#my math teacher is a fuckface
Text
dear math teacher,
die:
in a pit full of fire and lava monsters and snakes that eat you from your toes to your brain so you stay alive the whole time
in a volcano, endlessly
in the great lake of boiling oil
at the hands (mouths) of several very pre-fed and energized pirhannas, so that they will eat you slowly and ruthlessly, or
at the hands (knife) of an artisitcally insane serial killer who has decided to make you their muse
sincerely,
your depressed and dying student.
#math#school#school is trash#school is hell#fuck off#math deserves to die#my math teacher is a fuckface#volcanoes#i want to quit life and yeet myself down a volcano#but id rather yeet her#the unwanteds#the unwanteds reference#jack the ripper#oops sorry#i just have some very violent and repressed feelings about my math teacher#if you couldn’t tell
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
wolves
chapter IV
-> sally face x f!reader
-> enemies? to lovers
-> previous | next
cw: drugs, cigarettes, violence, homophobia
*does not follow original plot of sally face*
summary: (y/n) and travis make up (ish), (y/n) gets hurt again (you really shouldn’t be surprised), larry gets a little moody (i don’t think he likes (y/n) very much), sal makes a move on (y/n) (although he doesn’t know he did)
“You’re (y/n), right? New kid?” Travis looks at you as you press the wet cloth to your nose. You nod.
“How’d you know?”
“Sal said it. he muttered. The disgusted look on his face was proven a facade by the blush on his cheeks.
“You’re in love, buddy.” you laugh.
“No i’m fucking not! You’re so fucking stupid, what the fuck? Who could love a faggot like Sally f-” you cut him off my shoving his head into the wall roughly. You don’t know what came over you, but being homophobic is still homophobic even if you’re in denial. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t about sally, it was just you being an ally. Way to kill the mood, travis.
“You pull that shit one more time and I'll leave you without teeth, blondie. Or would you rather i tell your dad that you hit girls?”
He squirms underneath your palm. “Sorry.” he looks at you with a pleading face.
You sigh and let him go. “S’fine. You need to learn how to control your anger, though, fuckface. You’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude.” stuffing the bloody towel in your bag, you lead him out the door.
“I hate you.” Travis scoffs.
“What did i say?”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><
“Larry, she’s already closer to travis than she is to us and they just met. Travis is a full-on dick, and they’re being all friendly! I didnt even know that was possible!” Sal chucks his bag in his locker. He hasn’t known you for long, but longer than travis! Plus he’s way nicer, too! Why’d you have to go and get all friendly with his bully?
“I don’t fucking like it either, sally face. Maybe we should just stay away from them.” Larry crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers.
Sal didn’t want to stay away from you, though. You were sweet, he was sure, just a little distant. Plus you just sort of intrigued him. He wanted to know why you were like this, what happened to you, why you had a prosthetic. Maybe it was hypocritical of him, though. He's only told Larry and Ashley about what happened to him, so he shouldn’t be picking at your trauma. you’ll tell him when you feel comfortable with it, but you’d need to be comfortable with him for that. and right now, it seems like you’re pretty comfortable with his bully.
“let’s go, dude. class starts in 5.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><
After grabbing your schedule with Travis, you set your stuff in your new locker (which smelled pretty good, surprisingly.) and began walking to your first class, math. Travis laughed at you when you read your schedule outloud and you gave him a whack on the head. What an idiot. He headed off to his first class, english.
you opened the door to the classroom and coughed to get the attention of the teacher, Mrs. Packerton.
“Ah, lovely! Class, say hi to (y/n) (l/n)!” she smiles as you awkwardly wave.
“You’ll be sitting in the back, right beside Sal.” an inaudible groan leaves your cracked lips as you make your way towards him, trying not to make eye contact.
“uh, here.” he moves over. you plop yourself down next to him and open your notebook.
“we’re doing a test right now. i’m pretty sure you won’t have to do it, since it’s your first day and all.” his blue hair bounces as he looks over to you again. it looks fluffy.
“you wanna touch it?” he chuckles. you don’t want to come off creepy, but he’s offering, right?
you reach out your prosthetic hand but quickly pull it back and switch it, realizing you can’t actually feel with it. he chuckles at your mistake and leans in to your touch.
you were right. it felt like clouds, puffy but still silky. it wasn’t combed properly, though.
“Mr. Fisher and Mrs. (L/n), you little lovebirds. hands to yourselves, please.” Mrs. Packerton laughs a little. “Ah, young love.”
you quickly pull your hand back and flush.
“stupid old lady.” you mutter.
“Mrs. P’s nice, she’s just a little… enamoured in her students’ love lives.” sal laughs.
“stop, you’re making her sound like a pedophile!” you cover your mouth to suppress your laugh and sal’s face heats up even more. He made you laugh!
You both quieted down as Sal continued his test and you doodled in your sketchbook.
“are you okay? after travis, you know.” he hummed, a mix of concern and jealousy swirling in his eyes.
“uh, yeah. i’m fine.”
“You sure? Your lips look pretty busted.”
“It’s all good.”
“why do you hang out with him, anyway?” he turned his test upside down and faced you again.
“what do you mean?” you’re confused.
“he hit you in the face first thing in the morning. If i was you, i wouldn't really like him.” sal gripped his pencil.
“are you jealous?” you question, a smirk on your face.
“No.” his expression is hidden behind his mask. you look into his eyes, trying to make him blush.
the blue is a different blue than the one you saw yesterday. it’s lighter, almost like a porcelain blue.
“whatever you say, porcelain face.”
“porcelain face?”
“your mask, and your eyes, i guess. they’re like a porcelain doll’s.”
he hums.
“what are you then? metal hand? cyborg? fist of steel?”
“you forgot iron fist.”
“iron fist?”
“sure.” you grin. sal’s heart flutters again.
“Alright children, please hand in your tests and nicely file out the class. The bell will ring any moment.” Mrs. Packerton smiles sweetly and starts collecting tests. You grab your bag and leave the class.
Sal looked around the room for a bit, looking for you. A flash of (h/c) hair leaving the room catches his eyes. He tries running after you, but you’re already heading towards your next class.
•Lunch time•
“Shut the fuck up, Trav. I said she was stupid, not stupid hot. I don't know where you got hot from! I literally never said it.” You shoved his shoulder. He just snickered and continued teasing you.
“Hey, (y/n)! Come have lunch with us!” Sal saw you walking with travis. He waved you over from the cafeteria. Travis immediately stopped laughing and sneered. He quickly began walking over to sal, raising his fist.
