#/MY GOD... I WAS 22 AND STUDENT TEACHING....

[crackinthewhip]

"Uh... what year is it, again?"

It might be a little... late for that?

"Can't leave if I wanted, mate. Sumfin' 'bout unfinished business or whatnot. Fuck me if I know what I'm waitin' 'round for, but."

"... You, uh, hear my game's gettin' a second season in 2023?"

[jaellyfishh]

The Corner Where We Met · Part 1

age: Azzi - 26 y/o, Paige - 27 y/o

trope: art teacher!azzi x PE teacher!paige (slightly inspired by Abbott Elementary)

content: fluff

dc: some grammar mistakes, i use australian english, i know little about the american school system, maybe slow updates if i’m in a slump, i’d love feedback (i’m new to writing)

word count: 5.1K

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“Ms. Fudd, can you show me how to shade my circle?” A quaint voice from the corner table caught Azzi’s attention while she had been weaving around her classroom observing her students’ drawing.

“Of course, my love. Here”

It was like any other Monday morning for Azzi Fudd at Moore Public High, a combined middle and high school institution in Storrs, Connecticut, where she had been teaching middle school art for four years since she was just 22 years old. Being the first week off of summer break, today’s art lesson mainly focused on the theories of Light and Shadow.

The lesson plan that she had curated this academic year was no different to previous years, however she did want to focus on the foundational elements of drawing within the first month. From the outcomes throughout the trials and errors of teaching since her first year at the school, Fudd realised the pattern of her students struggling during the mid-semester mark up until their final art project. She figured allowing time for them to have a good grip of the basics would ease her students into the forthcoming lessons, making art more familiar, more friendly.

Ring, ring, ring.

Finally, lunch time, Azzi thought.

“Before you leave, don’t forget your homework for tomorrow, alright guys? Y’all drew amazing, thank you for today!” Azzi half-yelled as her students made their way through the door, a disorganised chorus of ‘Thank you, Ms. Fudd’ echoing throughout the classroom.

The young curly haired woman smiled as she watched the last student leave the class. With a small pile of her files and books balanced on one arm, she switched the room lights off before heading down the corridor to the teacher’s lounge for lunch.

A small crowd of teachers came into sight after Azzi had swung the door open. As she made a quick beeline towards the fridge, a loud shuffling of feet approached her.

“Aye, Fuddie Bun! How’s first day treatin’ ya?” A boisterous voice startled Azzi.

“Geez, KK. One day, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” Azzi yelled-whispered at her coworker, Kamorea ‘KK’ Arnold - a childhood nickname only her closest of colleagues can call her, and by closest of colleagues she means just the one Azzi Fudd.

KK started her rookie year as their high school math teacher a year after Azzi was employed. They had become close friends early on, I mean, it was hard to avoid Arnold in general as she was ever the more extroverted and very personable in a loud way, but not that Azzi minded anyways. Despite their contrasting personalities, they found comfort in each other over the few years, ranting it out and gossiping in the break room after a long school day or winding down at each other’s places over the weekend.

“Everyone’s too serious this morning, girl. My classroom is way more entertaining than this!”

“KK, it’s Monday, whaddya expect?”

After sharing brief exchanges with their colleagues nearby, the pair took their lunch box of homemade food from the microwave and sat in the corner of the lounge.

“Hey, did you hear they hired a new PE coach? I heard she’s pretty good,” KK mumbled as she munched on her wrap.

“Oh my god, really? It’s the fourth one since I’ve been here. I bet she’ll be gone by next month. Our kids can be ruthless sometimes,” Azzi reckoned while absentmindedly picking on the lettuce of her caesar salad.

“For real! But, nah, I saw her talking to Big G-“

“Principal Auriemma,” Azzi corrected.

“To Principal Big G Auriemma,” KK ignored teasingly, “at his office. And she sounds like she stands on business! I know she’ll put our kids in place”.

“Cool… let’s bet on it,” Azzi said smoothly.

“Girl, what?”

Azzi chuckled as she shook her head. “You heard me…you know how I tell you my life seems kinda boring right now and I kinda wanna spice things up this year?” Fudd half-joked referring to a conversation they would occasionally have outside of school, “So, let’s bet on it. She’ll be gone by next month”.

“Babe, when I said I wanted you to spice up your life I meant going on dates, having one-night stands…this is seriously not your take on spicing things up, is it?” KK looked at her friend in disbelief.

“Hey, not too loud!” Azzi hissed, “You shouldn’t always take my words seriously, dude. Now, c’mon, what are we laying on the table?”

“Alright, alright,” holding back from making any further comments on a Monday afternoon, KK pondered. “Hmm, how about winner gets to pick a hideous outfit for the loser to wear on a school day?”

