#profs: (never respond or even read emails)

[hetalia-club]

Been fooling around with a College Professor AU

Here’s what I got tell me what you guys think. (Their name is what students call them btw)

Prof. Feliciano or just Feliciano (North Italy) Teaches: Fine Arts A really fun teacher. You’re allowed to drink, eat. He doesn’t think students should have to raise their hands to talk and encourages people to just shout answers out at him whoever can answer first will get a piece of candy or something. You can really do anything. All that he asks is you do the assignments he gives which are normally pretty fun and hands on. You will never have to write a single paper in this class mostly because he doesn’t want to grade it. He’s a very eccentric guy and there is really nothing about him to hate as a teacher unless you really like a boring class. Every time you set foot in his class something new will happen. Sometimes you will watch Bob Ross videos. Other times you will be watching him paint a master piece. Or he will have the class paint or sculpt. Regardless of what he assigns you can be that it will be a lot of fun.

Prof. Vargas (South Italy) Teaches: Art History and Architecture He has a select few people in his class he actually likes. He’s known for having a temper and hates stupid questions. You can eat in his class so long if you give him some. He has been known to assign 15 page reports and threaten that it is a “huge part of your midterm” and make students stress over it and when he grades it, it will just be participation. A lot of people don’t like him but if you’re one of his favorites then you can get away with just about anything. But if you happen to find him outside of class he will be a complete different person. He’s even been known to buy his students drinks or pay for their meals if he seems them out in a restaurant.

Professor Beilschmidt or Herr Beilschmidt (Germany) Teaches: German It is a no nonsense classroom. You don’t speak unless you are called on. You don’t ask questions until he’s done talking and you will hand in all of your assignments on time or it is a big fat 0 no exceptions. He doesn’t care if you were hit by a car. If you found the time to email him and tell him you should of had the time to do the assignment. Huge assignments ever single class. The man really likes to grade essays. He’s not a mean teacher so long as you don’t get under his skin. He is known for throwing chalk & erasers at people when they turn around in their seats. He has near perfect aim to and will always get you in the back of the head. (I gave him this trait because my German teacher in HS did this and I always thought it was funny. It didn’t hurt I want to make that clear)

Sargent Beilschmidt (Prussia) Teaches: Military Science He runs a pretty tight ship most of the time. Don’t you dare even think about eating or speaking out of turn. He will have random days where he does not feel like being a teacher and he will just put on a historical military movie or a documentary and he’ll take a nap or read a book. He doesn’t give out many assignments just some random huge ones throughout the year.

Professor Honda (Japan) Teaches: History of Asia He’s a very quiet teacher. That is very literal. The class has to be dead silent to even hear what he is saying. Taking his class requires a lot of note taking. He goes through curriculum fast. Start a chapter on Monday and taking a test on Friday fast. Granted if you do all of the many assignments he gives and take good notes which he will let you use on tests then you will pass his class with flying colors. He is good about answering questions and will even keep his door unlocked so students can come in after class to ask things. He’s got major favorite teacher vibes because he’s such a chill guy.

Mister Jones, Prof. Alfred, Doc, hey you (will respond to anything)(America) Teaches: Astronomy and Aero Space Engineering (Rocket science) If you have him as a teacher he is probably your favorite. He has a vending machine in his class room.  This may be college but you best believe he will be wheeling in the TV to watch ancient aliens where he will debunk what is being said the entire time. He gives like no homework. He has no problems getting people to attend class. He has a problem with getting people to leave his class. Students that don’t even have him as a teacher come in on their days off just to hang out with him in his class. His students are always bringing him gifts and snacks. He will organize extra credit meet ups where students can meet him somewhere to stargaze. If you don’t do an assignment you can just be honest with him and tell him “Yeah I just didn’t feel like doing it yesterday” and he’ll say something like. “Hey that’s cool just do it before the end of the week and email it to me”

Dr. Braginski or Professor Braginski (He’s not picky over the Doctor Title) (Russia) Teaches: Chemical Engineering & Chemistry He’s actually a really nice teacher. He just doesn’t do well with leveling with the students. He won’t extend deadlines on assignments. He has a really high grade curve and he expects everyone to be as smart as he is. Most of his classes consist of labs and he doesn’t really like grading papers that much so he won’t assign many but when he does they are 20 page requirements and worth over half your grade. Students who have him for a couple of years learn his personality and start to understand him and he becomes a favorite. But first and second years tend to think he’s mean and crabby. But once they grasp the dry humor and sarcasm they start to like him. Still though even if he’s your favorite teacher don’t push him and think that means that you can blow off classes with no excuse and assignments because he will make sure you have extra homework assigned and push you harder your next class.

Professor Kirkland or Sir (England) Teaches: English Language Arts He tries to make his class fun but his idea of fun is writing a 12 page analysis over Romeo and Juliet. He’s known for being very sarcastic and a bit moody. You never know how his personality will be when you walk into his class. He could be your favorite teacher that day and leave you wondering ‘Hm why do I hate him so much again?’ and then the next day you will leave his class and think ‘Oh yeah that’s why’. He is under the impression that he is the favorite teacher out of everyone on campus though for some reason. His end of the year project is legendary for being brutal. He requires each of his students to write an entire novel. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have an idea for one or don’t have the time. That is the assignment and you will do it and do it well or you will fail the entire class. His class is so difficult and stressful a lot of students drop it in the first week. But if you stick with it you’ll get a ton of learning done.

Professor Francis (France) Teaches: Cinematography and Film Studies His class involves a lot of movie watching which makes since for the classes he teaches. You have to be a major film buff to enjoy this class because everything he will want to talk about will be related to class and film. It’s clearly his passion and all he really cares about. The types of films you watch will be French independent films that make zero sense but he seems to think they make perfect sense and he will leave it up to you to figure it out. Granted if you don’t like analyzing movies you are in the wrong classes in his defense. His classes can feel repetitive since ever class is ‘watch movie, analyze, write paper’ then you just repeat that the next class. But at least students know what they are walking into. He has a reputation for flirting with his students as well so that makes him popular with some.

Professor Yao, Mr. Yao (China) Teaches: Mandarin Now here is a student favorite. He’s so popular because of how relaxed his class is. He will often make big meals and bring it in for his class to eat while they work. He will put on movies in Mandarin some days and the class can just watch and listen. The only problem with him as a teacher is he really likes grading homework so there will be a lot of it. Maybe too much for a language class. But if you pay attention to him and do all the work you will be fluent as a native speaker by the time you are out of college. He is known for having some out bursts. But that is part of what makes him so loveable. He yells at students a lot but it never feels hateful. It can be hard to get used to but once you’ve had him for a year you’ll love him. He has students hanging around his class way after it’s let out just talking about sports and anything and everything.

#hetalia #hws italy #hws germany #hws romano #hws prussia #hws japan #hws russia #hws america #hws england #hws france #hws china #feliciano vargas #ludwig beilschmidt #gilbert beilschmidt #kiku honda #alfred f. jones #ivan braginski #artur kirkland #yao wang #francis bonnefoy #original

[westleywithatea]

Lost a fanfic

Word Count: 1200+

There was a The Sandman fanfic on AO3 that I had read long ago. I neglected to record or even look at the title and author of the story. And now i lost it. But i want to return and reread it. Or check if it updated.  Help me find it.

I first read it in maybe february or March 2023. I don't know when it was first published or updated. I didn't checked the date. I neglected to. It’s a bad habit where i read a bunch of short fics in a single night, not care for title, and focus more on word and chapter count. Because “i wanted something short.” 

This habit carries over in my YT watching habits and is equally bad. Something to do with attention span and stuff. 

Whenever I return to the site to find it, i fail. The tags and filters fail me. Somehow, it always brings me to less than x number of fics. When I am absolutely sure that there are more than x number of fics with the tags/characters/filters I'm looking for. Maybe because some writers neglected or selectively chooses some tags. 

Idk. the filters weren't helping me. 

Lets see what I can remember about the fanfic and tags and characters. Spoilers below:

I vaguely recall a “angst with happy ending” tag. Im pretty sure the rating was E for explicit. There were some rather graphic scenes. Was it graphic? What if it was actually M for Mature?? 

Idr other tags/ warnings. WIP story. Idr word count and chapter count. 3 chapters? ??

Lucienne and Death makes appearances. Some original characters. Idr order of scenes and chapters. 

Dream arrives to the old tavern but it’s in ruins. Abandoned. He explores and finds a box. It’s a bit stuck but he finds a note. A letter. With holes and missing words. Some other things might’ve been in the box but prolly stolen? A stick inside the box to hold in place. The letter is really old and fragile. It does contain some instructions on where and how to find him. (later revealed to be really outdated) 

He walks to the The New Inn. idr if he steps inside or not. But maybe he did. Maybe he didn't but later. He orders a drink. Wine? Poor employee girl didn't know what to do with gold coins and gets sand blown into her face too many times. Too many times and so much dreamsand that she has to take a break or something and ask another employee to take over. Morpheus rereads the letter over and over.  Accidentally tears it in anger, but catches himself. Makes a mental note ot have it laminated. Dream tries to talk to the owner of the inn. There’s a picture and a plaque. Something about fake name and reall name. Drunk Hob revealed his real name and it became an “inside joke.” But nothing much else. Dream is sad. 

He walks around the neighborhood. And a school campus. He gets recognized by someone. She recognized him from somewhere. Asked if he knew Robert/Hob Gadling/ fake name. Prof Gadling talked about his stranger a lot. She was a student/ student teacher under his mentorship. Or something. She kept close contact with him for while. Even when he left the university and went traveling. Even when she got her degrees and became a professor. But some point stopped. 

Idr her name. 

She invited Dream to coffee to talk. She shared / showed things on her phone. Didn't work out. 

Sad moment where Dream finds out that she and Robert had sent each other so many emails while he only has one letter. He admits that he is someone who is hard to contact. 

She mentioned visiting his old house. There was a large framed painting of him. Thats how she recognized dream. He never sat for a picture. “You’re telling me he got it commissioned?” 

Dream tried visiting the old house. Hob had moved out. New family moved in. let him borrowed a phone. Landline? Im pretty sure theres some humor of him not knowing how to operate the phone. 

Meanwhile, Death visits  a museum of ancient Egyptian stuff. Hob is there looking at a statue of Anubis. He asked if they always looked like that. Death responds, sometimes. Startles him. He didn't see or hear her arrive. They meet and talk. She explains (and apologizes) that she is responsible for his immortality. And her brother is his stranger. He laughed. I think. He asked questions. No answers. Sad sad. 

He was about to ask another question but gets distracted by a school trip group of students. Death slips away. Hob gets frustrated. 

Hob gone traveling alot .

Some point Dream tries contacting Death. Asked if hob's well / alive. Yes. 

Btw, death arrived wearing a different outfit and holding a snake. But she later changes to typical tank top and jeans. Brings the snake back wherever it was previously. 

She takes Dream to a cliff?? Unless this from a diff fanfic. Idk. but they talked at the cliff over the ocean. Idr the conversations. 

Dream visits hob’s dreams. 

We see Hob entering his old house with arms full of wine and food. Dream is disguised as a raven. It’s raining. Robert sees the raven and tells “it” to leave to somewhere safe and dry. Get out of rain and get dry.  Hob  knocks on his front door after struggling to get his keys. Opens. Enter. We see lots of shoes and coats. Dream the Raven sneaks into the house.

We meet the (former) boyfriend who is an “older” man. They laugh, joke, kiss, and talked. Ex BF asked when will Hob ask the question. What question? Marriage. Ex explained: grandfather and father got dementia at age 50. And he’s turning 50 in a few years. They fight. Sad. 

Scene shifts. The painting is visible now. Obvious on the wall. Raven disguise disappear. Dream walked up the stairs to a door slightly ajar. He spies inside and sees a copy of himself. Sorta. Whatever Hob imagines his stranger would’ve looked like if nude. Description of Hob’s version of Dream is different from the real Dream in body shape. 

Hob is (smut scene) bottom to Dream’s top. 

Lovely description of what Morpheus would’ve done in 1000 yrs ago, 100 yrs ago, 10 yrs ago, now. (Not those exact numbers or era. Idr. ) In a few sentences. Maybe it was 3. Morpheus stays and observes. Pervert. 

Hob asked Morpheus if he will stay after he wakes up. He responds, yes. (cries) 

Real Morpheus quietly leaves. The voices in the bedroom are still very loud. 

Out of the water, Lucienne arrives with an umbrella. It’s raining hard. 

They visit the library and look thru Hob’s books. Lucienne silently screams at every accidental dog-ear and mishandle of pages. I would too. Hob has entries: wha’ts teh point of dreaming anymore. And stuff. Sad stuff. Angry stuff. 