“Leave us alone, fucking fag-” travis swung at sal but you stepped in front of them, raising your arm to cover sal’s face since he was taller.
Travis throws punches like a wrestler, You already knew that. Maybe you shouldn't have used your real hand to catch it.
His fist slammed into your forearm roughly and you flinched.
“Fuck- travis, go cool off. Now. Leave.” you hold onto your arm. It stings, but it's not broken. You’ll be fine.
“You’re all a bunch of-” he stops mid sentence as you give him a glare. It sort of said ‘you’re gay too, dumbass.’ he scrunched his eyebrows and walked off.
“Oh my fucking god!” a girl with brown hair ran over to you and lightly grabbed your arm.
“This her, sal? Are you (Y/n)?” she looked at you. She seemed very sweet. Kind of reminded you of your cousin.
“Uh- yeah- can you let go?”
She smiles in apology and lets go.
“You didn't have to do that, (y/n).” sal scratches the back of his head. You’ve gotten hurt twice because of him. How are you supposed to be friends if the only thing sal does is hurt you?
“I think maple might have an ice pack in her lunch. Can you come sit with us?” He hopes you say yes.
“Yeah, okay.” you needed the ice pack and travis was nowhere to be seen, so you didn’t really have a choice.
“Hey, (y/n).” Larry grumbles as you walk to their table. It seems he’s upset with you.
“I just saved your buddy from travis. Not to your liking or something?” you look up to him. If something’s wrong, he should just fucking say it. Not beat around the bush like a pussy.
“Yeah. you and travis seem to be getting along well.” he finally makes eye contact with you. Sal and the girl seem uncomfortable.
“We all got our issues, asshole. Some of us just know how to deal with them better than others.” You sneer. He’s allowed not to like Travis, but he’s not allowed to be a bitch to you because you actually understand his actions and choose to help him instead of ignoring him.
“Whatever.” he spits. You turn to sal.
“I’ll get my own ice.” you begin walking away. “Also, watch your dog.” you hear sal chuckle as larry groans. He walks up to you before you can leave, Larry throwing his arms up in the air in disbelief.
“Hey, uh, (y/n)? I’m sorry you got hurt. Could- could i make it up to you somehow?” his hand is on yours. It’s warm, he’s probably blushing hard under his mask.
“Sure, sally. How would you do that?” you spin around to face him. You can see his mask rise a little and his smile peaks through.
“Do you have a phone?” he pulls his cell out. It’s just a simple black flip-phone with a few paint splatters.
“I do, it’s in my locker. I dont have my number memorized, though. Stupid area codes.” you mumble. “You wanna come get it with me?”
Sal looks back to his friends. Ash is nodding frantically while Larry twirls a cigarette through his fingers, still mad.
“Alright.”
taglist: @purelydarling @deadpoetsandhoney @ghostfacefricker6969 @percyyzz @whatsurgamertag @kiillian @potatochic2003 @beingaweebishell @glitterydonutangel @izzydrawsandwrites @angellicbitch @elebeleb @dream-of-eros @mr-bombastic
254 notes
·
View notes
Text
Saving Ophelia Grace’s Toe
Y’all seem to like my stories about being a witch in the Bible Belt, so here’s another one. This is a coming of age story about a young witch (me), a bunch of adults of various degrees of uselessness, and Ophelia Grace’s rotten toe.
This is not a happy story.
Names changed when necessary.
CW: Body squick, graphic injury, incompetent nurse, malevolent nurse, poisoning, bureaucratic nightmares, dark DARK shit ahead
So, in spite of the crushing poverty that I grew up in, I was given the opportunity to attend a very prestigious boarding school for Juniors and Seniors in Klan Kountry, LA. It’s a public school, so it takes kids from all over the state.
My school was run by a dude named Brother Dave.
Brother Dave was so awful that one of our senior pranks (I DID NOT DO THIS) involved a password-protected screensaver on every communal computer in the school (including, I think, Brother Dave’s office computer) of a bouncing, 3-D image of this:
Dude was NOT well-loved. It is important to know that he and I did not get along. When I was still a prospective student, he told us that our mascot was the mighty Eagle, because Eagles Flock Together.
Y’all. Someone watched himself too much Mighty Ducks.
I replied, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear, “That’s not true, sir. Eaglettes push their smaller and weaker siblings out of the nest as soon as they can.”
He looked to the staff for support, red-faced and embarrassed by this ninety-pound child who stole his thunder.
The biology teacher (who left for greener pastures after my first year--rumored to have been forced out for being too fabulously dykey for the new administration) looked at him and stated, in her very particular and crisp fashion, “Well, she’s right.”
Safe to say, he hated me from the start. So, if you read this and you wonder, “Why didn’t this silly kid just go to the grown-up?” That’s why. He was our grown-up.
Brother Dave started at the school the year before I did. He was brought in by a local Senator, because said local Senator Fucked Up Colossally.
Senator Fuckup was running against Mr. Sketchy Businessman. Mr. Sketchy Businessman was backed by the Ku Klux Klan (a big deal in parts of the world, folks. My school was in David Duke country.)
Senator Fuckup had a fancy name--well-respected all around the state. Like, several statues of one of his relations decorate the state capital. Big name.
Problem is, Senator Fuckup is half-Black.
In Klan Kountry.
Y’all.
So he’s already at a disadvantage. As it turns out, it takes a village to start a magnet school. Senator Fuckup was one of the founding board members, and promised all kinds of benefits if they put the school in HIS district.
Their other offer was in my own hometown, the Hub City, where several of our major state highways cross with two Interstates.A place with art and history and culture. A place with one of the largest outdoor music festivals in the state--a multicultural, international music festival! With art walks and museums and Mardi Gras parades! With a three-story library, a library for French language and culture, and the second-largest university in Louisiana!
Senator Fuckup PROMISED that the school wouldn’t want for anything if they went to Klan Kountry.
So they did.
It was no great secret that this school was Senator Fuckup’s baby. At the time that I attended, the school was number one in the nation. Something to be proud of.
Except.
Except.
Except that in order to keep various forms of funding, the school was required to take in more melanin-blessed individuals than the locals liked.
Enter Mr. Sketchy Businessman, who ran a series of TV and radio ads claiming that our STATE funded school was stealing money from the local school district.
That’s right. He claimed that our school took money away from the poor Whites of Klan Kountry and gave to the diverse and metropolitan school for the gifted.
