouldn’t it?

You’re going to get me in trouble…

Trying a more honest approach to the situation.

Promise I won’t…live a little…

The educator took a deep breath in and then exhaled outward. Something a little lewd wasn’t terrible right? He walked over to his bathroom, and flicked on the light. He began to strip his tie loose, but not all the way off, and unbuttoned his shirt halfway, letting one side slip down a freckled pale shoulder, exposing the flesh there and from the front of his chest. He looked himself over and then using his back camera, he stood with his back against the mirror, his face looked behind him, facing the reflection as much as he could, body slightly crooked to the right now, exposing the obviously teasing shoulder, biting his lower lip, he snapped the photo. Reviewing it over, with slight hesitation, clicking send. He held his breath.

More.

Feeling nervous, but now sliding both pieces of fabric to drape down the sides of his shoulders he took a front camera selfie now, his hand messily in his hair, he stuck out his tongue, one eye closed the other slightly squinted. His bare chest visible but his shirt and tie completely strewn about made him look….tantalizing.

Let me call you, please?

Too real. It’s getting too real. He nearly threw his phone terrified of stepping any further outside the line, he tried to maintain his composure.

Not tonight. Enjoy what you got. ;p See you Thurs.

Throwing his hand through the wild strands of white hair he shook his body back and forth a bit. Trying to free himself of his terribly sinful wants and thoughts. No he wouldn’t just dive in head first. He needed to test the man…see if he was serious. Was he really in this for the long haul? Or is it just another 28 year old trying to get it in with a College Professor? He could never know now a days in this era. All he knew, was he struggled to keep himself at bay around the student. He wondered himself how long he could put it off before, he…caved into temptation.

Oh…I will…goodnight ;)

His heart skipped a beat. Only left now with the thoughts of what the large, desperate man was going to do with those photos, sending chills down Levi’s spine. “Fuck..” realizing that he may have solidified the exact opposite of what he had hoped to achieve.

To be continued….

Thanks again guys for being so patient while waiting for these next few fics to release 🫶🏻 It means a lot to mean that you guys enjoy my writings and value me as a person 🥹 ily all sm my little babies. Muah muah muah. Kisses. ENJOY!

#remixlevi #original character #oc #writer #fic writer #art #my character #fluff #FicSeries #Fic Series

[boxboxlewis]

Jameson Fitzpatrick - Poem in Which Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me

I make the train. And get the job and pay my rent on time and don’t get too drunk and don’t send a text I shouldn’t and always use a condom.

The car does not make an illegal left turn and I do not have to brake hard to avoid it and I do not fly off my bike and flip several feet in the air and I do not land thinking not on my face not on my face hard on my right arm and I do not break my elbow and a mean orthopedist does not tell me I have to move it anyway or risk losing my range of motion and I do not have to teach while on Percocet which is harder and less fun than you might imagine.

None of my friends ever kill themselves.

I never even meet one of them, because I’m never admitted to a psychiatric hospital, because I never try to kill myself, or say I will, or gesture to repeatedly to prevent someone from abandoning me, which, I’ll never learn, is what a therapist I’ll never meet refers to as a “communication tactic.”

In this poem, I don’t even fear abandonment.

Jacques never leaves me, or, I never meet Jacques.

Or we fuck once, or we fuck a few times but love never enters the building. Love, in this case, is the bad thing, or the absence of kindness in the face of love; so in this poem, wherever there is love there will be kindness and where there is no kindness there will be no love.

I don’t hate the feeling of a man inside me, or, there are never any men inside me in this poem and also never any expectations. I am taller and more masculine and everyone who wants to fuck wants me to fuck them.

Another man I love with a French name never pushes me down into the cold concrete of a stairwell  and fucks me dry, without a condom. If he fucks me at all, it is tenderly, in an expensive hotel where I do not learn to like it again because I never stopped.

I never offer to suck the dick of the boy I am sharing a hotel room with on a high school trip and he never insists on fucking me and I never say yes and I never say “stop” or can’t remember whether or not I do and this question does not haunt me because it never happens.

When I’m sixteen, a middle-aged man next to me at the opera does not touch my knee and it does not terrify me how much I like it.

I’m never a teenager at all, if it can be arranged. I see the car coming and don’t make the left turn.

My parents never: keep booze in the house, name me after it.

There’s still pot in this poem, but I smoke less of it.

I don’t have to keep stopping and starting to get high and masturbate; this poem pours out of me, easy, like conversation with strangers at a bar, even when I’m sober, which I might be sometime at one of the bars in this poem.

There’s nothing I don’t want to write about. I love writing.

I love my body.