“Oh…hell no!”

“I knew this’d piss you off, Li’l Miss Fashionista,” KK cooed as she poked on Azzi’s arm annoyingly. “What happened to spicing things up?”

“Fine, fine! Just make sure it’s appropriate- OW!” Azzi winced at the sudden slap on her arm.

“Defamation of my character! Of course it’ll be appropriate, what do you take me for?” KK protested.

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully before sticking her tongue out.

“Oh and Azzi, I forgot to mention,” a small grin etched on KK’s lips, “she’s totally your type”.

“I- what?”

“You’ll see it when you see it. Just…don’t flirt the way you do at the clurb” KK voice animatedly while leaning forward, staring at Azzi with mischievous intent.

The older girl scoffed while leaning back on her chair. “I flirt just fine, Kamorea. I’m a little rusty, but I still got it”.

“Right, right. She’ll be the judge of that”

“What are you talking about, honestly?“ Azzi surrendered trying to figure out her friend’s intention, but Arnold remained mysterious.

“Can I make our bet more fun, then? You can pick my school attire for a whole week if I can bet you'll end up sleeping with a faculty member before the end of next month.”

Fudd’s mouth was left agape. “Enticing, and nothing in return? The stakes are high for this one. Is it that serious for you, KK?”

“I trust in my gut,” KK mused, arms folded.

“Well, tell your gut that it’s wrong. Besides, I don’t shit where I eat, my four years being here proves it”.

“That’s ‘cause there was nobody good looking enough here for you to fuck. It’s prime time now, baby,” KK rubbed her hands menacingly, much to Azzi’s disgust.

“Bro-“

Ring, ring, ring.

Fifth period rolled in and Azzi had just pardoned herself to use the toilet halfway through her class. As soon as she swerved and bent that corner right before the end of the hall to the toilet doors, her body collided abruptly with another. Azzi almost stumbled backwards in her position before a long arm swooped just around Azzi’s waist before any accidents were to happen.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Azzi apologised before lifting her head to look at her saviour.

Tall. Slicked back blonde. Blue eyes. All black sports wear.

Fudd’s knees buckled, slightly wobbling unsteady in her position again. The grip around her waist tightened.

“Hey, you good?” The blonde breathed, half smiling as the curly haired woman in front of her chuckled whilst shaking her head in embarrassment. The unfamiliar lady took her arms off of Fudd as soon as she was able to stand upright on her own, all the while studying her movements - her curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I should’ve slowed down before turning the corner,” Azzi exhaled deeply as her brown eyes stayed hypnotised in the blue ones in front of her. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before”.

Paige chuckled this time with a slight smirk, her hand sliding the lanyard around her neck slightly towards Azzi. “Yeah, I’m the new PE teacher.”

The shorter girl’s cheeks grew warm as she quickly scanned the figure in front of her.

Yeah, KK wasn’t kidding, she thought.

“I’m Paige. Paige Bueckers,” she grinned before holding a hand out.

“I’m Azzi Fudd. I, uh, I teach art for our middle schoolers,” she smiled shyly before shaking her hand.

Paige raised her eyebrows. “The drawings on the board right at the entrance, they’re your kids’?” Azzi nodded proudly. “Well, they got a pretty darn good teacher. They’re beautiful”.

When Paige said the latter sentence while staring into the depths of Azzi’s soul, she couldn’t help but feel that was addressed to Fudd herself and not the drawings, but she immediately shook her thoughts away in denial.

“Why, thank you,” Azzi slowly blinked while flashing a charming smile. “How’re the kids treating you?”

“Well, they’re something else for sure,” Paige rubbed the back of her neck before letting out a breathy laugh. “It’s my first day, so I’m doing a trial run. They just gotta loosen up to me a li’l, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I know the kids wanna seem tough, but…they don’t know I’m the toughest one out here.”

Azzi nodded in amusement as her arms folded. She assumed Paige was going to say something more profound. “Is that so? Wow, so maybe KK was right about you”.

“Talking about me behind my back already? I can never stay away from people’s thoughts,” Paige exclaimed sarcastically, her true personality unraveling in front of Azzi, a type of confidence she’s never encountered before. Fudd was hooked, there was a certain charm to the blonde that Azzi couldn’t help but want to be trapped in.

“Please, don’t flatter yourself,” Azzi rolled her eyes playfully, “We just wanna see if you got what it takes to teach our kids at Moore. The teachers here gotta be gritty, smart…resilient”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, I already got that covered. The more important question is,” Paige took a step closer. “Do the kids have what it takes to handle me?”

Fudd’s breath hitched at the sudden proximity. She’s got crazy eye contact, Azzi thought.