Senator Fuckup tried to deflect and dismiss, BUT did NOT rebut those claims. He didn’t believe that the school’s funding was THAT MUCH of an issue.
Any reasonable person would understand that the school was funded from the State taxes. Right?
As it turns out, Klan Kountry is not filled with reasonable people.
Senator Fuckup is a member of a particular subgroup in Klan Kounrty--a not-insignificant population of Catholic Creoles. So, after he wins his election--barely--he realizes that Something Must Be Done to help the image of the school that everybody knew as HIS baby.
Enter his old friend, Brother Dave. Brother Dave, who nearly bankrupted his previous school. His brother-in-law was a contractor who got a few really juicy contracts through him.
Protip: Nepotism only works if the person being nepotized is competent.
Spoiler: Brother Dave’s brother-in-law built schools about as well as Brother Dave ran them.
Brother Dave’s old school is attached to an order of monks who build cheap and simple caskets for people who are into that kind of thing.
They bake bread for the poor. These are good people.
Y’all, these people made it KNOWN--statewide--that they had a casket ready for ol’ Dave if he ever stepped foot in their town again.
Still, Senator Fuckup decided that THIS was the man who would lead my school into a glorious future.
Brother Dave took an aggressive stance on admissions. He wanted kids who didn’t have a lot of drama, and kids who looked (WHITE) good on the recruiting materials. He pulled hard from the local Catholic (Segregation) Academies.
Y’all.
Our Black kids were nearly White-passing mixed-race kids, one kid who was ACTUALLY from Africa, a couple of kids from Catholic schools, and one dark-skinned Baptist girl who is bombshell model-gorgeous. (For those glossy brochures.)
So as many White Catholic kids as possible.
Y’all.
I’ve competed with private school fuckwits in academic contests my whole life, up to that point. If it was something that required preparation (science fair, for example), they wiped the floor with us.
Because daddy the petroleum engineer did the project for them.
If it was a you-know-it-or-you-don’t thing (quiz bowl, for example), they lost so brutally that I might have felt bad for them. You know, if they had souls. Which they did not.
So Brother Dave populated our school with what he thought were “good kids”. White, Catholic kids.
Spoiler: My class started with 250 students. We graduated less than half of that, even after he backfilled our class with new kids between junior and senior year. The class after mine was worse.
Why is that?
White Catholic kids at segregation academies in the late 90′s basically did busy-work worksheet stuff all day. They were not ready for 10 page papers and 5 page lab reports and 100+ pages of reading and 20-50 math problems and projects, projects, projects!
Also, if all you do is worksheets and sit-down-and-shut-up, there has to be a certain...chemical element...to cope.
So, yeah. Drugs. So much drugs. And booze.
Brother Dave also hired Nurse Bitchy Fuckface. She was actually his first hire.
Nurse Bitchy was a walking disaster.
I was sixteen when I first met her, and because she didn’t smell like street drugs (I KNOW WHAT THAT SHIT IS), I missed a lot of signs.
Looking back, I think that she might have been a Prozac-and-wine kind of person. But, as the only drugs that I was familiar with came from street pharmacists, I thought she was just evil.
Hateful to the queers, pagans, Goths, and all assorted weirdos.
You know, all the kids who could actually handle the schoolwork and the pressure. *eyeroll*
I’m allergic to Sudafed. Weird, huh?
A senior at my school told me to be careful with Nurse Bitchy. She has a sensitivity to acetaminophen (Tylenol) and couldn’t have it. Nurse Bitchy had given it to her a couple of times.
It was on my senior’s medical chart. If you’re keeping score, that’s felony attempted murder.
Nurse Bitchy gave me Sudafed seventeen times (that I remember) while I was at that school. She very nearly killed me doing it. Some times I knew, and some times I did not.
“But why did you take it, if you knew?”
Well, you innocent dove, if I refused to take the medicine that the Nurse gave me, then I got written up. Enough write-ups and I got kicked out.
My home school in the Hub City? Eh...as bad as Klan Kountry was, I didn’t have someone assaulting me daily. I didn’t have a gang of girls who got away with attempting to rape me with a broom handle. I didn’t have a very big kid who was given liberties with me (BY THE STAFF) because he was special ed.
Or, as my guidance counselor liked to say (after my father was murdered and I was flunking chemistry--not because of dad’s death, but because the chemistry teacher put all the girls and Black boys in the back of the class--which had NO air conditioning on hundred-degree days--after Brother Dave’s brother-in-law “fixed” it that summer), “Stephanie, you know that you’re the poorest student here. Do you really want to go back to THAT?”
No. I did not.
Under pain of going home to poverty, rape, assault, and maybe death, I took her poison. She watched me do it. And she smiled.
I only went to Nurse Bitchy when I was forced to. This happened far more often my Junior year. The teachers would send me because I was sick (I come from a smoker’s home, and I’m an asthmatic who is allergic to tobacco. My family never quit, so I’d end up with smoker’s pneumonia most times that I went home. Thanks for the lung scars, fam.)
Eventually, when I was a Senior, my computer science teacher realized that I was unresponsive with a fever in her class. She was new that year, and didn’t know any better. So she woke me up and sent me along. Nurse Bitchy gave me the usual and sent me back to class.
Very few humans retain the ability to projectile vomit after age seven. Did you know that?
Lucky me, I did. I still can.
I hurled all over my keyboard. I hurled and hurled. My classmates screamed and ran.
My computer science teacher, an ice-cold woman of Indian descent with a very posh English accent, unplugged the vomit-soaked, ruined keyboard. She took it and me to the nurse.
She slammed the keyboard down on her desk and screamed at her to NEVER send a sick child to her class again.
Nurse Bitchy was (shocking, I know) a racist. She feared the angry Indian lady.
My computer science teacher, I believe, spread the word about Nurse Bitchy’s ineffectiveness. Teachers stopped sending students to her.
That left a vacuum. Nobody was being forced to get medical help. But medical help was still needed.
Before going to school in Klan Kountry, I was a veterinary technician. I worked under-the-table from too young. Illegal-child-labor-too-young.
But, I knew my stuff. I had a stocked medicine cabinet and a dissection kit.
I started doing everything up to and including prison surgery in my dorm room.
I could handle most anything. Which was better than worrying that the nurse was going to poison one of my friends into the ground.
I didn’t ask for money or food or anything (food was a commodity at that school because our cafeteria was infested). I worked for the goodwill of my classmates, which is the shiniest coin in the realm.
I’d gotten into witchcraft earlier that year. People trusted the witch over the nurse. That’s where my school was.