I’m not gay in this poem, or it is not hard to be gay in this poem. Stet—it’s been useful, because it’s been hard.

But not so hard, I’m not forced to come out in the sixth grade, at least—not to my parents, because I never get reported for writing something obscene about Justin Timberlake on an AOL message board, and not to everyone else, because it isn’t so apparent to them already.

In middle school, none of the boys ever follow me around in the hallway between classes, lisping. I don’t have a crush on one of them and he doesn’t ask me out as a joke one day when everyone is hanging out by the picnic tables before school and I don’t find myself somehow relieved that I know it’s a joke the whole time because falling for it would have been way worse.

Phil Bruno doesn’t write an essay for AP English our senior year of high school which is both a personal attack on me and on gay people more generally. He doesn’t read it aloud in front of the entire class and the teacher doesn’t let him finish and I don’t gather my things and walk out. If he does, and I do, I don’t walk straight out of the school without stopping to look at anyone, I go to the principal’s office and raise hell and maybe make a YouTube video about it that I parlay into some small fame. I don’t feel embarrassed about how many times I’ve let him copy my math homework.

In this poem, I get revenge only from the people who owe it to me, who is no one.

On Halloween, when I’m nine, the co-pilot of a Boeing 767 en route to Cairo does not crash the plane into the Atlantic Ocean sixty miles south of Nantucket, just into international waters. If he does, my father’s parents aren’t on board. If the investigation falls under Egypt’s jurisdiction, they don’t lack the necessary resources and ask the US to lead it instead. The US authorities don’t determine that the co-pilot seized the controls, did it on purpose, but can’t explain why. There’s never a second, conflicting investigation, because the Mubarak government doesn’t insist this isn’t true. I never know my father as the child this happens to.

Two years later, I don’t ejaculate for the first time at summer camp, at the hands of a boy who is a year or two older, who I didn’t know before this summer but knew of because he’d gotten kicked out of my elementary school for bringing in a beebee gun. I don’t pretend to be asleep the whole time because I am afraid of him but also afraid

I don’t want him to stop. I don’t tell our counselors the next day because I don’t know how to feel about it but recognize it as familiar, the first bad thing that was done to me, and now neither of us can stay. I don’t feel guilty about this, for years.

And the first bad thing, much further back than that, is not my first memory, or what I understand to be the first because over time I have smoothed and perfected it like a stone in my palm.

Here my hands are empty. Here it never happens, so I don’t have to tell you about it.

x

#i think about this poem all the time #jameson fitzpatrick #poetry

[katherineholmes]

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? 💖 What made you start writing? 🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic? 🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (Klaus and Elena) 💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

🤡 - What’s a line, scene or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

I’ve mentioned some others, but this makes me laugh sometimes:

It was his fault, if he knew he was going to end up torturing and maiming and killing, then he shouldn’t have gotten Italian marble for the flooring.

This sends me sometimes, because I feel like this is exactly like Elena, just trying to normalise the horrific things around her because she has to do them sometimes.

💖 What made you start writing?

This is a bit generic, but my sixth grade English teacher. I wrote an essay just cause it was compulsory and while it didn’t get selected, it was actually something I was good at and that I enjoyed doing. Spurred on by this, I attended a writing workshop the next year, and it was the year I got complete access to the school library. That’s when I started really getting good at it.

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

I have a Darklina holiday fic in my drafts that I need to complete. It’s gotta be my favourite and it’s based around Christmas, hopefully I can post it this Christmas.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (Klaus and Elena)

Klaus - My favourite headcanon for Klaus is that he can’t sketch or paint Elena. He can sketch anyone else - Cami, Caroline, Aurora, Tatia, Katherine even. But not Elena, because he can never quite get the intensity of her eyes right. Or the light in them, or the shape of her lips. He’s just woefully frustrated with every painting or sketch of hers that he makes because it just isn’t perfect, because he can never quite capture her.

Elena - Of course, that she frequently imagines replacing the Salvatore brothers with the Mikaelson brothers 😂

But another favourite of mine is that she’s just as possessive and obsessive as Klaus is (and I feel canon supports this). I’ve read a lot of fics where Klaus is very insecure, jealous and possessive, but I think Elena is equally so, and it scares her just how intensely she feels these emotions. She hides them away because it isn’t healthy, but they rear their head when she isn’t careful.

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Yes, The Monster In Her Head. I don’t know of any other fic I’ve written that is as heartbreaking as it is, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to write anything that’ll be more painful than that.