Morpheus in frustration. Throws book at wall. Book breaks and falls apart. Lucienne is hurt. Me too. He says something to her, angry. She tells him “then you must leave my library” and snaps her fingers. Forces him out and slams the doors. She picks up the book and carefully rearranges the pages and binding. Sets aside in a book press. “You’re a good book.” Awww

And that was the ending. No more updates at that date and time. 

Story obviously WIP. 

#find a fic #the sandman #sandman dc #netflix the sandman #the sandman dream #the sandman hob #the sandman hob gadling #the sandman dreamling #the sandman ao3 fanfic #<- I need help finding again #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #dreamling

[inkofamethyst]

February 17, 2023

I think... I think when you’re not used to being pursued, it can feel a little scary.  And I personally have recognized a pattern in myself where I freak out a little in cases like that and I think it probably traces back somehow to my self-esteem issues (just like everything else).  When biochem guy told me he liked me and I had a mild anxiety attack, the whole time I was dating saxophone guy, and now that I’m being pursued by quite a few schools (and because grad admissions has a smaller pool than undergrad you can really get to know the people behind the curtain making the decisions, almost every email I get is targeted, not some marketing email with a “dear applicant” opener, and it feels very much like a pursuit), it makes me feel boxed in for some reason, and I can’t figure out why.  I should be happy, so why do I feel like I’m seconds away from tears all the time.

Yeah, I should probably start up therapy again.  Because this ain’t it.

Yesterday I cried twice because I felt so overwhelmed.  My Choice E potential advisor sent me an email saying how excited he was after our conversation, and he sent me a little (a lot) reading for when I had the time (at this point, I may never get to my Star Trek novel :/).  I got an email from my museum-mentor-dude and a text from my museum-mentor-lady (they wrote my recs and are involved in admissions decisions for my Choices B and C), both of whom congratulated me on the Choice E acceptance.  Now, I hadn’t told them because I’d been told to keep it on the down low until I got the official offer, but apparently my Choice E potential advisor (who knows those two people well) was so excited after our meeting that he shared the news with them (totally stealing my thunder (I’m not actually upset because !!!!! but I kinda wish I had been the one to tell them, you know?)).  So they offered their congrats and one asked if I wanted to chat about it (I didn’t because a) I didn’t have an official offer in hand, so I wasn’t really thinking about it and b) that was obviously a lie and I had actually been thinking about it a lot for a day straight and I still wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do and c) one of them was still involved in the decision-making process for my last school and I’m too close to seven-for-seven to mess that up).  At the same time, I got an email from my Choice F potential advisor asking me if I was comfortable sharing what other schools I’d applied to to help them develop better recruitment packages, and that just felt eerily too coincidental of an email.  Then I got an email from my Choice A potential advisor asking if I wanted to talk to him or other grad students about his school, and I knew I had been planning to reject their offer this week, but that email made it a little too real and was also eerily coincidental.  Then I got an email from my Choice B asking for me to schedule a congratulatory/Q+A call, again, the timing was sus.

And I felt like the walls were closing in.

I responded to the text briefly but I couldn’t bear to answer even one of those emails.  I just felt so overwhelmed with people wanting things from me.  Me, in particular.  It’s not the same as having five assignments due in a night because I in those cases I don’t have every teacher individually looking me in the eye and expecting something from me.  It was different still from singing a solo on stage with a few hundred eyes in the audience because then I can put on a character and it feels like the focus isn’t on me but on a character.  But in this process there is no stage, no character, just me.  I felt overexposed.  I felt like a deer caught in front of five pairs of headlights.  I hadn’t had much for breakfast that morning, but all feeling in my stomach had abandoned me.  I procrastinated by doing some unpacking for my TA gig, and some of the other TAs were having a meeting with the prof in the room.  They asked me about my admissions season, and that was the first time in a long time that I’d had trouble fully explaining why I felt so anxious.  “Oh, woe is me, I have too many options, boo hoo.”  I get it, I hear it too.  I’m not ungrateful by any means.  I just feel.. paralyzed.  That good old paralysis, back at it again.

I called my dad and talked through (quite expressively) why I felt so awful and we came up with a game plan for who I would respond to and what I would say to them.  And that helped.  Didn’t bring back my appetite though.  Took the bus home, played with the puppy, ate, calmed down a little, got lectured at by my parents (it was a good lecture, I guess, them expressing how proud they were of how hard I’d worked, but it was still a lecture nonetheless), went to bed.

Woke up this morning feeling loads better.  Except my calves which were aching from all the releves during ballet the previous day.  But a good ache.  Took a nap today which was nice.

I’m so excited about my Choice E it almost hurts.  It’s almost too perfect.  But I will not make a final decision until after I visit, even if I’m leaning so hard toward them I’m practically falling.  One thing I can’t get over is how I am the culmination of everything my ancestors have worked toward.

Today I’m thankful that my inbox stayed relatively empty today.  And I’m thankful for options.  Even if I hadn’t prepared for so many.

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #dr. reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #professor reid

[anapologethicc]

To anyone who’s ever been a student,

ok you can ignore this if you don’t have the attention span to read long paras but i just have shit i need to get off my chest and i need to know if i’m the only one who thinks this way. (but i really hope ppl read it even if its blergh)

for context: there is a lot of rage down below lmaoo also i’m currently doing my bachelor’s in education (early childhood education) so basically a more fancy way of saying i’m going to be a teacher in the future (if i don’t burn down my uni and violent throw shit at the profs teaching me) 

ok so let’s get into it. (also my brain is a mess and this is the most unorganized shit and may not make sense or be articulated accurately but i hope it somehow gets my message across)

so a few days ago i sent this email to my prof asking him a couple of questions about a presentation we’re supposed to do and in one of the responses he writes “by definition and by common sense” which sounded really passive aggressive and just needlessly rude to me. as someone who gets anxious very easily because i am sometimes unable to grasp the tone of written words. so i asked a few friends and they did say it sounded passive aggressive. which i was like. okay but why did he have to be so mean abt it cause he’s the one who said to email him if we had any questions. so i did it. LIKE YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID I COULD EMAIL YOU LAWRENCE DON’T BE A DICK TO ME I’M OVERWORKED AND TIRED which just got me thinking of something we were discussing in another class this other day. 

the discussion was on the phrase “there’s no such thing as a stupid question” and how the prof teaching the class goes ‘of course there are stupid questions’ and then proceeds to ask a boy in class “what’s two plus two” to which the boy obviously says four. and then he asks the class ‘was the question stupid’ and then the entire class responds with a “YES”. which was lowkey very fucked up to me. HERE’S WHY.

because to me that’s where it starts to go wrong in classrooms. like where you think simple stuff like that is considered ‘stupid’. there’s so many people who still struggle with math and who still have to ask out loud what 2 plus 7 is POINTING TO MYSELF. and that’s where it starts from isn’t it. where then everyone else around you goes ‘omg are you stupid it’s obviously 9′ YES YOU NEUROTYPICAL FUCK WHOSE BRAIN WORKS JUST FINE but that’s all it takes for that student to never ask something out loud ever again. that’s ALL IT TAKES. and then educators wonder why nobody wants to ask a question when they face a problem. BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT DOING YOUR FUCKING JOB RIGHT!! stop those students and please go to that student and ask them if they need help

it takes you invalidating one simple question asked by a student for them to lose their confidence. as an educator YOUR FUCKING JOB IS TO ANSWER THAT SAME QUESTION you consider stupid  20 FUCKING TIMES WITH THE UTMOST PATIENCE UNTIL THAT CHILD UNDERSTANDS IT. you are not the holder of all knowledge. YOU ARE A FACILITATOR TO THAT CHILD’S LEARNING and IF YOU AS AN EDUCATOR DECIDE TO CALL SIMPLE QUESTIONS STUPID how do you EXPECT students to then learn. you have no fucking idea where that child is mentally or even academically. BECAUSE YOU CAN’T EVEN BE FUCKING BOTHERED TO ASK. 

and then as they grow up you make it worse. because it’s less common to see teachers call a child aged abt 3-6 stupid for asking a question because ‘oh they don’t know’ but as soon as you’re older you start getting told ‘SHOULD I SEND YOU BACK TO KINDERGARTEN/PRIMARY/HIGH SCHOOL’ and then you wonder why students won’t come ask for help. and then you wonder why a student decides to cheat on a test or copies their homework. 

here’s another thing that’s so fucked up. when a teacher discovers a student cheating or copying homework. how many times is that student asked WHY. before being singled out in class and just told ‘i’m so disappointed in you’ or in other cases just gets screamed at. like that child doesn’t need to be told that they disappointed you. they are already going through a very wide range of emotions. and AS THE ADULT WHO IS ABLE TO REGULATE THEIR EMOTIONS AND THINK LOGICALLY why is your first fucking response TO PUNISH and why is not WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP YOU BETTER LEARN!! 

i’m gonna insert a tiny story here. bear with me.

so when i was about 11. we had a math’s test. and there was a bonus section (which was harder than expected for my tiny lil brain) in the back and me being my fidgety anxious self, starting looking around and glancing at other people’s answers. the teacher saw this. and she walked up to me TOOK AWAY MY PAPER AND SAID “SEE ME AFTER CLASS I SAW YOU CHEATING” which ok yes i was cheating. but she made such a big scene and got another head teacher involved and it was literally one of the worst weeks of my life. i got told that ‘this isn’t what we expected from you and we’re so disappointed in you’ and did that stop me from cheating in the future. HELL NO. i just got really fucking good at it. (got caught a couple of times in secondary but eh) 

but the moral of this isn’t that ananya is a badass bitch who still doesn’t respond well to authority lmfao. BUT is that. I WAS NEVER ASKED WHAT I WAS HAVING PROBLEMS WITH IN CLASS. AND ON TOP OF THAT THE TEACHER BARELY INTERACTED WITH ME IN CLASS. ISOLATING ME EVEN MORE. they taught me cheating was wrong and would get you humiliated but that moral lesson taught me jackshit about math. tbh learnt jackshit abt morality also.  but the fact is that i hated the subject even more after that. 

the whole entire like reason and just takeaway from this is. please please please just as a human being never ever ever tell a student what they’re asking is stupid or dumb or useless. i’ve experienced and seen teachers do it and profs in uni aren’t any better. i know you think that kids won’t learn if you don’t show them the consequences or tell them that they disappointed you. but then what’s the use of us trying to be any different to the generation before us, if we can’t even come up with better ways to deal with bad academic decisions that students make.

i know i’m gonna work with kids and it may sound like i just wanna let students get away with shit but i’ve literally had a classmate who’s gonna work with teenagers tell me THAT TEENAGERS WON’T LEARN ANY OTHER WAY. YOU NEED TO PUNISH THEM AND REPRIMAND THEM. BECAUSE THEY NEED TO FEEL THE PAIN OF DISAPPOINTING SOMEONE IN ORDER TO SUCCEED. and it made me want to curl up into a ball and sob so hard. 

and i’m just like. but teenagers and young adults are deserving of so so so much more love and care than even children when being taught. because a kid in a kindergarten has no other responsibility and barely gets scolded. by the time you’re a teenager you deserve to be appreciated and understood and just supported by your educators even when you make bad decisions sometimes because they need to know they’re not bad people for failing on a test BECAUSE THEY COULDN’T GRASP THE MATERIAL. 

all of this is making me so so mad. because as someone being trained to educate little children. we’re taught to be soo calm and gentle and understanding. to never discourage them, to always help them develop their interests. all of that just seems to fade when u meet educators as you grow up. and it’s making me so mad. because even mean profs just make you hate the content of the class. 

educating at the end of the day is about facilitating the learning of someone else. we all help teach someone something at some point in our lives. and this just means so much more to me because as someone who is neurodivergent and  had to go through rote learning for years upon years until i had a honest to god BREAKDOWN. where i had to drop out of school.

i dropped out with the lowest grade in my class. and i finished my studies privately and i went from a 20/45 as my IB score to an ABB in my A levels (from a predicted BCD). it’s because for the first time in my life EVEN MY PARENTS figured out that the environment was horrible for me. because i know i’m somewhat smart (not a genius but still smart). and i LOVE learning. i just couldn’t learn in an environment where all my teachers had given up on me and just looked at me with a disappointed face when passing out grades. 

anyways i’m finally doing and pursuing something i’m passionate about. and i’m so so thankful and grateful for having the opportunity to be able to do it. and the only reason i wanna go into this profession is because the only good memories i have of teachers are from kindergarten. you would go to school and there were these pretty women who’d just be kind and nice to you and tell you your hair looks lovely and hand you candy on random days. you got to dress up for your birthday, for halloween, for christmas even for diwali. you got be a child and happy. you got to paint and colour in whatever colour you liked, be it pink or black or orange. be it in the lines or outside the lines. 

you could make an absolute mess and take it up to the teacher and she’d smile at you and tell you what a wonderful job you’d done and how she loved your concept. i want be that. i wanna be that person who children look up to like i looked up to my teachers. and be able to provide them with memories they can look back at fondly and think, this is how a teacher should be. loving, kind, encouraging, caring and not accept anything less from another educator ever again. (BIG DREAMS I HAVE ahahhahah)  

but yea. this was just stuff i’d been wanting to get off my chest. anyone who got to the end.