I only had one case that I really couldn’t treat.
Y’all.
It was traditional in the girls’ dorms that unless you were asleep or studying, you kept your door open. Mine was open that night. I was writing Sailor Moon fanfiction, procrastinating on one project or another. I don’t remember, it was twenty-two years ago.
Ophelia Grace (not her real name) came to my door in Doc Martens, favoring a foot. Her roommate or a suitemate or maybe another theatre kid was holding her up as she hobbled into my room.
I hadn’t heard that she’d been hurt, but apparently she had been. She was feverish and weak. Her face was bright red. She was babbling.
“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She apologized for coming late. She apologized for coming at all. She was shaking.
I sat her and her friend on my roommate’s bed (we’d bunked them, and I had the top bunk). My roommate was out, in the art lab working on a particularly tricky painting. Probably for the best. He was squeamish (my ex-roommate is a transman, so I’m using his preferred pronouns.)
I grabbed a large bowl and a mug, filled both with water (salted the bowl of water), and went down the hall to the microwave.
The water in Klan Kountry was filthy. It smelled bad and tasted worse. Remember Mr. Sketchy Businessman? He wanted to relax EPA regulations for himself and his sketchy business friends.
They were actively dumping into the city reservoir. But Mr. Sketchy Businessman promised to KKKeep KKKlan KKKountry Lily, so he got 49% of the votes.
Racist douche.
I boiled the water in the microwave--first the mug, then the bowl. It was a walk I’d make several times that evening.
Ophelia had a fever, holding steady at “fucking HOT” by the estimate of her friend. My thermometer pegged it at 102. Not good.
I put a teabag and two whole cloves in the cup and let it steep while I took her temperature. I asked her what happened. I don’t remember the specifics of the injury, but I believe that something got dropped on her toe. I think it happened in the theatre.
Ophelia thought she could walk it off. I remember that.
She kept apologizing. I honeyed the tea and shoved it in her hands. The tea helped. She was shivering--hard--from the wracking chills of her fever.
I remember how her febrile shivers made the bunk beds shake.
I remember thinking that I was in over my head.
I remember grabbing my oldest towels, and closing my door.
I remember praying.
And then I took her boot off.
Y’all.
I’ve smelled rot. Some people think that all rot smells the same.
It does not.
Corpse stink has its own bouquet. Blood rot has a distinct stench. Necrotic yeast infections almost smell good--like yeast rolls and something meatier.
I’d smelled Ophelia’s particular rot before.
I was fourteen. A momma dog was brought in, heavily pregnant. She’d been delivering, and the third pup got stuck. There were 11 left. The stuck pup was dead, but we managed to save 4 behind him, plus the first 2, born healthy.
The uterus had begun to rot inside, and several of the pups had been dead for some time.
The spaying that happened after the pups were removed was green and black, with the consistency of pudding. We pulled as much out as we could, but the rest had to be rinsed out.
Thankfully, I’ve smelled that smell very few times after. It smells pungent and strong. Like garlic. Like a cream of garlic stew.
I thought I’d gotten a whiff of THAT smell when Ophelia walked in, and again when she sat down. Pulling her boot off was like the first deep cut into momma dog. Garlic and blood.
The smell of something rotting in someone still alive.
She had on two socks. I peeled off the first one. There was a stain at the toe. The second sock was worse. The smell hung around.
Our windows were screwed shut. I couldn’t do anything about the smell.
Ophelia cried into her tea. She was still apologizing.
The toe was purple and black. There was a lot of yellow pus under the nail, which was leaking out on either side. Red streaks ran up her instep, tracing her veins.
The toe was swollen and needed a lance.
I had no idea how she climbed the stairs to get to me. (I was on the third floor, and she lived below. We had no elevator.)
She started to get loud (peeling those socks off HURT), so I asked her a question. I asked about her history paper. The ten-page history paper was a rite-of-passage at the school, and I knew it was coming due for her. I told her to tell me about her topic and her sources.
She did.
Thank the Lord and Lady.
I got my dissection kit and rubbing alcohol. I made things as sterile as I could.
I told her that it would probably hurt, but that I would work quickly.
Her friend left after the first cut. She didn’t stay gone long, but I heard her vomit in our suite’s toilet.
Ophelia kept talking about her paper. I led her around on that topic, asking questions and asking for clarification. Asking about the books she’d read, and offering a few that I was familiar with on the subject.
This is why doctors and dentists know so many things about so many subjects. Talking keeps the patient calm.
Meanwhile, pus and blood dripped from the slits that I made in her flesh, onto a towel that bore the stains until I donated it to the animal shelter, years later.
I soaked her toe in the bowl of water. The salt burned, but she couldn’t scream.
There was an adult who was supposed to be watching us. If she was alerted to my low-tech medical unit, she would have stopped me and sent Ophelia to the murder nurse.
I filled another bowl, salted it, and microwaved it.
Ophelia’s friend rejoined us, and watched as I squeezed the rest of the pus out of her. Her toenail slipped off in the third bowl. The toenail was cracked. Ophelia kept it.
I wonder if she still has it?
Triple antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing later, I told her to tell the nurse that she needed a doctor. Nurse Bitchy couldn’t keep us from a doctor if we asked for one. She said that she would.
I gave her a few oral anti-inflammatory pills and some Benadryl to get a good night’s sleep.
She left, with her boot in her hand and a soft smile on her lips. I cleaned my tools, my bowls, the floor where her foot was, and had to do a load of laundry because that one rag smelled so awful.
My roommate came back in time for headcount, and asked if I’d made ramen. Said it smelled pretty good in there.
It did. Rot can do that.
It was hard to sleep that night. I cried quietly until sleep took me.
Ophelia recovered. She became a witch some time later. In college, I think. We’re still friends, in a Facebook kind of way.
Brother Dave is still alive. After working for my school, he ended up helping the Church cover up three decades of sex abuse at a diocese school. Not sure what he’s up to, but probably nothing good. He’s a garbage human.
Nurse Bitchy just retired. She lasted twenty years at that school. God knows how.
Senator Fuckup died in a car crash and the school is being renamed after him. So are the new dorms that are being built.
Klan Kountry cleaned up their water after I left. That’s really good news.
The school continues. Apparently, it got better with Brother Dave’s leavetaking. I hope that’s true.
And me?
I’m still a witch. I’m still here.
And I can still smell that rotten toe on the edge of nightmares half-remembered.
~*~
I don’t want my diploma revoked or to be sued, so disclaimer time.