“Just don’t come begging me for help when it gets to it, yeah?” Azzi was able to get back, her head tilting to the side as she gently pushed the woman back.

“Not until you hear your kids complain about me all class before you beg me to stop them,” Paige was quickly retorted.

For a moment they just stood there giggling at what they thought was the most entertaining interaction they’ve had all morning.

“You’re an interesting one, Bueckers, I’ll give you that”

“Well, they hired me for a reason, didn’t they? Seems like it’s a pattern ‘round here,” Paige hummed triumphantly as she slid her hands into her pockets while tracing her eyes over Azzi’s face. It was an electric silence that surrounded them, a tension raising hairs on their skin as they stared at each other for a moment. Then Paige realised why Azzi was there in the first place.

“Hey, you probably need to go more than I wanna stay,” Paige interjected quickly before Azzi could register what she just said. “I’m gonna head back before they start running out the doors to escape,” Bueckers gave her a knowing nod before slowly moving past her towards the hallway.

“Uh, nice meeting you, Azzi Fudd. I’d- I’d love to see you around more often,” a slight smirked etched on Paige’s face as she turned around to face Fudd again.

“We’ll see about that. Just don’t think you can one-up me every time I see you” Fudd reflected the blonde’s smirk before pushing the bathroom door open. Paige couldn’t help but let out an incredulous chuckle before jogging back to the gym.

Dammit, I hate when KK’s right, Azzi’s thought ran.

—

“So, how hot was she? Tell me!” Caroline Ducharme, Azzi’s roommate and best friend, asked too inquisitively while shaking her friend’s arm.

“Car, careful, I’m cooking here!” Azzi scolded, her hands on the wok as she stirred some fried rice.

It was dinner at the Fudd-Ducharme apartment and the pair were catching up on their daily newsfeed. Being best friends of almost 12 years now, they did everything together, even managing to tick most of the boxes off of their childhood bucket list. One of it being to live together in their dream three-story mansion. And although their current accommodation was far from it, it was with the artistic creativity of Fudd and the financial literacy of Ducharme that they were able to conjure up a budget interior design, making their cold Connecticut apartment into a cozy, earthy home.

“This is so exciting! After months of pushing potential partners away, someone finally caught your attention. Sucks that it had to be at work, though,” Caroline rambled as she leaned on the kitchen island behind Azzi.

The curly-haired girl whipped her around unamused. “She’s not a potential partner. And I’m only stating the obvious - she’s objectively pretty. Even KK agrees”.

“Yeah, well KK isn’t attracted to her, you are”

“What makes you say that?”

“Babe, I’ve known you since we were in middle school. Besides, weren’t you just geeking earlier about how she had her arms around you like she was your knight in shining armour?” The taller girl argued back.

“You’re exaggerating, I never said that. I just said it was really thoughtful of her to do that, you know?” Azzi reasoned, but Caroline wasn’t buying it.

“Whatever you say, Azzi. I don’t giggle like a school girl about kind gestures like that. I mean, it’d be worse if she was tall, blonde with blue eyes and athletic, that’s for sure,” Ducharme shook her head.

And then Azzi froze. Almost too obviously.

“BITCH, YOU’RE COOKED!”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up-“

“I’m searching her socials. What was it? Paige Bueckers? How do you spell that-“ Caroline whipped out her phone before hurriedly running to the living room not too far from where they were. But it was not like Azzi had the energy to chase her anyways.

“Caroline Ducharme, I swear to God, you need to stop-“

“Found her!” Caroline interrupted as Azzi grew silent. Not that she’d want to admit, but Fudd herself was already curious. “Damn, she is hot”.

The curly haired woman groaned before Caroline approached her once again, shoving her phone to Azzi’s side, the brightness illuminating her face.

Paige’s instagram profile was public with almost 300 followers. Her bio had a red pin emoji with just the initials ‘MN’ next to it, perhaps what the pair assumed to be her hometown, Minnesota. Her profile was half empty with only 5 posts, the most recent being the only one with her face on it taken last July over the summer which Caroline had clicked on soon after.

She was gorgeously tanned. Her skin looked moist from the sunscreen as she wore a pastel purple bikini top paired with black basketball shorts, effortlessly making the fit look good on her body. She posed with a slight manspread on a blue striped beach chair, her sparse curly waves lifting perfectly with the wind.

As Caroline swiped on the next photo, it was a selfie on that same day with Paige wearing a bucket hat this time, her blue eyes gleaming as she bit her cheeks.

“Daaammn,” Caroline gushed, turning her head to face Azzi. She noticed her friend’s eyes glued stuck on her phone, scanning every inch of the picture. “Like what you see?”

The question brought Azzi back to reality, a begrudging tsk elicited from her.