I LOVE YOU AND I APPRECIATE YOU SO SO MUCH!! THANK YOU!! YOU ARE AN ANGELL OF A HUMAN BEING!!! I’M WISHING YOU ALL THE PASSION IN THE WORLD FOR WHATEVER IT IS THAT INTERESTS YOU!!! I HOPE THAT NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU THAT YOU CAN’T DO SOMETHING THAT YOU WANT AND THAT YOU ALWAYS KEEP YOUR INNER CHILD ALIVE!! I’M SENDING OUT SO SO SO MUCH LOVE TO EVERYONE!!!💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

#ananya's brain babies👶🏼 #i'm gonna go cry now. #also i will be rbing this multiple times today #so if anything in this made u feel something #pls rb :) #to pass on the kindness <3 #also please add thoughts you may have #but pls be nice :)

[asrasotherbottom]

Hello there! I was hoping I could request the main 6 as university professors please

Main 6 As University Professors

Asra

Obscure Ancient Lit professor

Brings faust to class and enthusiastically accepts her tongue flicks as answers to his questions. 

Decides hes done teaching for the day and walks out of the room without actually saying the class is over. 

Doesn’t grade anything in a timely manner if at all. 

Replies to emails between 2 and 4 am exclusively, signs them off with emojis. Laughs when students try to Formally Address him.

Not afraid of failing someone just because they’re a massive asshole. 

Nadia

Politics or Sociology Professor

Gives homework and collects it each class, stresses herself out trying to grade it all herself because she doesn’t want to have a grad student grade for her but eventually gives in and loves it.

“Save all questions for the end of the class.” 

A student once made a gross comment to her during class and with just one scathing look, convinced him to change schools entirely. 

Likes to have classes outside sometimes.

Creates a rotating schedule for people to bring in class snacks. 

Julian

Intro Bio Professor

Makes each class into a big theatric performance that actually keeps students’ attention even during the Calvin cycle. 

Spends 10 minutes per class trying to figure out where he put the chalk down, it was just here….

Stresses over writing test questions so much he sometimes just has impromptu practical exams. 

Has extremely weird office hours which students dont like to go to because all thats in his office is a razor, shaving cream, and a coffee pot.

Muriel

Practical ecology/Plant science prof

Gives lots of in class projects to avoid having to actually lecture very often, if at all. 

Has never read or responded to an email in his life, but he did respond when one student jokingly sent him a messenger pigeon. 

Very fair grader, very fair test maker, doesn’t assign or collect homework. 

99% of the school population doesn’t even know his first name but the 4 students who come to office hours at his house know literally everything about him. 

Portia 

Hospitality/Cryptography Professor

Lots of in class games, decrypting the syllabus on the first day, towel folding competitions, jepoardy, room keycard rummy, etc. 

Hates giving tests and quizzes, so she sends them out a week ahead of time or gives take home exams. BUT she gets very upset if the students, with all of her trying to make it painless, decide to cheat anyway. 

Arrives 20 minutes early to class but still spends the first half hour lecturing while eating her breakfast. 

A few times a semester she brings Pepi to class, usually around exam season. 

Lucio

Leadership and Management Professor

Tells all his students to call him by his first name on the first day of class, but in a way that makes everyone feel deeply uncomfortable doing that. 

Extremely well versed in what he teaches, not good at actually teaching and getting the information across to students. 

Hates having office hours and it shows but he’s better at explaining things one on one so everyone goes to them. 

Scratches his gauntlet across the chalkboard if he sees anyone sleeping. 

Forgets to make a final exam so he tries to convince the admins that students should settle their grade by dueling with swords. 

#Anonymous #main 6 #asra #nadia #julian #portia #muriel #lucio #mine #the arcana #the arcana game #asra alnazar #nadia satrinava #muriel the arcana #julian devorak #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #my wrist is killing me pls appreciate these

[watchingspnagain]

Meet Mace

Hi, I'm Mace, and this is my Intro Post. Ab Spectando Condito and all that. (I sometimes channel Livy when I'm nervous, don't be alarmed.) And I'm nervous because my memory is absolute crap so I can't actually remember all the details here, even though this all started only, like, two years ago. It's also hard to wrap my head around the idea of trying to describe this thing that Lor and I have started (created?) and how and why it has become so important. So, well, bear with me.

Okay, here goes: For years friends had been telling me that I *needed* to watch Supernatural; it was right up my street, they'd say. But I kept putting their recommendations aside, thinking that, sure, Dean from Gilmore Girls is in it and he's adorable, but that other guy looks like a frat boy cliché, and overall the show seemed like it was probably Buffy but with Dudes (and I LOVE Buffy and will brook no substitutions or messings-with The Buffy). Eventually I decided to give it a try anyway, a decision wholly based on how hilarious the memes were. Maybe the non-Dean guy (His name is Dean? *His* name is Dean? Wait, no, that's not...but why tho?) isn't so bad? The first attempt didn't go well: my husband, who is so very not interested in SPN, was away on a business trip and I waited until my then-10yo son was in bed, crawled into bed myself, and started the first episode. At night. Alone. I made it 10 minutes before actually saying out loud, "NOPE" and turning it off. Cripes, that first episode (and most of the first season, really) is actual, full-on scary! I mean, what. Why have Handsome Boys making Hilarious Quips on a show that I can't watch because I'm too scared?! Sort of rude, to be honest.

And that was it for, I think?, a couple of months or so. Then - and this is one of the places where my memory gets foggy (I tried three times to type that correctly and the first two came out as "goofy" and honestly yes that too) - the watching of SPN was mentioned on another site I spend much amounts of time on. I suspect Lor remembers the details much better than I do, but somehow we starting talking about how we both had been thinking about watching SPN for a long time, but hadn't actually done so because past attempts on both sides had resulted in fright and flight.

Now, Lor and I have been friends on that other site for several years, but never before really corresponded much outside of that site's chat-like forum section. I pretty much admired her from afar, as it were, and held her as a Fantasy BFF in my daydreams - she was (and still is to this very day) cool and *so* clever and smart and had (and still does to this very day) such a brilliant knack for turning a phrase and I admired (and still do to this very day) her wit and snark and general amazingness, but, again, mostly from afar. So when we somehow decided to try again with Supernatural, but this time together, I was ridiculously excited. I had no idea, though, just how life-changing that decision would be. We bonded, it seemed, almost instantly over our love (second time is the charming one, I guess?) of the show and over discovering how much we have in common with each other. It's comical, almost, just how alike we are in all kinds of areas: similar childhood experiences, nearly identical (like, eerily so sometimes) tastes and opinions on all manner of things, and we're essentially twins in our list of Things That Make Our Anxieties Spike.

We started off watching the episodes separately (I think I was a little ahead of her for a bit? Gah - stupid faulty memory) and then typing up our comments and emailing them to each other, then responding with comments on our comments. And it quickly became one of the highlights of my days, getting those emails, reading through her clever and hilarious remarks, feeling pure glee when we had almost exactly the same thoughts - sometimes even typing the exact same phrases, word for word. This, then, at some point, evolved into watching the episodes at the same time and live-texting each other, which means that now we very often are typing exactly the same reactions, word for word, and then geeking out at how SAME we are in real time. Of course we have differences, too, but even those seem to complement each other: she's the Hufflepuff to my Slytherin; she's a Dean girl and I'm a Sam girl (well, and also a Crowley girl - Sam girl in the streets and Crowley girl in the sheets?); she likes Wuthering Heights, which slightly baffles me but, okay, because we both agree that MacFadyen is the best Darcy.

We had big plans to have a meet-up to watch the series finale together. See, we've never actually met in person. We became friends online, then became closer friends through this mutual SPN watch, but that's also online. And so I've never been face-to-face with my best friend. Because the meet-up for the finale didn't happen, of course. Because Covid, of course. For both of us, anxiety added a special sauce of NOPE to leaving the house this last year and we've both, I think, been pretty much isolated, staying home and not having much interaction with others outside the other members of our households. Which means that our SPN watching and our growing friendship took on an even greater meaning and importance for me. I'm honestly not sure that I could have handled the massive stress and anxiety of this last year without Lor's friendship. It just feels...natural, at this point, that I spend my days texting her back and forth about all sorts of things, the small and mundane to the big and important. Lor has become a huge part of my life and if a full day were to pass by without talking to her, I'd feel that loss fairly keenly. On some level it seems pretty bizarre that I owe such a debt of gratitude for this amazing friendship to a TV show, but here we are. This show, its characters, and the actors and writers who have made them so outstanding and special? Well, I owe them all incalculable amounts of thanks.

Anyway. So.

We're now on our second go-round with our SPN watching (because I think neither of us can now even begin to fathom a life in which we're *not* watching this show together), and Lor, (hello - did I mention she's brilliant and amazing?) low-key drops the idea that we should be blogging our live-text conversations. We've talked before about really wanting to have a record of *waves hands around* all this, and a blog seems like a great way to do that, regardless of whether anyone else ever reads it. I'm content for it to be an open and ongoing love letter to Supernatural and to our friendship, even if it remains a largely unread one.

And finally, here are a few Thing You Should Maybe Know About Me:

I'm a farmer's daughter with a PhD in Classics, a one-time professor, turned stay-at-home mom, turned part-time librarian, turned Classics prof. again, living in the Midwest with my husband, 12-going-on-80yo son, and a goofball of a golden retriever.

I love reading as much as I hate housecleaning, and I'll read pretty much anything unless the dog dies or the child gets hurt.

I also really like knitting and sewing and one of my very favorite things is to make ridiculously-tailored Halloween costumes for my son (thank the gods he's totally into it, too). I missed my calling to be a cosplay designer. Maybe in retirement...

I fall in love easily and fast and hard for fictional characters, especially the ones that are 1) evil and/or generally villainous, 2) tormented, 3) super smart and/or skilled, 4) filthy rich, 5) completely unattainable, and if they're all of the above, Holy. Damn.

#watchingspnagain #watchingspnagain intro #watchingspnagain mace speaks

[oohfluffy]

TIHM Ch.2 | BBH

Group: EXO

Member: Byun Baekhyun

Theme: Angst | Fluff | Rated M | University!AU | Football!AU

Word Count: 1,818

chapter 2

The final bell rang throughout the room, signalling the end of the last subject for the day. However, your professor seems to have a different schedule as he continued discussing the human anatomy all over again. You stared at his powerpoint presentation, trying to keep awake and take notes of what he was saying.

You can hear some of your schoolmates already buzzing and getting ready to pack their things. After ten minutes, your professor finally ended his lecture, but not before leaving a hundred pages of lessons to review for a short quiz on the next meeting. You just let out a sigh as you hear groans of complaints among your schoolmates.

"Do you guys wanna hang out?" You hear someone ask around. "I hear that there is a newly opened pizza place near the bookstore by the street!"

"Yeah! I want to go!"

"I'm in for the food!"

"As long as Irene would go, I will too!"

You didn't bother looking at the crowd forming at the back of the room, and continued packing your things. You never went to any group gatherings anyway, not that they made efforts to invite you in any. You were invisible in their eyes. 

You stood up from your seat and quickly went out of the room without a sound. It was just half of the first week of your 3rd year college life, and it was the same as ever. As soon as you saw the lockers by the hallway, you brought out your key. Since it was nearing weekend, you'll start bringing home your books to read.

"You skipped practice on the last two days, man!" 

"I was busy—" 

"Busy with what?! What is more important than practice?!"

"Sex, man. I'm betting he did—"

"Shut up, Sehun." 

That was the last thing you heard before your locker door hit you in the face.

You groaned in pain as you pushed the small locker door away from your sight, looking down at your feet. You cursed in your mind while your hand caressed your reddening cheek. 

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" You felt a hand touching your shoulder, urging you to turn around. You just waved your other hand without bothering to look back at the person. "I'm so sorry, miss. I-I wasn't looking where I was going—"

"It's okay." You said, just so he will stop talking to you. You flinched as you became aware of his warm slender fingers on top of your shoulder. You moved away from him, closing your locker quickly after getting your books. You locked your locker and silently nodded your head at his direction, being respectful enough to acknowledge his presence and apology.

You held onto your left cheek with a frown as you waited for the bus in the waiting shed. You heard noisy teenagers hanging around the shed, making your eyebrow furrow in annoyance. Your eyes couldn't stop looking at them as you waited. 

You saw how much fun they were having.  

Their smiles, laughs, and teasings that they share within their circle of friends, you kind of envy their bond. You looked away as you gripped on the straps of your backpack tighter. 

How fun.