This is fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
i love you a latte : pt. three
[bkwd] – [fwd]
✧ in which ten goes away, leaving his friends behind so he can follow his dreams. as time goes on he changes and finally comes back a changed person. secrets and toxic friendships will be revealed. something happened before between ten and y/n, but what? will they ever be the same?
✧ prologue > introduction
✧ m.l
(lower case intended)
word count : 1584
thursday mornings were always the worst. two periods filled with maths lessons were definitely not helping as your hatred for this subject was immense; not only you found it difficult to understand, but the class was so loud and always got on your nerves. the only good thing about it was mark, however the teacher separated you by moving him a few seats back because apparently you were being too loud, which is completely inaccurate as the rest of the students are always disrupting you. that meant the seat next to you was empty which made the lesson feel as if it was going even slower as you had no one to talk to.
you were always early to lessons; you didn’t like being late or entering the room after the teacher. you were quietly waiting for the bell to ring and the teacher to arrive along with other students. you felt incredibly tired this morning which made you very snappy and, well not very nice. you were slowly scrolling through twitter and posting some tweets when one specific tweet caught your attention: “you’re still the same.” you tried to not give it much attention as you thought it probably wasn’t about you. you thought you weren’t that important or relevant to him so he wouldn’t indirect you, however you couldn’t help but feel paranoid.
you jumped out of your ‘trance’ as you heard the bell ring and you saw the classroom flood with people. soon enough the teacher entered the room accompanied by a new student. he was tall and slender compared to you although he was just average height. his black hair was covering his eyes as he looked down, eyes stuck to the floor. you thought you recognized him but pushed the thoughts away, hoping for the best.
as he slowly looked up, probably looking for a seat, your eyes crashed with his and it felt like everything had stopped. his chocolate eyes weren’t as soft as you remembered them. the slightly smudged black eyeliner defined his eyes making them look harsh and intimidating. his milky skin looked even paler due to the black strands of hair resting on his forehead and the black outfit hugging his body. you couldn’t believe your eyes as you felt his eyes burn holes into your skull. his gaze was intense and full of confusion mixed with doubts as his brows formed a straight line. your tutor finally broke the silence which felt like years by telling him to sit in the only empty space, the seat next to you. when you realised he was walking your way you quickly grabbed your bag from the chair next to you, dropping it under your desk and not moving your eyes from the table. you turned around to see mark’s worried face, mouthing the words “what the hell” to you. ignoring him for the whole double lesson wouldn’t be that hard, right? or so you thought.
you began to struggle on the set questions as geometry wasn’t your forte. you refuse to ask for help from the teacher as you were too scared and thought it was pointless. you sat there fidgeting with your legs and nervously chewing on your pen lid.
“um do you want some hep?” ten whispered to you as he didn’t want to bring the teacher’s attention to the pair of you. his monotone voice irritated you as you remember hearing the same voice in the café.
“um not really, i’m fine” you snapped at him without thinking about your response.
he turns away continuing to complete the questions while you struggle alone for the rest of the lesson. luckily enough the bell rang to indicate it was time for break and you quickly got up grabbing your bag and textbooks and leaving the classroom with mark by your side.
you always spend you breaks in the cafeteria with your friends. you usually sit at the same table every day and chat about everything that happened that day. you sat down, pulling your phone out of your back pocket to check for any notifications. as you open twitter you hear sicheng call out your name and jump out your seat to hug him and sweetly kiss his cheek at which he smiles and asks you how you days was so far. as you answer his question saying it was very slow and boring, you notice ten sitting with taeyong, lucas and jaehyun at the table behind sicheng. you notice him leaning back on his chair and just looking at you and your group of friends. suddenly you lock eyes with him and he quickly looks down at his phone with a very distrustful expression. sicheng sits on the chair next to you, pushing it closer to yours so he can put his arm around your shoulders. you open your phone to ask seulgi and yeri why they’re taking so long while sicheng rests his head on your shoulder, yawning, at which you blush like an idiot as you realise how whipped you are for this boy. you unlock your phone once again and scroll through twitter. your smile drops once you see the tweets you assumed were, again, indirecting you.
“is he already bothering you?” you hear sicheng’s bothered voice. “to be honest with you, I think you should just stay away from him, he isn’t any good.” he says while looking at him.
you nod your head replying with a quiet “i know” while shrugging.
“hey babycakes, fuckface won’t take his eyes off of you.” seulgi makes her presence known. you laugh at her statement and look in his direction to see him and taeyong looking at you. seulgi rolls her eyes at them and taeyong looks away while you quickly get up. you reach down to grab your belongings while sicheng also stands up following behind you as you walk out of the cafeteria. before you left, you told your friends you’ll see them later and that you’re just going to your locker. the truth was you couldn’t bear his presence anymore as you were feeling beyond uncomfortable and annoyed.
you slowly walk to the art block holding sicheng’s hand and just thinking about… everything. you couldn’t stop thinking about why he was back and why he wouldn’t leave you alone which made your insides feel weird as your mind was flooded with guilt. sicheng looked more annoyed than you were which was unusual for the sweet boy. you feel his hand tighten around your own and you look up at him as you approach your locker.
“is everything okay, winnie?” your voice nearly cracks as you speak due to your nervousness and dry throat.
“you know how much i love you, right, y/n?” he speaks softly despite his expression, not breaking eye contact. “i don’t want to lose you.” he speaks once again, quieter this time. you smile at him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n, no matter what happens.” you hear sicheng whisper into your soft locks.
he soon breaks the tight hug while smiling and you open your locker to empty out your heavy bag. as you do so, sicheng leans onto the locker beside yours. he pulls out his phone to check the time and as he does you hear johnny’s familiar voice.
“hey, dude!” he says as he approaches the two of you. “hi, y/n!” he says dragging out the last letters of your name. johnny was the type of person everyone liked. no one could resist his contagious laugh and stupid little jokes. he was the best type of person to hang out with even though he would make a fool out of himself due to his loud voice. the pair of you couldn’t help but smile at his presence.
“hey johnny!” you say, dragging out the ‘y’, imitating him.
“okay so listen to this. party, this saturday, my place, around 7. how does that sound?” the excitement in his voice was radiating off while you thought of an excuse. parties weren’t your thing. you didn’t completely hate them, you just preferred your small group of friends rather than a party full of intoxicated teenagers. even still, you wouldn’t mind going to just be there for your friends.