“Take your phone away before I smack you,” the shorter friend mumbled, pulling her attention back to the wok.

“Or before you start gooning-“

“What are you, sixteen?”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh at the angry state of her best friend. “What are you so upset about? If anything, I’d let her hit immediately.”

“Car, this is getting out of hand. You and KK both,” Azzi whined before switching the gas off and removing her apron. Caroline instinctively started pulling out her homemade avocado shake out the fridge, setting it down on their dinner table while Azzi poured the fried rice onto the place Ducharme had set on the kitchen island.

“Az, you know I’m teasing. But, seriously, why are you denying that she’s really fine and totally your type?”

As the pair took their plates to the dinner table, the curly haired woman sighed before taking her seat.

“It’s not that I’m denying it, I’m being respectful. I don’t know anything about her and I just… I don’t wanna get to know anyone right now,” Azzi confessed before taking a bite of the fried rice. Ducharme hummed.

“Aha, is this…is this possibly still about Des? Hasn’t it been almost two years already?”

“I dunno, I think it is. It was a four-year relationship, Car. She meant everything to me when I first moved here. And you know how I am in relationships. Fuck, I hate being the anxious-attachment type”

“I know you’re gonna hate me every time I say this, but as your pseudo-relationship counsellor hearing you vent to me over the years about Destiny, all I can say is she was a conniving ass bitch who didn’t realise you deserved someone worthier than her. So what did she do? She grew more insecure, projected that onto you and turned you into what you became in the relationship. But, you knew that and you knew I hated that girl from the get go. But I also knew you loved her more than my voice could even reach you. And, as your best friend, of course I stayed…because I was ready to catch you when you’d eventually fall,” Caroline sermonised, her hands caressing Fudd’s.

What was brilliant about the relationship of the two was how they both gave each other such unconditional, unwavering love and understanding throughout the decade of their friendship. They matched each other in mature introspection and calm confrontations, making their bond stronger over the years.

“Oh, Car,” Azzi chuckled, “You’re gonna make my fried rice salty from the tears about to fall from my face.”

“Oh, shut up,” the taller girl rolled her eyes as she sipped on her avocado shake. “Anyways, tell me more about Paige, please?”

Azzi stared at her friend in disbelief, shaking her head before she continued. “Alright, alright. Well, she’s confident. Like, really confident. It’s like she has this big head from being so certain and egotistical about herself, but…I never felt any malice in it, at all. If I were to assume, she probably does that to get the best out of people, you know?”

Caroline’s eyebrows couldn’t raise any higher than that. “Ooo la la, sounds like she has a little crush.”

“Please, Car, I spend half my day with middle schoolers not to come home to one,” Azzi groaned.

Her best friend smiled quietly. “It’s cute. Just…don’t be afraid to let things flow as they should”.

Azzi nodded when suddenly her roommate gripped her hand tightly. “And who cares if you’re gonna shit where you eat, I’m gonna call the plumber on you all day!”

“Yeah, you’re getting evicted tonight”

—

Tuesday morning came and the usual background noise at Moore Public High seeped through the gaps of Azzi’s car as she parked it. The familiar sounds became more apparent the moment she had opened her door. The low rumble of the school bus’ engine, the jittery chatter amongst the students, the cool autumn breeze whistling by and… loud morning greetings bellowing from the steps of the school’s main entrance?

“Derrick, don’t frown like that, put some pep up in your step!”

“Senara, love your hair! Lookin’ fresh!”

“What did you pack in here, Caleb? Geez Louise!”

Fudd stood dead on her tracks as she watched the new scene of her mundane morning unfold before her. It was a little too early for the taller woman’s enthusiastic positivity for Azzi’s liking, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She also noticed her new coworker’s outfit for the day, simple yet fitting - All white socks and nikes, grey basketball shorts with a plain white tee and an unzipped pink wind breaker; Azzi’s favourite colour.

However, it didn’t take long before Azzi realised she herself wore pink today. Low white heels, bright pink slacks and a formal white button up. Well, isn’t that convenient, she thought.

Downing on the pink tumbler with her morning coffee on one hand like a shot of tequila, she braced herself, approaching the blonde who was busy ruffling the hairs of one of Azzi’s students.

“Not too much on Adrian’s hair, his dad works hard on it every morning,” the soft tone of a familiar voice caught Paige’s attention.

“You tell ‘em, Ms. Fudd!” The younger boy yelled before scurrying off into the building.

With raised eyebrows and a closed smile, Bueckers had her hands folded as she looked down at the younger woman who stood one step below her. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ms. Fudd.”

“Hey, you greeted all the kids with something, don’t be boring now,” The curly haired colleague teased, her dimples peeking out as she looked up at Paige through her lashes.