"I'm home." You said as you entered your apartment. You hear the radio's noise in the kitchen, making you smile. You quickly placed your shoes on the rack, and running to the kitchen. As you saw your roommate by the stove, you grinned in delight.

"My girl is home!" She exclaimed as she noticed your presence by the counter. She's in her baby blue apron with her hair in a messy bun. 

"Jiwon-ah." You greeted her as you sat on the tall stool chair by the kitchen island. "You got out of campus early today, huh?"

"Yep! Our prof for the last class was absent, and she just sent us an email for the upcoming quiz." Jiwon shrugged as she looked at the ramen she was cooking. When you met her two years ago, you didn't expect she will be a bubbly person. She's so pretty to the point you got intimidated of her dashing looks. You were not prepared to have someone bright as her to be your roommate in college. "I cannot accept the fact that we're having quizzes in the first week!"

But she was more than her looks. She was talkative, never letting you hear a pin dropping on the floor with her loud voice. She was also outgoing, becoming friends with people from different courses. You won't be surprised if she knows everyone in the campus. Even Irene's group knows her despite being in a different building.

"Me too." You frowned as you remember the hundred pages you need to read this weekend. You might start reading them later if there are no disturbances like Jiwon's loud voice. You were so deep into your thoughts that you didn't notice Jiwon was done cooking and was already beside you as she place a bowl of ramen in front of you. 

"Ooh, what the hell happened to your cheek, girl?" She pointed at your cheek, where a small bruise was forming. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before realizing that that locker door has probably damaged your face more than you thought it did. "Did someone punch you?!"

"No, no. It's an accident." You placed your hand on your cheek and tried pressing it, only to grunt in pain. "Damn, that locker door is harder than it seems."

"What? Someone hit you with a locker door?!"

"It's an accident, Jiwon." You shook your head as you sighed, picking up the chopsticks on your bowl to start eating. "Thanks for cooking ramen."

"Who was it?" She continued questioning you, picking her chopsticks up as well. "Did that person apologize?"

"I don't know who was it. Yes, he did." 

"Well, that's good. If he didn't, I would have to find him and kick him where it hurts the most." Jiwon smirked as she munched on her noodles. You just chuckled at her protectiveness and ignored her incoming threats to anyone who tries to hurt her roommate. "I don't like how your batchmates do not want to get close to you. Like you're one of the best people I've ever met, and they're just treating you as an invisible woman."

You felt better chatting with your best friend slash roommate. She was the only one who appreciated you, and treated you as her own sister. She may be clingy most of the time, but she makes you feel accepted in this new environment you are living in.

"Oh! I forgot to ask you if you're interested in working part-time in my aunt's new coffee shop?" 

Your eyes widened as you turned to her, full of excitement and curiosity. Jiwon glanced at you and laughed as she shook her head. 

"Why did I even ask, you love coffee." She said with a smile, making you nod in agreement.

"I would love to work in a coffee shop, Jiwon!" You responded after you slurped down the soup from your bowl. You worked at the library last year, until you got too busy with school and ended up quitting in the summer. "I was about to seek for part-time jobs around the campus. Thank goodness you asked me."

"Welp, I'm your fairy godmother! It's my responsibility to make your life easier!" 

You spent the whole night listening to your best friend's stories and gossips, which you aren't really interested but chose to listen. You enjoyed her company anyway. You looked at your biology book resting on the table in front of you, deciding that you can start reading tomorrow.

"Are you going on Friday?" Jiwon asked you, making you look back at her in confusion. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Of course you don't know about the first football game of the term!"

"Oh, that. What?"

"You're not going as usual? Oh come on! Come with me on Friday!" She pouted while shaking your arm in persuasion. "I'll introduce you to nicer people!"

"I've met your friends, you know. They're not that interested to be—"

"Not Krystal and her entourage! I said nicer people!" She emphasized, her eyes widening as if to prove a point. "I'm certain you will like them!"

"Will they like me though?" You rebutted her, raising your eyebrow. Jiwon huffed, shoulders deflating in defeat. She looks so sad that you almost gave in her favor.

"I'll buy you two corn dogs, extra large fries, and mocha frappe if you go—"

"I will go." You said in a heartbeat as you heard food involved in the deal. "You should have said earlier that you'll provide those."

"You bitch." She laughed as she pinched your cheek. "EXO will be playing, so we need to get there as early as possible or else we won't find any seats."

"EXO?" You mumbled as you tried remembering what or who was that. You just remember hearing the name a year ago when the music festival arrived. 

"You don't know them too?!" Your best friend shrieked as she looked at you in disbelief for the nth time tonight. "You've been in the university for two damn years and you don't know them?!"

"Stop screaming, our neighbors will totally report us tomorrow." You rolled your eyes at her. "I've heard of them before, I just can't recall who are they."

Jiwon just sighed in dismay as she leaned her back on the bean bag. You looked at her in expectation, waiting for her long ass explanation. And that is what you get.

"EXO is a group of hot guys, coming from the Engineering, Advertising, Art, and Music departments. Most of them are scholars, and not only they are intelligent, they are also talented. Some participates in dance competitions internationally, and some in band festivals. If not performing arts, intellectual competitions are what they join into!" Jiwon narrated like a storyteller, hands going up in the air as she enthusiastically emphasize her admiration to the said people.

You nodded as you listened to her introduction. Sounds like a popular group.

"They also represent our university's football team!" She exclaimed excitedly, looking at you with a smile. "That's why they are so well-known everywhere. They are just so amazing!"

"I see." You replied to her long explanation, with a serious face as if you were indeed interested in the so-called group of hot guys. 

"That's all you can say?" 

You shrugged at her dismayed question. She scoffed at your indifference. 

"Well, we still need to get on the field real early!"

"Then you need to buy my food as soon as you get out of your class then." You smiled innocently at her frowning face. "I'll head to the field as early as I can and save us seats."

"Hmp, fine!"

You are so looking forward to that most anticipated game.

Really.

—

♫ Ch. 3

#exo #exo imagines #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fluff #exo angst #exo x you #exo x reader #exo x oc #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop series #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst #exo baekhyun #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun series #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun x oc #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #university!au #football!au

[acaemia]

An unexpected correo electrónico 📧

Things have been toxic here at home ever since. Being a student helped me cope with it since I didn’t have to be home all the time, especially when college started. Quarantine just made things worse, and without a buffer between me and my parents, I’ve had enough. We’ve been on lockdown for a total of five months, and I’ve shut myself out from my family for a total of two.

The past few weeks have been extra stressful due to family members who lack empathy toward others. There was a COVID scare and I was just afraid of catching it from my parents, who failed to quarantine properly.This led me to being so stressed out to the point that I would fear to leave my room just to pee or eat. I ended up staying up late again. My body felt weird. I didn’t cope properly. The truth is, I haven’t been coping properly this entire time. I treated my best friend like a therapist, which was so irresponsible and unfair on her. I let anxiety consume me and I relied on things or actions that would only give me short term relief.

I’ve been exhausted lately, and my morning classes suffered. I accidentally skipped my Spanish class last Thursday because I didn’t wake up on time. I can’t even remember what happened to me, but I know I must be exhausted if I managed to miss three alarms. Last Tuesday, I also woke up late and logged into class late again this week. The events that happened over the weekend greatly stressed me out. I felt so bad because I didn’t even get to respond when I was called for recitation. I didn’t want to waste my prof’s time. I sent him an emailing explaining my tardiness and absence, and I got worried because he didn’t write me back. I thought he was annoyed, but then again he probably has other things going on.

Today, Saturday, I woke up to this:

It’s funny how ever since HS, one lesson has always been apparent to me: the importance of living with uncertainty, and understanding that we live a life of impermanence.

I took a detour while studying for my Spanish midterm last Wednesday/early Thursday morning. I read an article about OCD and COVID, expecting physical methods on how to cope. I am not diagnosed with OCD, and I am in no way promoting self-diagnosis, but I have been suffering from constant instrusive thoughts throughout the years, and I just needed comfort and advice from credible sources who describe the same thing I am feeling.

If you are reading this and you have the means to seek help, please do. Google and credible articles can only do so much, so if you can afford to seek help, I encourage you to do so! Mental health professionals will be able to assist you in a better and more personal way. :)

The article I came across with stated that people with OCD—who already sought therapy—are actually faring with the virus well, or if not, they have the tools to cope with the pandemic. I didn’t expect that answer at all, but of course I’m relieved that they’re good. The author stated that in therapy, they are reminded that nothing in this life was sure in the first place. Everyday we face the unknown. We get on car rides, which is dangerous, and we often don’t even think about how dangerous it is because we are so used to it. What makes this time so different?

It is a saying that has always been repeated to me, but it has never been more apparent than now. During my last year in HS, my teacher would always tell us that we need to learn how to live with uncertainty. My batchmates were ridden with anxiety over the future, over college. It is the same situation at its core: we are all facing the unknown. The difference is that we see the numbers rise each day, we see the people who suffer and we see the people who don’t care. It is understandable to be so afraid and even frustrated during this time, especially since it feels like we are a long way from finding hope.

Reading that article brought me a sense of comfort, it was like a hug that is so so familiar. That’s what we want, right? Familiarity and safety, especially at this time?

I learned that I shouldn’t let anxiety stop me from living. I need to eat, I need to be pee. I take all the necessary precautions already and I should trust that I did and am doing what I could.

However, this doesn’t mean that I will be irresponsible and selfish. that’s not what living with uncertainty is calling us to do. It is a reminder that we have and never had control, but what we can do, just like what my prof said, is to tend to our attitude. To live with uncertainty is to be kind to not just ourselves, but to others. To make the right decisions and to do what we can with what we have. We don’t know what will happen to us, and that’s so scary. But we have this moment right now. We can choose to make things suck a little less for others—especially ourselves.

The assurance I sought for is not found in the alcohol bottle I reach for more than 10 times a day. It is in knowing that we have always lived with the unknown. I must remind myself of this when it gets hard, because it will get harder from here on out.

There is already so much suffering out there. I should be kinder to myself. Gracias, señor Marc. Gracias, mi profesor de mi HS. I really needed this. If you made it this far down, I really wish you well. We’ll get past this together.

#note to self #piamore #very personal post #but thats the point of my studyblr #i hope I can just look back at this from a better future #bil #it was nust nice to wale jp to rhah email

[shipping-receiving]

Fictober 2019 Day 8: “Can you stay?”

Rating: T | Word Count: 1657 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Professors

(read on AO3)

//////

Brienne Tarth didn’t know why Catelyn Stark insisted on being so fertile.

At the end of every academic year, the History department at King’s Landing University selected two professors to plan their slate of public lectures for the following academic year. Or, as in Brienne and Catelyn’s case, two professors could volunteer to do so. Barring their own research and travel plans, they could then spend the summer arranging for speakers, particularly for the start of the first semester, when everyone still had the energy and motivation to show up for these lectures in the first place.

Then Catelyn had to go and get pregnant with her fifth child.

Brienne was aware that the fourth pregnancy had been complicated. Catelyn and her husband Ned didn’t want to take any chances with the fifth, which was certainly fair for them to do. But they already had four. Five including Ned’s nephew, whom they had adopted after he was orphaned at birth. As Catelyn went on her impromptu sabbatical, Brienne found herself cursing Catelyn’s womb, and Ned’s… nope, she didn’t want to even consider anything about Ned that was below his neck.

It’s not that it would have been very troublesome for Brienne to partner with another professor, although she and Catelyn did come up with a sort of—narrative arc, Brienne might call it—for their proposed line-up.

It’s more that she was partnered with this professor.

Professor Jaime Lannister.

Who was only replacing Catelyn Stark because he’d evaded this responsibility for nigh on seven academic years, and the department decided enough was enough. Except the person who had to suffer for this wasn’t Jaime Lannister, but her. Brienne Tarth.

Brienne wasn’t even sure how Jaime Lannister had remained employed by the university for this long—ten, fifteen years, she thinks. There was that whole business with Aerys Targaryen, back when he was a PhD student. And the other business with his sister Cersei, which had gone on for even longer. Surely there was some kind of university code of ethics that Jaime Lannister was violating by simply existing. Did Lannister money work for this too? It wasn’t a secret that his father didn’t approve of his career in academia, but a respectable position at King’s Landing University was still the best that an academic based in Westeros could really hope for. Brienne certainly treasured her position, which she had very fortunately secured upon completing her own PhD, with enthusiastic support from Catelyn.

Anyway, Jaime Lannister—or Professor Lannister, as she insisted on calling him, though he had asked her to call him Jaime multiple times—was the most maddening person Brienne had ever encountered in her short career. In the first meeting, he had shot down three-quarters of the proposal that she and Catelyn had already devised. Too boring, he had said, we should shake things up a bit. All he had to do was go along with the damn proposal, and he couldn’t even do that. Why didn’t he shake things up in any of the last seven years he could have taken on this responsibility?