Thank you so much for the asks 🙂🙂

#sevensistersofsussex #elena gilbert #the vampire diaries #the originals #klaus mikaelson #klena #klaulena #klaus x elena #darklina fic

[leias-left-hair-bun-again]

Weird Writing Asks:

10, 19, 22, 26, 36

You don't have to answer all of them. 😂 That's a lot.

ksljfks not at all, i see this as a challenge! >:D

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

can i say ‘nothing’ slkfjskdf uhhh what do i know. i know what it’s like to feel unwanted and invisible, i also know what it’s like to be around someone who loves you so much it’s almost tangibly warm and bright. i know no one’s actually alone and that we’ve all been given both the potential for and a promise that we can find joy in this life, even if things seem very bad overall. i know that everyone’s deserving of second and third and fourth chances, i know how it feels to hold a grudge instead. i know that losing people can be excruciatingly painful but i also know that there’s a life after this where we’ll get to see them again and looking forward to that feels exciting and joyful. i know - how to say this; i know that pain and sorrow, while sharper in the moment, is just plain not as strong as love and peace and that you can spend weeks depressed out of your mind or in terrible physical pain and then get a nice squeezy hug from someone you’re close to and hear that they love you, or snuggle up with a soft warm cat and listen to it purr, and somehow that’s all that matters

does that count? XD

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

if i’m not already accidentally in their head, i have to put headphones on and pace the floor for a while - ‘talk out’ conversations and scenarios until i’ve lost myself entirely. then i can try writing, and then it’s back to acting things out again, only at my computer XD there’s a lot of facial expressions and wild gesturing involved, i’ve spilt dr pepper on my keyboard more than once while involved in an argument between characters. and honestly - i don’t think i’ve often regretted getting into anyone’s head? i tend to get very worked up before writing if i’ve read about or thought about a character being in a situation/state of mind that i urgently feel i need to process or fix, and once i’ve led a character or characters through a fic - i guess i just don’t struggle to separate myself afterwards. idk if that’s what’s mean by ‘regret’ in this situation haha but yeah, i don’t think i really feel that way?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

ahhhhhhh...i’m not D: i’m really not, this is one of my biggest failings in - life, really; i fall apart when things aren’t orderly and regulated and yet i can’t seem to manage to keep anything organized /: if i could just get into some good habits i know i’d be able to do the more complicated AUs and long fics i want to, but alas, i never so much as used an outline for a school essay and i’ve got a painfully steep hill to climb in terms of learning how to be functional about these things

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

oh let’s see - i was a rabid bookworm as a child, when my parents took me to other people’s houses i made a beeline for the bookcase and just sat and read until they came back to pick me up XD so naturally i was also the kind of child who thought it would be just brilliant to be an author. i liked writing poetry; there were set rules and formulas for poetry and i could work with that. i struggled with prose though - my teachers advanced me several grades in english and told me i was brilliant except when it came to creative writing and that i...basically should aim to write nonfiction and nonfiction alone XD original stories were the only essays i didn’t get As and praise on and it crushed my spirit lol so i kind of stopped trying to write stories by the time i started middle school; i had one brief moment where i wrote a random Hobbit fanfic out of pure spite when i was around 14, and then outside of a previous collaborative effort with my brother (we wrote a lengthy Lego Star Wars fanfic which we called a ‘parody’; he dictated the events to me and i turned it into a cohesive piece of writing) i didn’t really write again until september of 2020 after my grandmother died and i found myself needing a way to process. i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to write anything original or even write good fanfiction, but. i hope with more practice i’ll be able to at least do one or the other! i’d love to write children’s books but i just don’t have the kind of creativity to come up with my own ideas right now, so i write kidfics a lot instead XD

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

oooh okay ‘haunted’ can mean several different things, i don’t tend to think of it with the negative connotation nearly as much as i do - uhhh - how to say it. you know that feeling where you suddenly remember a bit of music, except you can’t remember the actual notes or anything of what it sounded like? almost as if you’re looking at the impression a piece of jewelry made in velvet. so you can remember the way the music sort of felt both emotionally and physically, and the kind of atmosphere it created - but not what it sounded like, and it’s such a strong impression you have to sit down and put some effort into working backwards through it until you can finally remember the piece. that’s what ‘haunting’ means to me and i experience it a lot XD i have a very overactive imagination and reading is a sure way to get it going buuuut the language processing center of my brain is a straight-up garbage fire and i struggle to remember actual quotes from books; so *waves hand at my bookcase* you can pull out any book i really love and there’s probably a bit in there that haunts me!