“Hmmm,” The taller woman looked Azzi up and down, scanning her meticulously causing the younger woman to stagger faintly in her steps, a warmth growing on her cheeks.

“Was the pink intentional?” Paige smirked, leaning her head down. Azzi scoffed.

“I’ll have you know that pink is my favourite colour, so no”

“Noted,” Paige chuckled. “You look good in pink, Ms. Fudd”

The comment caught Azzi way off guard before she started coughing. Is this woman doing the triangle method on me right now? She questioned internally. The shorter lady knew all too well of Flirting 101 as she was a mere student of it herself. Of course, it doesn’t always pan out on a couple weekend nights at the queer club with KK and Caroline. But if not as the giver but as the recipient, she can tell if someone was trying techniques on her.

“Don’t try to think you’re getting on my good side today, Ms. Bueckers,” Azzi took one more step up, the pair now at eye level. “You don’t look too bad yourself…” Azzi spoke with a hushed tone, her eyes trailing down as she played with the hem of Paige’s pink wind breaker. “But this would look much better on me”.

She slowly lifted her eyes back to face Paige, who was now rendered speechless, her jaw tightly clenched trying to stifle a reaction in front of the kids. With a final smile, the curly haired woman walked right past her taller counterpart before who knows what could’ve escalated. Bueckers could only scoff before clearing her throat to resume her new morning routine.

Morning assembly at the gym was just the same as per usual, except for a few announcements including the introduction of Moore’s newest PE teacher, the theme for their winter recital and a reminder of the upcoming high school basketball try outs.

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, I saw that,” Arnold tapped on the older colleague as they made their way down the crowded hall to their respective classrooms.

“Saw what?” Fudd asked innocently.

“You flirting with the new PE teacher this morning. Now that was steamy,” KK pressed her 18+ jokes.

“Quit it, Arnold. Must you always make things sound like…that,” Azzi exasperated.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, though. I see you wanna sabotage the bet bad”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you and I were just making jokes to pass time”

“Maybe. But, admit it, she does kinda look good today, don’t you think?” KK’s persistence would make anyone go mad.

“You want her instead, KK? Seems like it,” Azzi had reached her classroom door.

KK continued frolicking down the hall. “I’m good. I don’t wanna deal with the wrath of a jealous Fudd”

Azzi grunted loudly before entering her classroom with a smile.

—

The blaring sound of the final school bell rang across the building as the clock had struck 3pm. Azzi was just finishing up on grading the last student’s assignment at the teacher’s lounge before neatly shoving her files and papers into her bag.

She walked down the hallway, the building already emptying out, when she couldn’t help but notice a familiar tall figure making their way towards the hallway that turned left towards the gym. With curiosity, the curly haired woman’s actions moved quicker than her mind could think. And soon her legs took her to follow from behind at a distance.

What am I doing? She asked herself.

Right at the gymnasium door, Fudd peeked her head to see where the figure went when she was met with nothing but the vast emptiness of the spacious gym, except for the hideous amounts of balls, hula hoops, and multicoloured cones scattered across the venue.

With unknowing disappointment, Azzi was ready to turn back to the exit when a loud voice erupted from behind.

“Boo!”

“FUCK!”

Once again, Azzi had lost her footing before her legs gave way, not until a familiar arm wrapped graciously around her waist to stop her from falling backwards.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you draw these typa actions on purpose,” Paige laughed breathlessly before helping Azzi regain her balance.

A tinge of red spread throughout Azzi’s face as she dusted herself off. “Y-you shouldn’t scare people like that”.

“Well, I don’t condone stalking,” The blonde grinned as she stared accusingly at the nervous woman in front of her.

“W-who said anything about stalking? What if I happen to coincidentally walk in the same direction as you?”

Paige placed her hands on her hips. “To a dead end? Unless you came here to help me clean up, I don’t see any reason for you to walk all the way down here after school”.

The shorter girl in front of her lowered her head as it filled with a mixture of guilt, embarrassment, and regret. Her fingers started to fiddle with the strap of her brown leather bag slung on her shoulder as she tried to find her words.

Paige stood patiently, scanning her body language before smiling in empathy.

“You alright to help me put those things away? That is, if you still got some energy left in you,” Paige leaned slightly down to catch Azzi’s attention. The curly brunette hesitantly lifted her head up, the blue eyes in front of her piercing as she bit her inner cheeks.

As soon as she nodded, Paige exhaled in relief before reaching towards Azzi’s shoulder where her bag hung. In an instant, the blonde swung Azzi’s bag on her own shoulders as she lead the way into the gymnasium.