On top of that, he just wouldn’t do things over email, like normal people do. He insisted on meeting her in person for every single thing, which also meant she had to take notes during these meetings rather than just refer to their non-existent emails, which was truly a waste of her time. It’s much better to talk in person, Prof, don’t you think? Jaime Lannister had said. Gets the juices flowing.

And of course, there was that whole “Prof” thing. He refused to call her Professor Tarth, or even Professor, as if it was so difficult to add two extra syllables. And the way he said it—like he didn’t think she even deserved the position. Because she was too young, or because she was a woman, or maybe it might even be because of how she looked, like that mattered at all. (Fine, maybe it mattered to him, given how many students of all genders were lining up to take his classes. Because of how hot he was, or whatever. And he got great student reviews, also probably because of how hot he was, or whatever. That must be why the university kept him on.)

She had thought, on occasion, that she might prefer if he called her Brienne. But she would never suggest that. Seemed too intimate.

Of all the things that had been bothering her about Jaime Lannister, however, he had this one bizarre habit that got on her nerves more than any of the others.

Every single time since their third meeting—and the meetings always had to be in his office, obviously—he’d always ask her at the end:

“Can you stay?”

The first time he had asked her, she had been too shocked to say anything other than “No,” before she stumbled out of his room without even so much as a “Goodbye, Professor Lannister.” The second time, she had replied, “What for?” and he had said, “Oh, I don’t know Prof. We’re between academic years and I’m bored.” As if they shouldn’t be doing research, or working on material for their summer classes, or other things they were hired by the university to do. “We could talk about your love life. Or lack thereof,” he smirked. That definitely made her want to refuse.

And so she did. Again and again, meeting after meeting. And he just kept asking her, with the same smirk. Like it was such a joke for Professor Lannister and Professor Tarth to even be in each other’s presence unless they were forced by obligation. Brienne certainly thought it was a joke, and she was happy to keep it firmly as a joke. But two months into this whole charade, on a particularly frustrating day triggered by a particularly terrible date with a particularly loathsome man that her father insisted on setting her up with, she decided, on a whim, to say something different.

“Can you stay?” he asked, as usual.

“Fine, Professor Lannister. Jaime.” She tried to infuse his name with as much derision as she could possibly manage. “I’ll stay. You said you wanted to talk about my love life, didn’t you?”

“Oh… um…” he responded, or tried to.

He was actually speechless. He usually couldn’t shut up, but Brienne Tarth had actually rendered Jaime Lannister speechless. It felt amazing.

“Well, I went on a terrible date last night,” Brienne snapped. “There. What else do you want to know?”

“Oh. You’re dating?” Of course he found it unbelievable.

“I am not dating. I went on a date, despite not really wanting to date, and regretted it entirely.”

“You don’t want to date?” he had said, oddly tentative. That was his question? What was with this obsession with her love life? Or the distinct lack thereof?

“Don’t you have anything else you would rather ask me?” Brienne exhaled. “You always ask me if I can stay, I finally say yes, and you’re telling me this is what I’m staying for? Professor Lannister?”

“Jaime,” he corrected, like he always did. “And I—I didn’t really have a plan for when you actually agreed. Or I did, but you’ve been saying no for so long that I find myself struggling to recall what it is, Brienne.”

He called her Brienne. She was so thrown by that, she couldn’t come up with any kind of witty response.

“If I remember correctly,” he continued, looking to the ceiling, “The plan was to charm you with some conversation outside of planning all these lectures. And then maybe after a few more sessions of this, I might have asked you out to dinner.”

“What,” was all Brienne’s brain could produce in that moment.

He turned his head back to her. “I’ve sat in on some of your classes, you know that?” Brienne did know that. She’d spied him in the very last row of her lecture theatre a number of times, over the last year, and hadn’t known what to make of it. “And your research focus is very interesting.”

“You wanted to ask me out to dinner to… talk about my research?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m not opposed to that topic of conversation. But I would much rather be able to talk about other things, too. And, potentially, do other things. If you’re not opposed.”

“Oh.” It was finally dawning on Brienne. “Are you… asking me out?”

“I seem to be doing a bad job of it, Brienne, but that was the plan. Still is.”

“Why?”

He gave her a confused look. “Why not?”

Brienne laughed nervously, but also maybe a bit more harshly than she had intended. “I can think of a lot of reasons why not.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. Aerys Targaryen.”

That was part of it, deep down, but it hadn’t really been at the forefront of her mind. “I didn’t mean to imply—” Brienne scrambled.

“But that is one of your reasons, isn’t it? Professor Tarth?” His voice dripped with something that she didn’t quite like.

“Look, let’s just forget I said that, Professor Lannister. I’ll—I’ll just go.”

“Jaime. My name is Jaime,” he repeated, as he got up from his chair and walked towards his office door. “But you agreed to stay, didn’t you, Brienne?”

Brienne nods her head stupidly.

“And you’re a woman of your word, aren’t you?”

“I… I’d like to think that I am,” she mumbled.

“Okay. Please don’t panic, but I am going to lock this door.” That was not reassuring in the least, but Brienne had to admit she was intrigued. She didn’t think Jaime Lannister would try anything untoward, and she was quite sure she’d be able to subdue him if he did. “I promise I am not going to do anything other than… speak. Tell you a story. And I need some privacy for this story.”

“What—what story?”

“Sit, Brienne. I’ll tell you exactly what happened with Aerys Targaryen.”

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #don't ask me what happens after #i didn't plot it out lol

[jackrgaines]

Everything You Need to Know About CRO

The post Everything You Need to Know About CRO appeared first on HostGator Blog.

The world of online marketing is full of acronyms. For anyone still learning the lay of the land, all those letters can be confusing. But one acronym that every website owner can benefit from learning is CRO.

What is CRO?

CRO stands for conversion rate optimization. It’s the marketing discipline devoted to ensuring that more of the people who land on your site take the actions you want them to.

Every website owner learns fast that getting traffic is hard. And all the work (and money) you put into getting people onto your website is worth little if most of those visitors click away and never come back. CRO marketing is about increasing the number of site visitors that stick around, start a relationship with your brand, and make purchases—rather than leaving the site and forgetting you.   

CRO is a complicated practice though. Both because what a conversion means will vary depending on your business and goals, and because people are hard to predict. Figuring out what they’ll respond to—what will encourage them to take specific actions—isn’t a clear science. It requires guesswork, testing, analysis, and a strong digital marketing strategy. 

But getting it right yields dividends. By making the traffic you worked so hard to earn more valuable to your business, you make all your marketing efforts go further. And you ensure your traffic numbers actually lead to purchases—the only way for those site visitors to turn into profits for your business. 

What is a conversion?

A conversion is any action a website visitor takes that helps you meet your business goals. For every business, a purchase is one of the main conversions you seek. But there are a lot of other related actions that also count as conversions.

Some of the metrics you may want to track as conversions for your digital marketing campaign include:

A click 

The first step to sticking around your site is making the choice to visit a second page. Anytime a website visitor clicks on a link, it’s a meaningful conversion. It’s a smaller one than many of the other conversions we’ll describe, so some CRO marketing experts refer to small conversions like this as micro conversions. But they still matter. And a click is especially meaningful when it’s for a page that suggests an interest in making a bigger conversion, such as a landing page or product page. 

Product video view

If your eCommerce website includes product videos, a view is a good indicator of someone’s interest in the product. A product video view would still be considered a micro conversion for most businesses, but it’s a compelling one that helps you determine how many of the visitors to the product page show a real interest in learning more about your products. 

An email sign up

An email subscriber may not be as directly profitable as a new customer, but someone choosing to actively hear from you regularly is a big deal! As such, gaining new email sign ups is an important conversion to track for any business that does email marketing. 

Webinar and online event attendance

If you host webinars or online events as a marketing practice, each person that chooses to register and show up is demonstrating a willingness to spend time with you and an interest in the topics you cover. Since most businesses also require attendees to provide information to attend, such as a name email address, it shows they value your information enough to give up personal details as well. All of that points to someone likely to be a warm lead for your business, which makes event attendance another important conversion metric. 

Downloading an ebook or report

Similar to webinars, anyone that chooses to download a piece of high-value content behind a form, like an ebook or report, is showing a serious interest in the topics you cover. That makes it highly likely they’re in your target audience and interested in your products.

Filling out a lead form

Filling out a lead form is the first conversion on our list that demonstrates a direct intention to buy, or at least learn more about a product. For any website that includes lead forms, this is an important conversion to track. 

Adding an item to a wishlist or registry

If your eCommerce website offers the functionality to build a wishlist or registry, someone adding a product to their list clearly demonstrates their interest in that product. It means they either intend to come back and buy it themselves, or hope a loved one will do so for them. 

Adding an item to their cart

A visitor that clicks that Add to Cart button is definitely interested in buying your product. It’s not  a sure sale yet at that point—cart abandonment is an all too common issue for eCommerce websites. But any visitor that takes that step is close to the act of buying, making it an important conversion.

A purchase

The most obvious conversion action to track is a purchase. As the main goal you have for new visitors to your site, this is a crucial conversion metric to pay attention to.

An upgrade or add-on to a purchase

As good as a purchase is, there are conversion metrics that can improve upon it. If you offer product upgrades or push for a product add-on during the checkout process, that’s another important conversion. And one that can increase profits without having to increase customer numbers. 

Setting up a call

For products that require a longer sales process, the decision to set up a call with a representative of your company to learn more is a big step toward purchasing. 

Setting up a demo or trial

For software products, it’s common for customers to want to see the product in action, or even try it out before making a decision. Demos and trials are some of the most important conversion actions for companies in this category.

Scheduling an appointment

Many service-based businesses are based on selling time or expertise. In these cases, a new customer setting up an appointment for your services is the most important conversion.  And an appointment for an initial consultation to learn more is a close second. 

Making a reservation

For small businesses like restaurants, a reservation is a promise to show up and spend money at a set time. That makes it a key conversion to pay attention to. 

Creating an account

As nice as purchases are, when a customer chooses to make an account on your website, they’re signaling an interest in coming back and doing business with you again. And for many eCommerce sites, creating an account is a step that makes it possible to use features like the wishlist function and to leave reviews. 

Signing up for a rewards program

New customers are a big deal, but any business that’s been in it for the long term knows that loyal customers are the most important ingredient to success. When a customer makes the choice to sign up for a rewards program, they’re showing an interest in continuing to purchase from you in the future. That’s a big deal, and thus one of the most important conversions to monitor. 

Why CRO is Important

Developing a CRO strategy can be crucial for your business. You probably found it obvious while reading through that list that every item on it that’s relevant to your business is valuable. But just in case you need some further convincing that conversion rate optimization is worth focusing on, there are a few main reasons it’s important.

Traffic is worthless without conversions.

Gaining traffic is hard. The only way to get traffic fast is with paid ads. The traffic you don’t pay for directly—the type that comes from channels like organic search and email marketing—requires playing the long game and making a long-term investment. For both types of traffic, you’re spending a lot in terms of time, money, and effort.

High traffic numbers may look nice on the surface. But on its own, traffic is a vanity metric. If thousands of people visit your website each month, but few of them ever take action or come back around, what are those visits really worth? 

For website traffic to have any value for your business, it has to lead to conversions. And the more visitors that take an action, the better off your business will be. Conversion rate optimization is how you get those numbers up and make the traffic you earned actually mean something.  

Conversions are how you move visitors down the funnel.

If you’re new to marketing terminology, the sales funnel is the image used to describe the full purchasing process of a customer. 

Top-of-the-funnel activities are those that relate to awareness—when a customer’s first learning about your brand. When they’re in the middle of the funnel, they already know who you are, but are taking actions that show more of an interest. And when at the bottom of the funnel, they’re close to making that purchasing decision.

While some customers make impulse purchases, many more go through a longer process when making a purchasing decision that includes doing research and considering different options. That’s especially true for high-cost items, but also often the case for smaller purchases. In order to capture those customers and get them from the point of first learning about your brand to actually making a purchase, you have to move them through the funnel.

Each conversion is a step in that process. When a new visitor clicks to see another page on your website, that’s a top-of-the-funnel conversion. When they download an ebook, that is a middle-of-the-funnel one. And when they add an item to their cart, set up a call to learn more, or make a reservation, that’s a bottom-of-the-funnel activity that shows they’re very close to handing you their payment info.  

All of these conversions matter and understanding the ways they’re connected can help you take actions that increase sales and profits. 

Business profits are directly related to conversions. 

Even the micro conversions that occur at the top of the funnel have a role to play in helping your brand increase profits. Interactions with your website are how customers get to know more about your brand. It’s how they learn who you are, what you sell, and why you’re trustworthy. 

And even if an email signup doesn’t immediately translate into money, it means that person will see you in their inbox regularly. That keeps you on their mind, and ensures they’ll hear about all your sales and specials. 