#i am dreadfully slow and i just spent a full two hours thinking about this D: i am so sorry but #thank you so much!!!! #i have absolutely no problem answering lots of questions i - like talking about myself too much to have a problem with that XD #ask #deathy tag 🖤 #writing asks

[dragonmud]

I am going to try and write something real

What am I supposed to write? I want to write stories but I can’t think of a single thing to say even though I tell myself stories all the time. If this was a university assignment, I would be able to do this so much easier it’s not that I can’t think of ideas but I just cannot get myself to start. What is worth writing about? What is real? Is everything I write cheesy? Mum never missed a chance to tell me writing could be better. I guess it’s the same with my art. It was all criticism and telling me I need a lot more practice before I was good enough. Purple prose. It was always telling me I wrote purple prose. Too flowery, too much. Be better. Never mind that I got amazing grades in English, that my teachers thought I was amazing. That at university I did a creative writing course and did so well, and did it easily. All I can hear is that my characters are too much like me, that of course this seems like something I would write (derogatory). Writing is so vulnerable. I describe things strangely. Why focus on that? What a strange story. What a strange girl. What a weird way to look at things. Oh no I like things that are interesting, this is boring, this is too fast paced, slow paced, too much description, not enough description. Anyone who has read my university essays says I am good at writing, anyone who has heard me tell a story is amazed that I just come up with it on the spot. What am I supposed to do? How do I take all that is inside me and turn it into something beautiful that I can actually share. I want to start so I can get to work on improving. I know my first attempts will not be very good. It is like my painting. Every painting I make is better, and I can see their flaws but I am at a stage where I am happy to give my art to family when they like it and let them hang in on a wall. I don’t want to come back and take it down when no one is looking. I still think my art is not that great but I have gotten over the hill of hating everything I make. I want to aim for that place with my writing as well. I want to know that I have put hard work into something and that it is a completed piece of literature. A whole piece. I only ever start things. I get scared or lose my puff. I never know how to end a story. I need to end a story. I need to write ONE THING to completion even if it is terrible. If I know it is terrible, I still have to try and finish it. This means I have to contend with the voices in my mind that tell me it is rubbish. So embarrassing. Burn it. Never show anyone. Not worth finishing this crap. I have to be able to listen respectfully to those voices and then completely ignore them and keep going. The agony of pushing through will definitely be painful. I still go through that with my painting every time I make something but I did get through the initial wall and now sometimes I can sit down and make a composition and take it seriously and produce and entire painting that I am happy enough with. It took months, years, of crying and therapy and flashbacks but I can do it. But writing is even more vulnerable, it is direct. With painting you never really know for sure what I mean, what I felt. But with writing I just say it. Its right there. My whole truth, even if you can’t figure out why I say it or what it means to me, I’ve still put it there. I know what it means and I’ve just gone and told anyone who reads it. I feel like if I don’t try and write I will regret it for my whole life, so I am going to have to go through this pain and see what happens when I get to the other side. Maybe I will make something beautiful?

If I put this online it will immunise me. Just a little bit of vulnerability, anonymously, and that discomfort might adjust me to the bigger discomfort of writing a whole story.

#writing #creative writing

[englishhighbrowss]

Common Misconceptions in the English Language

by Nicole Correa

Most people are having a hard time speaking in English, especially those students who did not experience having a scrupulous guide during their basic education on how to use verbs, when to use them, etc. Honestly, I am one of those people who struggles using the English language. So, I feel pressured now that I am required to use the said language which is aligned with my chosen program in college.

1. If English is your native language, then you are proficient in it.

When English or any other language is your native tongue, you assume that you use it pretty well. People can understand when you speak, and you understand everything on TV and in newspapers pretty easily. But what if there is an instance where you need to write a research paper? When facing such a challenge, most students decides to hire professional writers to write an essay for them. Some would argue that graduates cannot write advanced prose because the educational system fails to train them properly. The fact is, no matter how hard you try to master the English language, there are always new layers to discover. Being open to learning means that even though you know you have enough knowledge, there are things that someone knows that you don't.

2. You must not start your sentence with a conjunction

“Don't start a sentence with but!” “Don't start a sentence with ‘and’.” How many times have you received this saying? Elementary and high school teachers were usually pretty harsh with this “rule”. Still, there is no grammatical rule that says you must not use a conjunction in the beginning of a sentence. This is a stylistic preference. No one can explicitly tell you what your style is. So if you feel like starting a sentence with that, you might as well just do that. But it is better to be formal when writing academic papers. Teachers are still pretty strict with their expectations. There are so many rules that we don't yet know, but as time goes by, we encounter new vocabulary that might change our perspectives on the English language.