A couple minutes have gone by in awkward silence as the pair weaved around the gym collecting every trace of equipment Paige happened to conveniently use towards the end of the day. Regardless, she was quick with it, putting twice the amount away compared to Fudd. In Azzi’s defence, it wouldn’t be as tiring had she not worn low heels and tight slacks.

“Alright, I need to count this as an extracurricular,” Azzi finally blurted as she began to feel sweat forming.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh as she continued to run around in circles around her. She heard the younger woman mutter an ‘I’m tapping out’ before walking towards the low stage and propping herself to sit on the edge, her feet dangling while she caught her breath.

She only watched Paige dance around for several seconds before the gym had cleared of any mess.

“Took you long enough,” Azzi joked sarcastically as Bueckers approached her, slightly panting.

“Yeah, well, my helper tapped out before we even got to the fun part, so I was left to fend for myself,” she retorted before plopping herself right next to Azzi who chuckled. It was a comforting silence for a moment before Paige turned her head to face Azzi.

“So, you’re still not gonna tell me why you came all the way down here?” the corners of Paige’s lips slightly tugging as she takes in the woman sitting next to her.

Azzi sighed with her eyes closed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Depends on who I wanna get to know”

The wheels in Azzi’s head turned. Who cares if you’re gonna shit where you eat? Caroline’s voice rang through her head. But the curly brunette was fighting against it, her indecisive brain simultaneously computing a pros and cons list in a matter of milliseconds in her head.

“Then ask me something else,” Azzi slightly croaked, internally relieved at her deflection.

“You’re hard to please”

“Because you’re not asking the right questions”

Their quaint back-and-forth intrigued the blonde, her jaw shifting as she leaned back on her arms.

“Alright, Ms. Fudd. I’m intrigued. What’s your story? How do you endure years of cold ass Storrs, Connecticut?

“I wish I could tell you, but my hometown’s Virginia. We get chilly, but not Storrs chilly,” Azzi grinned, “Actually, I wanted live away from my parents. I moved out four years ago. We’re good, it’s just…I…well…there was someone…at the time”.

Azzi couldn’t lie her way out of this and now she wished she’d just answered Paige’s first question, her decision-making this time taking a dive as she opened Pandora’s box.

Paige’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, so you were in love?”

“Oh, woah, I wouldn’t say “in love”, just…teenage infatuation, I guess”

The blonde grew more curious. “Hmm, you said ‘at the time’? Not everything panned out the way you wanted, I’m assuming?”

Azzi chuckled. “Yeah, no. It wasn’t a pretty four years. But, I didn’t wanna back down. I loved art and teaching more and my best friend, Caroline, she helped me pick up the pieces. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t…resilient”.

“You say that word a lot, ‘resilient’. It’s nice,” Paige gave a tender smile.

“Thanks, I just needed a reminder, you know?”

The tension that once filled the air around them vanished as the pair slowly eased into each other’s comfort.

Azzi furrowed her brows lightheartedly. “Okay, now I’m curious”.

“Hmm?”

“Any reason you’ve invited yourself over to Connecticut?”

Paige smirked. “How’d you know I’m not from here itself?”

Azzi was taken aback. “I- well- A woman can assume-“

“An assumption could’ve started with a ‘You don’t look like you’re from here’ or a ‘Ever thought about leaving Connecticut?’. Ms. Fudd, the sheer confidence in your question can only make me assume you’ve been stalking me even outside of school premises. Perhaps, online?” Paige’s eyebrows raised, the grin on her face growing more obnoxious as the girl in front of her started becoming a flustered mess.

“I- you’re absolutely w-wrong about that,” Again, Azzi couldn’t tell a lie to save her life.

“Am I?” The blonde leaned forward from her position, her face relatively close, much to Azzi’s liking.

Before the curly brunette could get a word out, the blonde hopped down from the stage. “I’m gonna head out before the janitor complains. Thanks for the help, by the way, Ms. Fudd. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The playful grin remained on her face before she was out of Azzi’s sight, leaving the poor woman paralysed in shock.

I could just end everything right here, actually, Azzi catastrophised before carefully getting down from the stage.

[morgana-larkin]

Ok, so I thought of a series for something a bit dark. I thought of what if Melissa is in a manipulative relationship with Joe and doesn’t quite know it. Then you start at Abbott. I thought of it as both me and my new girlfriend have had that experience and couldn’t get the idea out of my mind. This is the first chapter and let me know if you want me to continue. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26

Just Tired - Part 1

Warnings: descriptions of a manipulative relationship, tiny description of straight sex, small outbursts from Melissa, small masturbation part

Words: 2.65k

Melissa pulls up to the parking lot of Abbott Elementary. She takes a deep breath before she gets out, grabs her things and walks in.