A purchase is the ultimate conversion, but even before it gets to that point, every conversion plays a role. Any money your business makes is directly tied to conversions. Improving conversion rates is how you increase profits. 

What Does CRO Entail? 

Conversion rate optimization includes a number of different best practices, but each of them can be divided into a few main categories.

Understanding your audience.

In order to improve conversion rates, you need to get inside the heads of the people that you want to convert. Unfortunately the field of conversion rate optimization doesn’t have a lot of fast and hard rules you can follow. One business might find that making all the call-to-action buttons red increases conversions, while another sees a drop when they do the same thing. 

That’s because you’re dealing with different audiences, or sometimes the same audience at different moments in their lives when they’re in different headspace. The only way to increase conversions on your website is to learn to understand your specific audience, their typical behavior, and the reasons behind it. 

Analyzing the buyer’s journey.

The buyer’s journey is essentially another way to refer to the funnel we talked about before. It describes the series of steps a customer takes to reach the point of sale. It will be different for each customer, but reviewing your analytics to see what some of the common journeys are will help you understand what your customers care about and the type of actions that most commonly lead to a sale.

Reducing friction.

A little bit of friction can make a big difference in conversion rates. Including additional fields a visitor must fill out for a download can make them decide the extra effort isn’t worth it. A check-out process that includes extra steps or takes more time than customers are used to can lead to cart abandonment. Steps that take mere seconds can feel like enough of an impediment to cause consumers to give up on an action they were about to take.

A key part of the CRO process is recognizing things that create friction and removing them from the process, as much as possible.  

Testing out hypotheses.

While human behavior is hard to quantify, to the degree possible, a good CRO strategy is based on data. In practice, that usually means coming up with a hypothesis and then running a test to see how it changes user behavior. 

You can set up A/B tests on a blog headline to see which one drives the most readers. You can see how changing the color of a CTA button influences clicks or downloads. And if you suspect shipping fees contribute to cart abandonment, you can test out shipping deals to see how reduced or free shipping changes the check out rate. 

Every test you run produces data you can use to better understand what your target audience responds to. You can then apply the insights you gain to your web design and marketing efforts moving forward.

CRO Gets Results

Conversion rate optimization isn’t simple, but it’s a field worth investing in to make sure your website is doing its job effectively. Once you learn a number of different CRO techniques, you’ll be able to better attract potential customers and improve your existing traffic. When you get conversions up, you increase the return on investment for all your marketing efforts, and see a rise in profits as a result. 

Find the post on the HostGator Blog

from HostGator Blog https://www.hostgator.com/blog/what-is-cro/

[thedailyplod]

My professor sent an email at 6:30am telling us that our lesson plans w/ supplementary material needed to be printed out in addition to emailing her and putting everything on a flashdrive. The thing is though, that she DID NOT say ANYTHING about printing out everything as a hardcopy. I triple checked her original assignment she gave us and it didn’t say anything about it, and I didn’t remember her saying anything about it in class. So I bounce out of bed (I woke up at 8:45 and my commute is an hour away) and scramble to print stuff. And everyone else in my group printed stuff too. When I get to class everyone had rushed to print their lessons because literally no one knew they were supposed to!!! 

I even brought it up in class that she hadn’t said anything and she responded, “I put it in the original assignment, so make sure next time you read it thoroughly.” I just couldn’t even bother to correct her. I know it’s a pretty small thing, but it made me so angry!! you already asked us to give you two copies of our lesson plan and just caused unnecessary stress and confusion for the entire class because you can’t keep track of your own assignments. 

We also don’t know how exactly we’re being graded on these group lesson plans, because on the syllabus it only talks about us doing *individual* lesson plans. There is no grading criteria. And one thing she talks about a lot is how we need to provide CLEAR grading criteria for our students. I haven’t gotten any grades back for my papers either, just checkmarks,even thought the grading criteria on the syllabus for the papers are number grades. 

It’s just a bunch of little stuff, but little stuff in teaching matters! it just makes me really angry because you’re teaching us how to teach and you’re a bad example! Everyone is always extremely confused about what we’re doing in class, and this is consistent, and it causes everyone to be really stressed out for absolutely no other reason than we’re trying to interpret her assignments. first she tells us verbally what our assignment is, and then when we’re half way done working on it, she will hand us a hard copy with slightly different or new criteria. then towards the end of class she’ll say, “don’t forget to do this!” and it’ll be something completely different that wasn’t mentioned before and is not on the assignment hard copy. 

I don’t know if I should bring this up with her, because she is not a good communicator (I’ve asked her questions before to clarify something and she responded with “I don’t understand what you’re asking”) and from past encounters she seems like she does not consider the possibility that she made a mistake or wasn’t clear. 

sorry for the rant but it is just EXTREMELY frustrating and I have so much else going on in my life that I do not like having extra stress from a dumb class piled on. Maybe this is something I need to work on managing better myself, or my anger is unjustified, but honestly I have never had a teacher be this frustrating in my college career, and i’ve had some bad profs. just. AGH. 

#personal #school woes #this is my least favorite class of all time and that's saying a lot

[angelichl]

I’m new at college and it’s scary :( any advise

it’ll be ok bby!! I just went through my first year and it went by so quickly. I’m a shy baby and somehow I made it out alive with a handful of decent friends and also good grades! here are a bunch of things off the top of my head:

-everyone’s new and trying to make friends, you’re all in the same boat, you can bond over it. you’re all strangers so it’s never weird to go up and introduce yourself or tbh just start a conversation. compliment something about someone, ask them a question (obligatory “where’re you from? what’s your intended major? what dorm do you live in?” is totally fine), find common interests, listen to what they have to say and respond appropriately.

-go to the activity fair and get on the email list for a bunch of clubs! show up to their first meetings and see if it’s something you’d like to do! you’ll meet upperclassmen that are friendly and willing to answer your questions, share their experiences, etc.

-similarly, join clubs you have an interest in. some things I tried out were astronomy club (we stargazed every friday night!), literary magazine, a club for mentoring high schoolers, eco club, campus newspaper, and her campus (which is like writing buzzfeed articles lmao) but basically there’s something for everyone :)

-if group of people from your dorm is going somewhere (to an event, to a party, to the dining hall, to check out a rummage sale, etc) go with them.

-don’t skip meals. take care of yourself.

-sit in the front in class. engage in discussions and make sure your prof knows who you are. go to their office hours!!!!!!! they want to brag about all their accomplishments and ramble about their research. they also want to help you find internships and stuff when the time comes for that, so having a good relationship is really important. I was nervous to go to office hours at first, but what I found really helpful was bringing a test in after I got my grade back and talking through it with them, or getting feedback on an essay. your relationship with your professor can start academically and grow into conversations that are more social and about your personal lives. ask them for career advice, tell them about your interests, ask them what they would do if they had your goals. they’ll help you achieve them.

-go prepared to class. also straight up just go to class. you’ll get so much more out of it if you at least skim the reading and look at the materials beforehand.

-don’t worry about making friends or finding a best friend! all of that will happen with time. as long as you go out and talk to people every so often, you’ll be good. be open and friendly and kind. it can be exhausting, and I totally understand just wanting to lie in bed and scroll through social media, but if you’re gonna do that you should hang out in the common room or a public place so you can make friends like that! don’t lock yourself away in your room.

-college is weird af but basically don’t be afraid to be yourself. you’ll attract people who are similar to you. you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. peer pressure is dumb but also college students are pretty woke, so I never witnessed anything shady like that. determine your priorities. for me it was my personal health (mental and physical), my grades, my social life. use campus resources because you’re paying for it anyway, so why not. hey active in the community. READ YOUR EMAILS. READ THEM. say hi to people you know, even if you only talked to them once before. smile at strangers. drink tea. eat veggies. go for a walk every once in a while. go out when you want, but also stay in sometimes. stay safe. don’t be afraid to make a fool of yourself. stay in touch with your family but only if you want to. go to sports events if you’re into that. go to a capella concerts if you’re into that. go to poetry readings if you’re into that. attend academic talks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! study outside. figure out which professors bring their pets to office hours and PET THEM. go to the writing center for essay help. go to the math center. find a nook in the library. realize that this is scary but it’s also really fun!!!!!!! you’re in charge of yourself and you can do whatever you want. it’ll all be ok.

(ps if you’re having trouble in class, absolutely talk to your professor bc the only way they’ll fail you is if you never show an effort and never make the time to get help)

I hope this helped! if there’s anything else you want me to touch on, just tell me!! sorry it’s so long. I have so much more to say lol. anyways best of luck, I know you’ll do great ❤️💝💖💗💓❤️💝💝❣️💗💖💗❤️❣️💝💗💝

#adri answers #anonymous #college advice #long post

[tevotbegotnaught]

“The conductor…in the power he has over others…it is in his interest as a human being, as well as that of his musical achievements, to resist the temptation to misuse it. Tyranny can never bring to fruition artistic-or for that matter human- gifts; subordination under a despot does not make for joy in one’s music-making. Intimidation deprives the musician of the full enjoyment of his talent and proficiency. Yet I should certainly not want to impugn the employment of earnest severity or even the occasional borrowing of the Bolt of Zeus; the latter if the hand knows how to wield it, can in exceptional situations bring surprisingly good results. Severity is a legitimate even indispensable means of dealing with people...”

Bruno Walter

In my Summer of 42 (years), I was a college freshman…again. With neither Mexican weed nor dormitory hijinks to distract me, I worked through the full Brooklyn College Core Curriculum and a handful of music courses. My degree plan also required an ensemble each semester. When the Assistant Dean interviewed me, he looked over my CV and immediately suggested their Jazz Band. After hearing them, I chose a contemporary music ensemble founded by a composition professor. Fall semester, she was on sabbatical and a trumpet prof, Juilliard guy and veteran freelancer, ran the class. To begin, he sat everyone in a circle and asked us to play “Happy Birthday" in hocket. Most of the class was unsure of the melody and some also thought it a stupid idea. With our nonstandard instrumentation, we massacred Second Viennese School composers for the rest of the term.

Spring term, the founder returned. She was just over five feet tall, brown-skinned, with narrow shoulders and mineshaft dark eyes. When she listened, her head nodded while bottomless eyes fixed on you. Raised in a distressed country, her life moved from prodigy to conservatory-trained professional with impeccable musicianship: piano, score reading, solfege, conducting, improvising, composing. Then, she came to the US, with zero money and English and rebuilt her career from scratch. At BC, she conducted the orchestra until politics pushed her out. Now, she gave composition lessons and led this ensemble.

Our roster still read as spare parts: three singers, three pianists, two flutes, violin, saxophone, clarinet, guitar; some highly skilled, others not. For most, English was a second or even third language. Our professor's first assignment: list your colleagues’ instruments, find pieces for a subset of our forces, select only pieces written after 1960, bring scores/parts for audition.

The following week, we presented our finds. First, someone showed her a John Cage duet. As she turned pages, Maestra’s face went blank .

“Why did you get this?”

A mumbled answer.

Maestra closed the score. “You got eet because eet looks easy. Didn't you? First of all, it’s a short duet. Three, maybe four minutes of music. Nothing to do on a real pro-GRAM. Not serious. Not serious at all.”

More mumbling.

“Get something else. Thank you.”

She jabbed the score into their hands, then addressed the class.

“Nothing about John Cage. John is extraordinary. When you choose music, don’t just take a name you theenk you know. Read the score. You are musicians …supposed to be….”

Next, one of the singers produced a folio. Its font, ornate and oversized. I winced. Maestra saw it was a Puccini aria with piano accompaniment and recoiled.

“After nineteen-sixty? Thees? You are kidding me!”

Again, she faced us.

“Thees is NOT opera work-SHOP. I know some of you did not make it there. I'm very sorry about that. Please find some other music to sing. There are so many good theengs. I hope you will find out. Music does not end with Verdi, Puccini.”

So it went. Gratefully, she anticipated our poor choices and suggested some pieces.

Meastra spoke Spanish to some students, aware of the terrain they navigated and supportive. Jorge, a Mexican pianist, was one of her projects. He was a skilled player, an enthusiastic and warm colleague. His giggle often broke up the class. In our third meeting, we rolled the piano front, Jorge sat on the bench. While he longed for mama's home cooking, he wasn’t missing any meals in Brooklyn. His midsection expanded well beyond his tight-waisted pants, straining shirt buttons. Maestra questioned him on preparation: “you’re playing the second movement, what about the third?”

Unaffected by the prodding, he began to play. A minute in, she said, “stop”.

He continued, eyes closed.

She shouted, “Stop! I’m telling you, STOP"

He looked over.

“JORGE….WHAT…ARE…YOU….DOING?”

It wasn’t meant as a question. Jorge smiled and gently shook his head.

“Why are you smiling? Look at you!”

Her voice leveled.

“This is not ready. It’s better, but it's not ready.”