3. You can’t end a sentence with a preposition.

This is another rule that teachers used to enforce: “Don’t end a sentence with ‘by’, ‘on’, ‘with’, ‘about’, or any other preposition.” This “rule” has its roots in the 17th century, when Latin-obsessed writers wanted to impose their influence on the English language. Compare these two sentences: “You have much to dream about!” “You have much about which to dream.” The first one seems much more natural. And it ends with a preposition. It is hard for us to suddenly change what we learnt first.

4. There should be a specific number of sentences in a paragraph.

Some teachers will tell you to maintain a fixed number of sentences, such as three or five in a paragraph. This idea is delusional! The paragraph serves as a section that covers one main idea. As a matter of fact, you may use as many or as few sentences as you need to expose that idea. As long as we want to insert our idea on that topic, we can use as many words as we can.

Above all, there is what we called prescriptive and descriptive grammar in the English language. It only differs on the type of a literature or usage of the language if it is going to be used as formal or informal.

References: 1. Common misconceptions-about-the-english-language

#english #language #common misconceptions #english language #structure of english

[082112]

A few thoughts from today:

1. I am seriously thinking about leaving Alaska and Outer Coast early. Called Michelle today and told her about all my horrible thoughts: that I am allowed to rest because I got my big tech internship, ergo my gap year is “baseline successful”; if I get a winter big tech internship I’ll let myself drop out because then I will be “doing something with my gap year instead of bumming around”; and my reasons to not drop out right now, which mainly revolve around needing a transcript from this school so I can show grad schools I’m not bumming around and staying long enough that I can farm this experience for application essays and interview answers in the future. “They’re horrible, ugly thoughts,” I said, “if these are the reasons I’m staying, I should not stay. But I keep thinking, what am I gonna tell the Marshall selection committee in two years? It’s a horrible way of thinking.” And I am ashamed of it, I think. The truth is that I’m not having a good time right now. I’m desperately homesick and horribly anxious and don’t feel any level of human warmth from the people here anywhere near the level I need to feel happy and safe, and that’s terrifying, and it makes me fear that the rest of my life any time I go someplace new will be like this, and by my own social inadequacies and follies I will be consigned to a life of aching solitude. Of course logically I know that not to be true. But my mental health has been bad the past few weeks, and fear speaks often to me. Mom and dad are supportive, though, of whatever I do - and have told me many wise things, like “it’s okay to have a bad experience” and “you can’t blame yourself for everything and attribute all your hardships to personal failings” and “you should listen to yourself.” It’s a bit sad, because I had a good few weeks (despite a horrendous first week) when I came here and there are things I have gained and events I have been a part of that have made me feel very happy and fulfilled, in a way. Something about nature and ancestors and movement and culture and song. But I’ve been quite miserable and homesick for the past week and a half, and I seriously just want to go home. It’s not a good use of my time to be miserable alone here when every time I call home the house in everyone’s backgrounds is filled with warmth. And yet I keep on telling myself I’m halfway through and only have 6 real weeks of classes left, I can stick it through, I can spend my free time reading books and watching anime and playing games instead of moping, et cetera… so I’m horribly torn.

2. Language - being here really re-affirms my belief that I want to learn more languages of the world. And also learn more language in English - I have felt so often and so achingly much that there are so many things I have not found language to say, and those unsayable things live with me every day and I feel them constantly. And today I was just thinking of that, and how much I wanted to write poetry again. How much I wanted to find it in me.

3. On brilliant minds: this has two parts. The first is that I realize I seriously idolize my teachers when I admire them, when in reality they are JUST A GUY. So when I don’t get the attention I want from them (this is often) I nope and blame myself and question everything about the world, all the questions that haunt me like if there is subliminal racism or sexism or whateverism, if they see less of my personhood than if I had the precisely same mind in the body of a white person. And endless comparisons to peers. And I want to be recognized as a brilliant and exceptional mind by these teachers so badly. But the moment that thought crossed my mind today I struck it down - first, my teachers are flawed humans too. Great holders of knowledge, sure, but also susceptible to bias and ego and ignorance. Secondly, I do not really want the purpose of my intellect or anything else I cultivate to be in service to gaining recognition from a select few. To be honest, I’m not as invested in having an exceptionally brilliant mind as I was when I was younger. Of course this illusion still stands. But more and more now I really just want a mind that has the facilities I require to know the world in the ways I need for the greater part of myself to feel things like wonder and peace and anger and sadness, all meshed together in that impossible understanding of grief and joy and light.

So - top M.O.s at Outer Coast include:

- scheduling therapy

- reading more books

- watching more shows

- de-idolizing staffulty and recognizing the just-some-guyness of them

- deciding whether or not I want to leave

It’s crazy and unbelievable to me that everything is gonna be okay. But very clearly too I can see that everything is definitely gonna be okay.