“sounds great, johnny, we’ll think about it.” sicheng says sounding more enthusiastic than before. he looks at you mouthing you a “don’t worry” before saying a quick “bye” to johnny.
sure, you wouldn’t mind going as long as your friends were there, but the thought of ten and his friends being there wouldn’t leave your mind. you would say you didn’t care anymore, however that wasn’t exactly the truth… you were feeling anxious and afraid, but at the same time you were feeling excited. your thoughts were running making you nervous and lose track of what was happening until sicheng asked if you were okay, at which you slowly nodded.
“so what do you think? do you want to go?” he quickly questions, trying to get your mind off of whatever you were thinking about.
“i mean… i guess? this is our last week of exams so i guess a party could really help right now so why not!” you quickly say before unlocking your phone to ask the rest of your friends. they always say yes to parties; actually, they’re always the first ones to ask you about them, so they’ll surely agree.
what could possibly go wrong… right?
#nct#nct ten#nct social media au#nct angst#nct winwin#nct dream#nct u#nct 127#nct au#nct smut#nct fluff#nct x reader#ten x reader#nct chittaphon#chittaphon x reader#ten chittaphon#nct jaehyun#nct taeyong#nct johnny#nct mark#red velvet#red velvet seulgi#red velvet yeri#kpop fluff#kpop fanfiction#kpop angst#x reader#social media au#au#kpop au
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bloody Nose (Stozier Punk!Richie)
Whoop Richie is a punk | Juniors in high school | Warning: Gay slurs, abuse
Stozier
-
It was last day for of Junior year, everyone was counting the seconds until Summer. Stan was secretly doing the same. As Stan finished his final exam for english, he waited for the bell to ring and for the teacher to dismiss them.
The bell rang and students made their way to the exit, Stan walked quickly, he wanted to get home. Hopefully, he would avoid Henry Bowers. Usually, they would wait until Stan was walking home and alone to beat him up.
He walked slower today, praying that maybe Henry had forgotten about him or something. As he walked he could feel himself shaking at the thought of what they would do to him.
Suddenly, Stanley’s backpack was pulled backwards along with him.
“Hey, faggot.” Henry smiled insanely and grabbed Stanley’s face. His breath was so gross you would think he hadn’t brushed his teeth ever. Stanley almost gagged.
Henry usually his little army of goons following him around, but one went missing and the other went off to college..or somewhere. So that left Henry alone.
Stan was interrupted by a punch in the stomach. He thought he would passed out then and there, but instead he just fell to the ground. He started kicking him in the ribs and other places probably millions of times. Stan had a bloody nose and blood running out his mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you up so badly, you fucking retarded bird freak.” Henry growls and turns his hand into a fist.
“P-Please s-stop.” Stan coughed and tried to fight back, it was no use though. Henry was stronger, taller, and older than him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A hand pulled Henry away from Stanley.
The boy was tall, definitely taller than Henry, and had cigarette hanging out his mouth, “Answer me, what the duck are you doing.”
“None of your god damn business.” Henry grimaced and moved away from the stronger teen, he pushed him lightly.
“Listen here, I want you to leave before I smash your fucking skull into that brick wall until your fucking brains pop out.” The boy pushed him back, but with a lot more force. Stan watched as Henry’s eyes widened.
“Geez, ok I’ll leave.” Henry out his hands up and ran off. Leaving Stanley with this guy.
“What a fucking douche bag,” He turned toward Stanley, “I’m Richie.”
“I’m..Stanley.” Richie he’s out his hand and Stan grabbed it and stood up.
“Does he do this to you often?” Richie scanned Stanley’s face, even though he was covered in blood and dirt, Richie admired him.
“Well, sometimes I guess. Usually he has his friends, but they moved on with their lives.” Stan shrugged.
“I’m taking you to my house to get you cleaned up, you don’t look so good.” Richie grabbed Stanley’s hand gently and started walking.
“I-It’s ok-really. I can just go to my house...” Stanley said, but kept walking with Rich.
Richie looked like a greaser from that Outsiders movie was the first thing that popped into Stan’s head. He wasn’t as muscular though or as greasy.
“I didn’t ask you, I told you. Now come on, I don’t want you walking alone out here..”
“I just met you and you think you can just go bossing me around?” Stan raised an eyebrow.
“Well you’re listening to me aren’t you?” Richie mocked Stan’s raise of an eyebrow and smiled.
Stanley rolled his eyes and wiped his bloody nose.
Once they got to Richie’s house, Rich got out a first aid kit from under the kitchen sink.
“This might sting..” Richie gently put some alcohol over the cut and Stanley flinched, “Told you.”
Once Stan was bandaged, They sat in silence in the living room. Rich had put on movie and somehow convinced Stanley to stay. Stan laughed at Richie’s jokes and sly remarks. For most of the night they talked about meaningless things like ‘What the hell is Goofy?’ ‘He’s a dog.’ ‘No, Pluto is dog..how the hell can Goofy speak and he can’t?’
“Does that happen often?” Rich said after the conversation turned into silence, “With Henry?”
“Y-Yeah, usually after school.” Stanley moved air out from his face.
“He’s a fuckface. Don’t worry he’ll eventually graduate.” Richie gave a smile.
Stanley smiled back and tapped his fingers on couch nervously, “Well I should go.”
It was past nine thirty (Stanley’s curfew), so he already knew how much deep shit he was in. He imagined his mother sitting in living room in her chair waiting for him.
“I’ll walk you, come on.” Richie broke Stan’s thoughts as he stood up and walked toward the door, “Well aren’t you coming?”
Stan nodded and followed Richie out the door. They walked in silence and there was tension between them.
“I still think Goofy is a dog.” Stanley commented and Richie did an over exaggerated groan.
“I am not having that argument again, because I know I’m right.”
They stopped and Stan sighed.
“Well this is my place.” Stan looked down then back over at his house.
Richie stared at him for a second before leaning down and placing a quick kiss on Stan’s pink lips.
“I’ll see you later, Stan The Man.” Richie smiled and started walking away.
Stan stood there with a smile plastered across his face. He touched his lips softly and watched Richie walk away before running inside to face the wrath of his mother.