She shifted.

“I am very worried about you. Look..at…your…STOMACH. You need to take better care of yourself. You know, pianists perform in pro-FILE. Theenk what you show to the audience.”

Jorge wasn't smiling. He put his hand on his belly.

“Everyone should con-see-der an exer-CISE pro-GRAM. I am forty years, Dio mio! Almost FEEFTY years older than some of you. Take care of yourselves.”

She dismissed him with a sweeping gesture.

“Ok, who is next? Anna, where is the list? Geeve it to me!”

Her assistant, a brilliant, tiny, Yankee grad student, always cleaned up.

Maestra partnered Jorge with another pianist for a Gyorgy Ligeti duo. Its ingenious architecture, a complex cycle revealed one beat at a time. In Yogi Berra's construction, half the score was ninety-nine percent rests. The players needed infallible inner time. While they played, Maestra leaned over the piano, right hand supporting her, left turning pages. She nodded her head slightly in tempo. The pianist's hits charged toward and away from each other like Pacman's gobbling goblins.

“You are late!” she slammed her left hand down. They went back. Another hammer blow. Back again. The piece never made it to the program.

At the end of the initial class, she approached me about Milhaud's “Le Creation du Monde", a chamber work for winds, including alto saxophone. We didn’t have the other winds, of course, but a young woodwind quintet, in residence for the year, would help out.

“Le Creation" story moves from brooding chorale to a raggy bolero where the winds pass around jumpy tunes, then strut them all, polyphonically, in a joyous finale.

At the first of four rehearsals, we were less than half personnel. Maestra had been enthusiastic about the quintet, encouraging us to meet, hear and study with them. But they were collaborating with major artists and appearing all over the world. Their residency, now in name only. No one in the group even bothered to return her emails. Our conductor was livid. (Later, the assistant assured us that Maestra never returned emails, either.) In rehearsal, the music just marked time. In long stretches with no tune and no landmarks, I fell into a hole and missed my entrance.

“What are you DOING! Counting! Count-ting! I can’t do everytheeng for you.”

Concert day was the first we all sat down to play. In the midst of my disciplined colleagues, I was a bellowing hippo. During the chorale, my slow descending notes were either out-of-tune, out-of-time, the wrong dynamic, or all three.

The baton came down hard “NO..NO..NO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

“How can you be late. It's jazz. Jazz! You play jazz? Right? You know who is John Col-TRANE? Play it like Col-TRANE! Why should I have to tell YOU this. Come on!”

I wore other hats that night: soprano, clarinet. Still, my mind remained fogged through the Milhaud finale.

The quintet players all demolished their solos. With a huge smile, Maestra gave each well-deserved bows. When they were done, she flashed her eyes at me, scowling. Then, jerked both her hands upwards, like she was flipping a pool toy. I stood up and stared straight down.

Next semester, a composition student brought a score. It was mostly squiggles and arrows, notation designed to move the music forward without defining functional harmony or conventional melody. She conducted a circle for each “bar”. We could gauge the length of each gesture and respond in time. Simultaneously, she sang the gestures using their pitched start/end points, conducted, turned pages and offered substantive commentary. If one of us was even a second late, her glance immolated them.

I became friends with some of her students. Waiting outside her office, they often heard shouting. When the door opened, students walked out in tears. Some planned to work closely with Maestra toward their Master's or DMA. Those plans would change...

An alumni couple created an endowed chair for Maestra, protecting her from political games. To celebrate, students accompanied her to the donors’ Connecticut home for a musicale. We loaded two vans with the usual music school suspects: waifish Asian virtuoso string players, an Eastern European sturm und drang pianist, a diffident “difficult” composer, and bit players like me.

Both donors were in their eighties and fabulously rich, earnest, lefty intellectuals. The wife wore a gas mask-like apparatus, its hoses attached to a whirring box on her back. I strained to understand her speech, but her eyes shone with love and curiosity. The couple warmly welcomed us to a large room packed with guests.

I was part of a quartet: oboe, flute, clarinet and piano, playing a student work. The composer, a young Dominican guy, rising star in the program. A Caribbean undergraduate writing skilled takes on contemporary European music. His piece used the difference-tone clusters of Gyorgy Ligeti: loud, high notes, staggered and longheld, producing acoustic anomalies: window-fan undertones and piercing oscillations. Bathing in timbral waves and madly counting beats, I couldn’t find the piano part, though we made it to the end without requiring oxygen or a conductor. The composer took a awkward bow and disappeared.

With Maestra as Maitre’d we served up a baroque cello sonata, Beethoven piano music and some Sondheim. Then, our little foursome loudly dropped a turd on the buffet table.

The donor husband was one of those ruddy-faced white guys who wear baggy corduroys and turtle necks over their barrel physiques. He sought me out, towering above me as I packed up my clarinet.

“What did he mean with that piece?"

“Sir, I…I wouldn’t want to represent the composer, he never said anything about..”

“Now, you must know something.”

He was an important man accustomed to getting answers, fast and in full.

“I know my part and how it fits with the others. The woodwinds are playing difference tones, Stravinsky used...”

“Why didn’t HE explain that to us? We go to concerts all the time. Conductors explain new music. They give examples, give context. You can’t just write something like that and expect people to automatically understand it.”

Gulp....“Of course.”

“It’s his responsibility to help the audience understand the music”

I looked over. By the buffet, the composer was holding a plate, one of the string players laughing next to him. Mrs Donor approached me, extending her hand. The box on her back hissed and clicked. Above the mask, searching eyes, below, a voice from a radio in another room. Was she talking about the quartet? It was too uncomfortable. I interrupted.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality and the opportunity to play for you. You and your husband are so generous.”

She squeezed my hand and leaned in, radio transmission drowning in static. Her husband came to her side.

“My wife is saying we've been to many, many concerts of new music. Starting way back, with Lenny Bernstein. He taught us there’s always something to learn. He introduced us to many extraordinary artists”

He put his hand lightly on her back. Over her shoulder, Maestra was listening to a guest, head level with their sternum, eyes searchlights in reverse. The radio faded and its whirring submerged in the din.

We got back very late. Our vans parked by the gatehouse and turnstile on the east side of campus. A few yellow lights glowed in the music building. Maestra thanked us. We said goodnight.

Drifting on an acoustic sea, our ancestors explored sound, harnessing the waves. Between foaming peaks and psychic undertow, they found power. From our African beginnings, to the stars, every lineage counted on those who navigated, who mastered instruments, who carried in them songs and stories. They became the music, while it lasted.

[ohwhatamessiam]

Self Control - Chapter 9

Summary: After learning that Chris’s divorce might not happen, you’re left with a hurricane of emotions and uncertainty on how your relationship can survive.

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: FEELINGS!!!! Language as usual, UNPROTECTED SEX (PLS USE CONDOMS Y’ALL AND BE 18+ IF YOU’RE INTERACTING WITH THIS CHAPTER.)

A/N: I’m back guys! I been working on this one since June while my amazing beta, @fangirlisms-22, and I have been super busy with graduating and work, but our schedules have briefly realigned to give you this ultra emotional chapter, that you all may or may not hate me for. I have no clue when the next chapter will be up, but there’s 4 more to go before this officially ends! Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire fic.

I love feedback, so send me your thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc!

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Self Control | Masterlist

After spending so much time with Chris, staying away from him felt like cutting off a part of yourself. He’d become a safety blanket for you as a writer, a way to focus your ideas and creative energy. He always knew how to give you the confidence boost you needed. And as your deadline for Robert grew closer, all your abilities and hope seemed to fade away.

You’d ended up skipping class that Thursday. Instead, you left the attendance sheets in Chris’s mailbox and stayed at home, tucked into bed with your laptop under your fingers. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape him.

Your sheets smelled like him, he’d left clothes all over your place. Even when you tried to fall asleep at night, it felt like his weight was still pressed against you, keeping you warm. But when you’d roll over, he wasn’t there.

No matter how badly your heart hurt and your body wanted to feel his fingers against your skin, you told yourself that this was better. Giving him time to figure out his shit was necessary.

But goddammit, you hated that nearly every waking thought of yours was about him. And it didn’t help that he’d been consistently leaving you voicemails and texts everyday. You did your best not to read or listen to them, but your resolve wasn’t that strong, and him pleading for you to come see him so he could apologize (again) in person, didn’t help you focus anymore either.

Your short story was due Sunday evening. And you had nothing. Your name in bold black letters and blank page after blank page.

Saturday night, you finally give in. If you can’t focus on anything else besides Chris, you might as well write about him.

As you bury yourself under a heavy blanket in the dark, the words seem to come to you. Your fingers type quickly, ghosting over keys and filling up the empty pages you’d been stressing about for weeks. All the things you wanted to say, the things you wanted to hear from him, they presented themselves to you, mapping out your own feelings for Chris.

You pour your heart out until 4 am, only stopping to go to the bathroom or get another glass of water. When you finally close your laptop, you already know the pages full of your emotional turmoil are probably not publishable, or even fully intelligible, but you tell yourself that when you wake up you’ll salvage what you can.

You roll onto your side, clutching a pillow against your body, and try to pretend that he’s having as hard of a time with all this as you are. That’s he’s lying awake, wishing he could bury his face in your hair and fall asleep with you. Your chest hurts, the same feeling of betrayal tugging on your heart, leaving your lungs ragged and your breathing labored. With its heavy presence, it tells you what you already fear.

That you’ve lost him.

But no, no, you hadn’t lost him.

Because he was never yours to lose.

You managed to turn your jotted map of feelings into something else. A letter from a character, written in a private moment. A letter that would be left for their partner if and when their relationship ended.

It read like a history of these two character’s relationship, detailing their most important moments and their least significant as well. Little things that made them what they were, big things that showed what they could be.

And the narration read as a mourning of their time together. That, while it was good and the writer wanted this to last forever, they also understood that other factors could affect their happiness. That their perfect pairing, the overwhelming feeling of belonging together, could be ended by something outside of these two.

Obligation. Uncertainty. Guilt. Unfinished business. History. Honor.

These things could get in their way. And the writer fully expected them to, why else would they be writing this out?

The piece ended with a heartbreaking lament, waxing on what the writer hoped would happen, that their happiness would last until their natural deaths, and that this letter was born out of a place of insecurity and fear. But the writer stated that they knew there was something else forcing them to pen this. That eventually, this letter would reach its destination.

And the last two sentences felt like salt in a wound: a warm thank you for the memories that were shared, and would still live in their mind. And a sorrowful goodbye.

Tuesday came sooner than you were prepared for.

You trudge through your morning routine and catch your fingers shaking when you need them still. Your teeth chew on your lips until they feel raw. Your heart pounds faster against your rib cage with every mile you drive toward campus.

As you park, an email notification lights up your phone. It’s from Robert. He finished your story and loved the format and the narration in the piece. He wants you to come to his office Thursday to break down the story in person.

Your nerves only falter for a moment, as you exhale a deep breath and feel the weight in your chest lighten for a second. So you hadn’t written a completely shitty story. That meant you still had time to prove you really did belong in the creative writing program.

Somehow, you manage to calm your nerves during your classes by focusing only on the subject being covered, and refusing to let your mind drift to the person it so desperately wanted to obsess about.

And as the time for your class nears, your stomach feels physically ill. It’s clearly just nerves, but every ounce of you is afraid to see him. Afraid of what he might have decided. Afraid that all your fears are right.

You beat him to class and take up your usual seat in the corner. Your heel taps against the floor as you stare at your phone, watching the time count down. The nausea continues to grow stronger in your stomach until Tom slides into the seat next you.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks as he pulls his laptop out of his bag.

You hesitate, your lips opening like you’re gonna respond, but you don’t know what to say. You weren’t sick and you hadn’t told anyone you were sick. But at the same time, you were sick with something that wasn’t illness related.

Tom watches you out of the corner of his eye, taking your silence as a reason to elaborate. “Prof. Evans said you weren’t in class because you’d come down with something. He extended his office hours since you couldn’t be at yours.” You nod, quickly recovering from your confusion. “Since the next paper is due this Thursday, I was planning on stopping by your hours last week, but I went to his instead.”

“Do you still need help?” you ask him, focusing on this sweet kid and not your internal conflict. “Because you can stop by my hours today.”

“I’m almost done with it, but I would really appreciate it if you would look it over,” he gives you the smallest smile, pleading with furrowed brows and puppy dog eyes.

You nod, “I look forward to reading it.” The grin Tom gives you warms some piece of you that’s been frozen for a week. You return his smile, knowing it’s the first time you’ve smiled in days, and your foot slows its tapping. Everything might just go back to the way it was.

As you’re about to give in to this little moment of bliss, you hear the students grow quieter, and you look past the young man in front of you.

The second you see him, your heart feels like it stops, like it can’t handle this moment. Your breathing slows as you watch him walk down the center aisle. His clothes are wrinkled and his beard looks scraggly. He moves quickly to the platform and keeps his eyes averted from his students.