“Another development week, another year.” Melissa breathes out as soon as she walks in and immediately walks towards the break room.

As she passes by the office she sees a woman walking towards Ava’s office and you look up and both of you lock eyes for a second. Melissa continues walking to the break room and immediately gets a cup of coffee.

“How was your summer, Melissa?” She hears Barb ask and she shrugs.

“Same as always.” She says as she sits down. “Joe worked so I got the house to myself during the week.” Melissa tells her. “How was yours?” She asks Barb.

“Oh it was fantastic! Me and Gerald went on a cruise and I let loose.” She says and Melissa nods as she listens to the story.

Both of them head to the gym for the start of the year assembly and they find 2 free seats. They both sit down and start a conversation and then a young woman comes up to them.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?” You ask them both.

“Yes, I do mind.” Melissa immediately tells you.

“Melissa.” Barb warns her. “Of course dear.” Barb tells you and you sit down next to Barb.

“Hi, I’m Y/n Y/l/n, I just started as a second grade teacher.” You introduce yourself.

“I’m Barbara Howard, kindergarten teacher.” Barb introduces herself and you shake hands with her and then you turn to Melissa.

“I’m Melissa Schemmenti, and that’s all you need to know.” She tells you and you tilt your head and turn to Barb.

“She likes to keep to herself. But you will be working near her as she’s also a second grade teacher.” Barb tells you.

“Oh how amazing, do you have any advice?” You ask Melissa.

“Good luck.” Is all she says and you sit back in your chair as you’re getting nowhere with her.

“Alright everyone, due to a lot of teachers quitting last year, 22 new teachers were hired for this year.” Ava explains to everyone. “So let’s make them feel welcomed or not, whatever you feel like.” She adds.

Half an hour later and you get handed a binder and you look at the second grade curriculum.

“How are we supposed to teach all of this in a year?” You mutter out loud and you miss Melissa rolling her eyes.

“Just teach what you can dear, no teacher ever manages to teach everything to the students.” Barb explains to you and you nod.

“Thank you. Do you happen to have any tips or advice?” You ask Barb.

“Just do your best to get through the day, and try to do everything you can to help your students.” She tells you and you nod.

“Oh my god, you teach second grade?” You hear from behind you and you turn around and see another fellow young woman.

“Yes I do, I just started.” You tell her.

“I just got hired to teach second grade as well! My name is Janine Teagues.” She exclaims and you introduce yourself and shake her hand.

You and Janine end up talking together after the meeting and get introduced to a new 8th grade teacher named Jacob Hill.

“So what do you think of Abbott, just as a first impression? Cause I think it has potential for great things!” Janine says.

“I like it so far. A bit different from the school where I was shadowing a teacher but it could be good.” You tell her and she nods.

“So I was thinking the three of us can have lunch together in the break room on the first floor.” Janine suggests and both you and Jacob agree.

Melissa watches you talk to the two of them and she’s unsure what to think of any of you.

“What do you think of some of the new teachers?” Barb asks her.

“I doubt they’ll make it to next year. If any of them do then I’ll be surprised.” She tells Barb.

At lunchtime Melissa walks into the break room and sees you, Janine and Jacob sitting at the table beside where she and Barb eat and she sighs. She looks and sees your poorly looking tuna sandwich and she scoffs.

“Is there a problem, Melissa?” You ask her as you heard her scoff.

“That’s the worst looking tuna sandwich I’ve ever seen.” She explains to you and you look down at your sandwich.

“Well I’m not much of a cook.” You tell her.

“That’s obvious.” She says and then sits down after grabbing her lunch.

“You’ll have to excuse Melissa, dear, she’s Italian.” Barb tells you.

“Sicilian.” Melissa corrects her and starts eating.

At the end of the day you are locking up your door and start walking and see Melissa walking right beside you.

“Oh hi Melissa.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes.

“Listen kid, I don’t speak to newbies as most of them leave and I highly doubt you’ll make it to next year due to your enthusiastic attitude.” She explains to you. “So don’t try to make friends with me or acquaintances as it’s not something I do with newbies.” She adds and you nod.

“Ok, noted.” You tell her and sigh.

Melissa goes home and steps inside and she takes a deep breath. She puts her stuff away and then she goes to get herself a glass of wine and sits down on the couch to relax. An hour later she gets up and starts getting dinner ready for her and Joe.

“I’m home.” She hears 20 minutes later.

“I’m in the kitchen.” She says back and a minute later Joe walks in and goes to the fridge for a beer.

“Is dinner almost ready? I’m starving.” He says and she nods.

“It’ll be ready in about 5 minutes.” She tells him.

Melissa finishes getting supper ready and then they both go to the kitchen table to eat.

“So how was your day?” Melissa ask him.