-
Edit: I literally wrote this in math class and just reread it now lol sorry it’s so choppy
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Life Story Part 46
I found it harder and harder at the end of my life in public school in 10th not to get into a physical altercation with other students. Throughout my entire life, spanning as far back as I can recollect, when there were people standing about and chatting and I happened to need to get by, I would ask politely if they would let me passed. And people ignored me. I never understood why people did this. I have always done my best to be accommodating, even with people I can't stand when it comes to opening and shutting doors, handing things, or helping in any practical way. It seemed like a foundation to society that everyone really should uphold, no matter what. So for people to disregard me, It felt like they literally didn't think I should exist. I can't explain how this affected me, but it always gave me this notion that I somehow was not valued or worthy of consideration by society as a whole. I grew to really resent it, but ultimately it went hand in hand with my father's abuse and my already poor sense of self worth so I internalized it instead. I built my life meekly and silently abiding by the rules of others who would not do the same for me. This personality trait is so deeply ingrained in who I am that it effects my ability to function in the presence of anyone.
I guess I just snapped. One day that spring I was trying to get through this crowd of about six other girls in the hallway. My backpack was heavy and I needed to go sit down, and I was waiting expectantly. They looked at me and wouldn't move a single inch. I stopped and asked if they could let me go on by. They looked at one another and then at me, and they kept talking. I gave the alpha girl named Jamie one straightforward glance, and something in me said 'fuck it' and I pushed right through the girls. I shoved Jamie out of my way, not to violently knock her down or anything, but to demonstrate to them all that I wasn't fucking around. This girl shoved me back as I was walking away. I could feel this rage building up in me to turn around and just start beating her face in, but I held it back. I wasn't quite ready to go about beating people. As angry as I was starting to get, there was a very strong urge for me to not get into it and to step back instead.
And then there was this moment in school where I was in this class with a girl named Michelle. She was in the grade below me, and I really had gotten a strong sense that she was a very cruel person. For instance. There was this other girl also in the class below named Karen. Karen was always attempting to get attention in a very degrading fashion by asking people out who called her disgusting, talking about her body functions, and cried very easily. No matter how mean people were to her, she just went further into it. Her father was an abusive creep. She would dress outlandishly strange, and sometimes talk about self harm, and talk about things in class like her parents sex life, even when nobody wanted to hear it. Teachers should have stepped in, but they didn't (of course). And she wasn't very bright. Not a day went by where kids would not pick her apart. Boys called her a dog all the time. Everyone knew that Karen was a confused and suicidal person.
Personally, she was annoying to me on the surface – what bothered me is that even jellyfish me had a backbone compared to her – which isn't good, and I didn't have much in common with her otherwise since it has always been a tendency for me to use analyzing and intimacy to get to know my enemies rather than crying like I child – but at the same time I could identify a little bit. It annoyed me to see weakness because it reminded me of my own weaknesses. And really, I was too nervous to step up for her – though Sarah did a few times to her credit. I wanted to see her destroy her tormentors or ignore them, but she always gave them all they had wanted and more and it disappointed me to no end. And of course the other kids were sick and cruel and I have trouble imagining they ever got better from that. It made me sick. It was like the whole school, teachers and all were attempting to push her to suicide in some kind of subconscious way as a group. It got harder and harder to look away from her situation.
One day, the teacher left the class, and Michelle started telling Karen that she was hideous and worthless that Karen should, speaking very in detail 'slit her wrists, or jump off a building'. And then all the other mindless cogs started getting in on it. Everyone had something ugly to say to her, all of them ranting over one another. They were all stupid and mindless and that was in many ways the real evil, but Michelle was someone that I actually believe would have enjoyed hearing about it after the fact. I was a coward however and I said nothing even though I knew I should have, afraid perhaps that if I let a little rage I was dealing with out, I wouldn't know where to end, and maybe a little cautious that Karen would then see me as some kind of protector – something I absolutely didn't want in any way shape or form. She was incredibly vulnerable. I felt this loathing rage for all of them – but particularly Michelle, since she knew exactly what she was doing.
Karen ended up leaving the school eventually because she was just too bullied to even function. I hope she got the help she needed.
So, we were sent into the gymnasium at some point by the end of the year to watch a projected anti-drug video that everyone in the school had to go see about drug use. The whole thing was incredibly insensitive to drug users as people who need help, instead pointing them out as menaces to society, and didn't paint a realistic light to what the war on drugs was actually about. It had a lot of music that played over the documentary, giving the viewers a strong undercurrent of sinister and fearful feelings of what the propaganda machine wanted them to feel. They painted drug users to look like – well me – with dyed hair and band shirts and all that. Of course, like most anti-drug propaganda, it focused on the kids who listened to alternative forms of music rather than the football jocks who were far more likely to get into a car accident. They painted the occasional pot smoker like they were the equivalent to a heroin user.
So after I was made to watch this insulting video, we were asked to explain what we thought about it. I stood up and explained that it was unrealistic garbage. Michelle then interrupted me and spoke to me. She said I was pathetic, had never had a bad thing happen to me in my life, and that I was obviously a heroin addict so nothing I said was accurate. I remember feeling like some kind of demonic freakish liquid was running through my veins, and I in that moment, honestly could feel myself mentally rising from my desk, walking over to her, punching her in the face three times and then grabbing her by the hair and dragging her down the hall. Of course, this was not what I actually did. Instead I glared at her and then looked down at my desk.
And then there was this little fuckface named Zac (not my Zack), who was in the class below me that I had to sit next to in math. Whenever I sat down at the desk, he would knock all my papers and books off my desk onto the floor. It kind of shocked me. I was more accustomed to being sexually harassed or toyed with verbally. I wasn't used to violence, be it from a tiny little shrimp of a boy younger than me or no. I foolishly would get down and pick up my books. I felt this building humiliation and rage growing in me. Fortunately, this was put to an end when Mrs. Rush saw him do it one day and she made him pick it up, gave me three detentions and made him sit against the wall. Had she not stepped in, I would have eventually clocked him. He was also an incredibly cruel person who tried to coax unhappy loners to commit suicide. I had heard him as well at times.
Samantha ended up losing her patience with me. For years upon years I had come to class unprepared come rain or shine, I drew on all my lined paper before I had the chance to use it for any actual homework, and I always lost my pencils in the back of my locker. I think there was a point where my locker actually had something extremely moldy growing in it, and I didn't dare go in there to reach for any possible writing utensils that might have fallen down into the abyss of the locker. And maybe I can kind of understand why that might be frustrating for one such as herself who always did everything perfectly, and was severely punished for even the slightest mess up. I didn't ask her for pencils or paper anymore. She just would angrily tear out a page from her notebook and throw a pencil at me. When I tried to give it back to her after the class, she would refuse it. I didn't want to make her mad, and it seemed like if I went without by my own choice she would become enraged, but if I also asked for something she was mad too. If I tried to give her the pencils back, she would be angry, but the same would work if I just kept it for myself without a second thought.