You tell yourself to stay seated, going to him will make it obvious to everyone that you two are involved. He shuffles his papers out of his bag and you see how dark the circles around his eyes are, how large those bags have grown. He hasn’t been sleeping well without you, or maybe he just hasn’t been sleeping well without anyone, and it’s taking its toll on him.

He looks up at the class, his bloodshot eyes distracting from his forced smile as he says, “Today, we’re finishing up our unit on the Modern Era of British literature.”

You drop your gaze to your laptop and try to ignore Tom’s glance your way. The class goes on for another 20 minutes of you staring at the clock, ignoring how tired Chris sounds and how the class chuckles at his jokes. He’s discussing T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets when you finally look up at him, needing to shift and stretch your muscles from your bent and hidden position.

Even with his exhaustion breaking through every facet of his appearance, he’s still teaching the class with enough enthusiasm to make his students forget all those things. He’s switching a slide on the projector, his voice carrying around the lecture hall with such smoothness, “Eliot’s focus on time and the humanity that exists in the world-”

His words drop off as his eyes meet yours for the first time in a week. The blue looks grayer, sadder, and his lips hang open for a moment as his tongue searches for words. You hold his gaze, your heart suddenly sinking in your chest, and you can’t move, can’t breathe.

Like time froze around you two as if you were part of the poetry he’s discussing. You’re not sure how long you two stay there, staring at each other. You can only feel your emotions arresting you. Hope bubbling up, telling you he looks like shit because he’s not with you. Fear pinning you down, telling you this is really over. And that maybe it needs to be. Pride warming your cheeks, since you have this power over him, making him lose his train of thought mid sentence. Panic screaming at you to look away, echoing around your skull that this is not the time or place to hash out your relationship. And unease whispering that this is it, this is your last shared moment, your last silent exchange.

Eventually, someone’s pen clicks and Chris gulps, blinking as he turns back to the class, “-is both timeless and also timely, as World War II began while he was working on the last two poems.”

You drop your focus back to the desk, grounding yourself in your seat. The muscles in your body tense as your mind seeks an escape, your brain telling you that you shouldn’t have come today. Knuckles turn white as you clench the edge of the chair, anchoring your body, forcing yourself to stay.

When you glance away from the faux wood grain of the desk, Tom’s watching you with wide eyes. Concern radiating from him as he instinctively leans toward you.

You force a tight lipped smile and shake your head.

There’s no need for him to worry about you when you’re already filled with enough frustration and anxiety for the both of you.

You hide in your office after class, praying no students will show up after that awkward moment in the middle of the lecture. Every time someone walks past the tiny window in your door, your breath catches in your throat. Fortunately, no one shows up in person, so you catch up on the attendance points you haven’t graded from last week and work on the assignment instructions for the final.

The computer says you have 15 minutes left of your office hours. You know Tom has a class during the first hour and a half of your office hours, so he normally doesn’t show up until your day is almost over.

As you check your email one more time, you hear a knock come from your door. Your body goes rigid as you look up to find who it is.

Chris pushes your door open, peeking his head in before he fully steps into your space. You force yourself to swallow and straighten your back, try to camouflage your racing thoughts and your body’s immediate response to his presence.

He stays quiet until he locks the door behind himself, and you start to tell him that Tom planned to stop by, but the way he looks at you kills the words in your throat. He moves quickly, pushing himself forward and onto his knees as his hands turn your chair to face him.

His eyes are so big and pained, openly displaying his suffering. His fingers rest on your knees as his lips finally move, “I miss you so much.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” you answer, trying to keep your cool exterior, but inside your broken pieces are trembling in your gut.

“You’re more important than a poetry discussion.” Your heartbeat speeds and you swear those words would have made your knees weak a week ago.

You swallow your urge to grip his hands in your own. Ignore your need to lean towards his tragically beautiful face. You can’t give in that easily now, especially since he hasn’t told you where his marriage stands.

“Chris…” his name slips past your lips quietly, like if you say it any louder you’ll break his moment of begging. And if things weren’t as strained as they are, you’d be relishing in his pleading. “I can’t do this. I can’t be with you if I don’t know where you really stand.”

He exhales, his fingers actually twitching against your skin. “And I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to keep sleeping here, keep pretending everything’s okay. I know this has been an intense few months, but I didn’t think being without you would be this hard. It was never like this with Jennifer.”

You know that’s not a clear answer, but you give in a little, letting your shoulders hunch as you lean closer to him. “I love you, but I can’t be your fall back.”

“I’m-, I’m not asking you to.”

“So then you’ve made a decision?”

He gathers your hands in his, his thick lashed eyes staring into yours, “I know more now than I did before and this week without you has been torture. I know I can’t be happy without you in my life. And I don’t want to have to live without you.”

“Tell me.” Warmth builds behind your eyes as your vision becomes cloudy, as tears fight to take you over.

His tears beat yours, slowly sliding down his cheeks and catching in his beard as he let out a ragged breath. “She can take so much from me if I fight her. She found out about us, and I’m afraid of what she’ll do.”

“I shouldn’t have to be your second choice,” your voice breaks as your own tears burn against your skin. “You two weren’t happy, and that should be enough. I don’t care what she does to us.”

“But I do. She’ll be mad at me. She’ll take her anger out on me, but I care about what she does to you. How she’ll drag your name through the mud, tell the school.”

“Do you think she’d really do that, Chris?” Your fingers slide up his beard, wiping at his tears. “She’s the one who asked for the separation. She’s the one who was ready to call it quits.”

“She was, but when I last talked to her,” he closes his eyes as he rests his head in your hands, his forehead dipping forward. “She acted so differently. She brought up having a family, having the future we always wanted.”

“A family isn’t going to fix your marriage,” his eyes meet yours and you instinctively lean toward him.

“I do really want kids.”

“Yes, but your unhappiness will just be distracted by children. And kids deserve to grow up in a happy environment.”

Chris pushes himself up, his face coming mere inches from yours. “You’re right.” His hands cradle your jaw and his thumbs trail across your cheeks and lips, taking in the face he’d missed so much. “I might have wanted that with her 2 years ago, but I don’t anymore. I want what I have with you, now.”

The words push more tears over, happy tears this time. And his lips find yours. You cling to him, taking in his taste, his breath, holding onto the warmth of his skin. His fingers brush your neck, yours knot in his hair, keeping him pressed against you. Your body feels alive for the first time in a week, and your legs push you out of your chair.

He stands up with you, his hands trailing down your spine as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. You nearly moan from the contact alone. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he guides you onto your desk.

You know it’s wrong. You can’t be doing this now, here. Anyone could see you two, you both could lose your positions at the university.

But you have him back. And it feels so good.

Your laptop gets tucked in a drawer as Chris pulls away from your lips. “The last week was torture without you. I never want to feel like that again.”

A smile tugs at your mouth and you push Chris’s suit jacket off his shoulders. “As long as we’re together, neither of us will have to feel like that.”

He rests his forehead against yours, slowing your attempt at getting his clothes off. “I need you to know you’re the only person I want a future with.”

Tears threaten to escape from your eyes again and your lips tremble. Instead, you crush his lips with your own and undo his belt. His hands unbutton your pants, and you pull back from your fervent kisses only to wiggle them off your legs.

Chris’s fingers trace circles on your thighs, slowly dancing closer to your core. His lips leave yours to trail gentle kisses down your neck, and you try not to laugh as his beard tickles your skin. You rake your nails over the back of his shirt, wanting to rip it off of him.

He kneels in front of you, his fingers pushing your underwear aside. His hot breath fans over your wetness as his eyes lock with yours. He licks a painfully languid stripe across your folds that almost sends your eyes rolling back in your head. But you keep watching him, reveling in how his face looks between your thighs.

As his tongue finds your clit, a small whimper escapes your lips. He grins up at you, relishing in the needy sounds you always make. His beard scratches the inside of your legs as his mouth teases a moan out of you. This time you can’t stop your eyes from rolling back in your head. Your back arches as your hands slide into his hair.

Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm building, but you want him closer to you. You need to feel him. Your fingers tug on his roots to get his attention but it causes him to moan against you. Your breath hitches, but you work your hands to the sides of his head and try to angle his head upward.

After a moment, he realizes what you’re doing and looks up at you.

“Chris,” you start, already feeling your muscles clench around nothing. You aren’t going to last much longer. He pulls back, his wet lips panting. “I need you inside me.”

He pushes himself up and you tug his pants off his hips. You line his cock up with your entrance as you stare up at him. He grips the underside of your knees, wrapping your legs around him. You keep watching his face, waiting for him to push into you. A hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and he leans toward you.

“I love you,” he whispers, mouth hovering above your own. You rest your head in his hand and close your eyes. Savoring the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the way his lips trace yours. Trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

He pushes inside you sharply and your muscles tighten around him, your toes curling as your legs lock, keeping him in place. His groan vibrates against your skin, and your arms wrap over his shoulders, using him as support.

You let him have control now, letting him thrust into you at his own pace. Clinging onto him like he’s the only thing that matters.

Because for right now, he is.

Chris doesn’t spend Tuesday or Wednesday night with you, but you do text him and see him in passing. He does his best to calm your nerves about the story you wrote, telling you that Robert wouldn’t lie to you about liking it. You don’t let Chris read the story though. He doesn’t need to see your anxious ramblings on your relationship.

You make it through the lecture on Thursday without anymore awkward pauses tipping off the entire class that you two are involved, but Tom barely says hi to you. You try to talk to him, but he just shrugs or gives you one word answers. You write it off as him having a bad day, and instead try to quell the nerves making your stomach upset.

No one shows up to your office hours, which only allows your anxiety to grow even stronger, but the moment before you walk into Robert’s office, you get a text from Chris: You’re going to do great. He loves you almost as much as I do.

You take a deep breath, letting Chris’s words calm you. You’ve got this. Things will be fine.

You push into Robert’s office with your head held high. He greets you with one of his signature smiles, charming and fun-loving, yet somehow still professional. “(Y/N)! It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to talk, have a seat!”

You drop your bag next to the ornate wood and leather chair that sits opposite of his huge desk.

“How have you been, Robert?” you ask as you clench your hands together in your lap.

“I’ve been great, but I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving break. Susan and I always go back to Illinois to see her family. Are you going home this year?”

“I was planning on staying here this break, working on things.”

“Ah, of course. Finals are coming up and there’s always grading to do.” You nod and look down, realizing your knuckles are turning white from strain. You flex them, try to shake them out so he won’t notice your stress. “So how are you doing?”

“I’m okay, just been a little stressed. Worried about whether my story was any good,” you answer and give him a weak smile.

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about. I think with a couple edits, it’s definitely going to end up in a publication.”

“Really?” you ask, a smile breaking across your face.

“Yes, really. You’re a great writer (Y/N).” He turns his chair to face you directly, his elbows resting on his desk as he leans toward you.

You let out a sigh of relief. It turned out okay. Everything was going to be fine.

You reach down to your bag, pulling out a notebook to take notes on, “Thank you, Robert. It really does mean a lot. What edits do you think would make it better?”

“I’ll get to that, but there’s something we need talk about first.”

You stop writing to look up at him, your eyes growing wide. “What is it?” He stays silent for a moment, his eyes watching you closely. You’re vaguely aware that you’re not breathing.

“Your relationship with Chris.”

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[theclassicsreader]

The school semester really starts for me tomorrow (last week doesn’t count, for reasons I’ll explain), so here are some preliminary rambly thoughts about the rocky start I’m already having:

I’m very, very excited to be in class with my advisor again. And we’re going to meet one-on-one again on Wednesday. Grateful for this. 

I’m extremely bummed that he wasn’t able to pick his TA this semester (for an undergrad class), because I really think he would have chosen me, honestly. He sent me a sad email about it a couple days ago, apologizing about the situation, which made me even more upset. RIP.

Another thing that’s been going wrong: I mentioned one of my previous professors isn’t here this semester. I thought she wasn’t going to be able to help me with my thesis, but apparently she’s still planning on doing that. So one crisis averted. 

However, this also meant one of the classes I was planning on taking got cancelled. I was going to take a sociology class instead, and I went to a couple of the lectures, but going to the prof’s office hours made me change my mind. She basically told me that she wasn’t sure that this class would meet my needs & that she wouldn’t really know how to respond to an English paper... So that was the end of that!

So I went to my WGS department’s administrator, starting crying (as I always seem to do at the beginning of a semester), and we had to set up a meeting to discuss my options. 

Instead, I’m hoping to work with someone I’ve never met before and hopefully do a directed reading with her. If this works out, it’ll be really good! I’m cautiously excited about this. We’re gonna meet on Thursday to talk about it. 

#grad school #a portrait of the blogger as a grad student #gradblr #??? a mess #advisor tag