So one day, we were in class, and I didn't have paper, and she saw it. I didn't ask her for any. She just turned around, screamed at me, and shoved a desk violently at my desk. The whole class was looking over at us. She went to the bathroom, and came back in a calm mood. But I was thoroughly freaked out. For the short remainder of school I avoided even showing that I had no paper or pencils in order to prevent a repeat, and honestly, it was weird because we had literally been friends in some form or another since the very first day of kindergarten, but we never really talked after that event.
I mostly was in another world. There was a strange month there in March were I randomly decided that I wanted to become really invested in weed culture. I have no idea what spurred this, since I didn't smoke weed, and didn't really borrow heavily or know anyone who wore weed based things. I started listening to a lot of Sublime and thought about buying a bunch of tye dye so perhaps people in the new school would think I was more alternative and cool and I could find more acceptance among other artists and musically inclined students. But then I started feeling kind of phony about it, because it was phony. I didn't actually even like Sublime.
On one of my father's trips down to Boise, he came back with a Radiohead album I wanted from a music store down in Boise. It was OK Computer, and for whatever reason nobody stocked it in town. I listened to that album hundreds upon hundreds of times. Between David Bowie and Radiohead I was completely entranced in a different world completely. Whenever I was in school or near a computer, I would get on the Radiohead website where there was this strange postmodern page set up with hundreds and hundreds of pictures by the artist Stanley Donwood – the artist that Radiohead often times employs to decorate their album covers. You could click at random on the page, and it would take you to another art piece. Sarah and I, instead of sometimes even doing our ISATs, would instead spend the day clicking away, lost in the artwork of Stanley Donwood.
On the last day of school, I couldn't believe it was finally over. I could finally move to a new part of my life. I wanted to let go of everything, but there was still Zack. I seemed to be growing as a person, but him I would never get over. The more I thought about what we said to one another over a year ago by that time, the more I became convinced that he had loved me – I had had a chance. I should not have given up on him, or on myself. The way I saw it, I had still been a childish girl. I was becoming more and more ready to be someone worthy, and engaging. I beat myself up everyday for having failed to write him just one letter back. I angered myself all the times I should have suggested we skip class together, or all the times I should have given into him instead of continuing to resist. I had been afraid of being rejected, and now I didn't even have the privilege to even get the chance to be rejected. He was simply gone, and yet he was still the first thing I thought of every morning when I woke up. I could almost see his face in my mind. The thought of him could change everything around me, and I thought about the things he had told me very seriously. And some part of him still did love me, wherever he was. Surely he had not forgotten me. I could feel him so strongly at times that I had troubles breathing. And even though I couldn't let Sarah know at this point, I still very much loved him. It was really what compelled me to care about all kinds of things, even my grades. Zack made me want to be a better person. He made me want to live up to my real potential and to grow. I really could never imagine loving again. I had given up that much of myself.
Our health class was taken out to a football field to practice stretches, and I didn't feel like participating, so instead I decided to lay down under the bleachers. As the rest of the class moved back to the school room, I just decided not to go with them. They all marched away, and I saw them enter the building in the distance and then I was alone in nature. Even though the sky was blue, I had never realized how ominous it was. The trees seemed to speak silently. I could hear a semi rolling down the road a mile away. I just laid there and thought of transcendence and how it seemed that the older i became, it felt like there were so many worlds in me building from the past, to the present, to all the possible futures, and some worlds that never were or could not ever be. Each year that I grew and grew, it became some kind of juggling act. And now this new self was emerging and i had to be ready to do what i needed to in order to reach that whispering promise of something that always seemed to linger just out of consciousness that i was always longing for, but was never quite sure what it was or what to even cal it.
PART 45 - http://tinyurl.com/y94784tz
PART 44 - http://tinyurl.com/ydfpbzxt
PART 43 - http://tinyurl.com/yckvswd7
PART 42 - http://tinyurl.com/ycnng83q
PART 41 - http://tinyurl.com/y84kmttv
PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq
PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft
PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q
PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd
PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8
PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f
PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69
PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz
PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep
PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd
PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul
PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2
PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47
PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf
PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73
PART 25 - http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj
PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r
PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g
PART 22 - http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw
PART 21 - http://tinyurl.com/y783egno
PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt
PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8
PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk
PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng
PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c
PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5
PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq
PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s
PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94
PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84
PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24
PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw
PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq
PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g
PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu
PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am
PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg
PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx
PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2
PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
PD can you please roast my son Dimitri Petrenko
This little cutie was the Hero of Stalingrad, the one who planted the Soviet flag over the Reichstag, ultimately winning over the Nazis. He had two awesome friends and he was the type to always strive for more, never settle for less.Which is why he also had the nerve to get shot while doing so. Really man, you couldn't have been more extra. Just place the damn flag on, you animal. Don't listen to other people. Don't feel the need to go out with a bang.After two months of healing, he decided to not go on leave and not get nearly killed again but continue his service and eventually join General Nikita "Fuckface McGee" Dragovich's team to find Doctor Friedrich "Shitdick" Steiner and his Nova 6 weapon.And you guessed it, this silly goose was tricked into thinking they would be all "okay we discovered a weapon let's get rid of it" but no, that's not how your timeline works, bitch. They straight up murdered your ass for real this time, because you decided to try and cheat death like it's a math exam. This time your teacher, aka Dragovich, had a game plan beforehand. He put shit on that exam paper that you didn't study for, that's what the fuck he did.He did the shit where he told you the exam would cover trigonometry, so you studied for and expected trigonometry and when he placed that paper in front of you, it had everything BUT trigonometry. Where the trig at???He feels SO proud of himself right now, doesn't he?
#i'm sorry lmao#mickey is gonna die reading this i bet#black ops#dimitri petrenko#pd answers your thingies
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
August 29, 2016
Why Is it so simple To feel useless And rejected And nearly impossible To feel important And valued? And he saddest part is I don't actually know What it's like to be so important That I don't question it From anyone but my mom
0 notes
Text
i cant tell if im tired or depressed but either way, i want to go home
#*teleports*#school is trash#my math teacher is a fuckface#my brain hurts#sad#tired#lonely#bored#ick
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
eslahkar
a Moment with Moonlight
mymycorrhizae
So many fandoms, so little time.
inflationgodess
God Of Inflation
vindemia-amor
Dotty Waters
yoshikibi
The absolute yoshikibi