“There was 2 car accidents but nothing else.” He tells him and he continues eating.

“Do you want to hear about my day?” Melissa asks him and he looks at her.

“Did anything interesting happen today?” He asks her.

“Well it was my first day back at Abbott.”

“Was that today? I thought it was next week.” He says.

“Next week is when the students start, this week is development week and a lot of new teachers sta-”

“Melissa, if you don’t mind, I’m pretty tired today.” He cuts her off and she nods and continues eating.

After dinner, they both sit on the couch and Melissa tries to initiate some cuddles but he refuses.

“Melissa, I already told you that I’m tired.” He says, slightly irritated.

“But I just want some cuddles.” She tells him and he sighs.

“I’m too tired for any type of affection.” He says and then goes to get another beer from the fridge.

Later that night, Melissa has her glasses on and is reading something on her phone when Joe comes in from the bathroom and joins her on the bed. He gets close to her and he puts an arm around her waist and she looks at him before she takes her glasses off and puts her phone down on the nightstand. She goes to lay down but his arm doesn’t move and he starts kissing her. He immediately deepens the kiss but then she pulls away.

“I thought you were too tired for any affection?” She asks him.

“That was when I just got home and you were bombarding me with wanted affection. But I’m in the mood for sex, unless of course you think I’m not good enough for you.” He tells her and she looks down.

“I didn’t say that.” She says softly.

“But I bet you thought it.” He counters and lifts her chin up. “Do you think you’re too good for me?” He asks her and she shakes her head. “Don’t you want to have sex with me then?” He asks and she nods. He kisses her before he pushes her on her back and he gets on top. Melissa barely registers anything he’s doing until he pulls out and flops down beside her. “Wasn’t that amazing?” He asks her and she nods.

“Good night.” She tells him and she falls asleep.

The next morning she gets up at 6am and she quietly goes to have a shower. Once she’s in the shower she reaches down and starts circling her clit. She holds onto the shower wall for balance as she feels her orgasm building quickly. She lets out a muffled gasp, as she’s biting her lip, and then she comes. She takes a few seconds to get a hold of her breathing and doesn’t realise the few tears that escaped her eyes. She doesn’t remember the last time Joe made sure she came during sex, she always satisfies herself the next morning or whenever she needs it. She tried bringing up the fact that she never comes during sex and he always called her crazy and dismissed it so she stopped trying.

She gets out of the shower not too long after and she wipes the mirror so she can see herself and she sees her eyes are a bit puffy but she doesn’t know when she even cried. Joe never likes it when she cries, he always tells her she’s too sensitive and should harden up and keep her feelings to herself. She finishes getting ready for work and then she grabs her things and heads out the door and starts driving to work.

She makes it 2 minutes before she sees someone kicking their car in frustration and when she gets closer she recognises you. You seem to kick your car one last time before you put your head in your hands. Melissa decides to pull up in front of you and she gets out.

“Car troubles?” She asks you and you look up and see her.

“Oh, hi Melissa. I’m fine.” You tell her and look away from her.

“You kicking your car doesn’t make you seem fine.” She counters.

“Just ran out of gas.” You eventually tell her and she hums.

“Been there. Look, how about I drive you to work as we’re headed to the same place?” She offers. “Then you can get some gas at lunch and I’ll bring you back to your car after work.” She adds.

“I thought you don’t do anything for newbies.” You tell her.

“I don’t make friends with newbies but if you don’t want my help then I can just go.” She says and starts to back up to her car.

“Sure, I’ll come with you, thank you.” You tell her and she nods before you grab your stuff, lock your car and then get in Melissa’s car.

“So did you forget to add gas?” She asks as she continues driving to work.

“I didn’t forget, more like I didn't have enough money.” You confess and she hums.

“So what are you going to do?” She asks you.

“Take the bus or bike to work.” You tell her. “I mean biking isn’t too bad until I get my first paycheck. It’s only like 30 minutes by bike.” You tell her. “I appreciate you helping me out.” You tell her.

“It’s not a problem.” She says softly. The rest of the car ride is done in silence until she pulls into the parking lot.

“Thanks again and I’ll find another way to get home.” You tell her.

“It’s not a problem hon, I can just drive you home after work. Where do you live?” She asks you.

“Oh it’s no need, I don’t want to inconvenience you.” You say as you grab your things and begin to walk into the building.

“I’m offering, just tell me where you live.” She says and you look at her before giving her your address.

“Oh, you live like less than a mile from me.” She says. “I’m driving you home and that’s the end of that.” She tells you and you nod as you know better than to argue.

“Thank you.” You tell her again as you both reach the doors and head to the break room.

For the rest of the day you don’t end up speaking to her and you decide that it’s best to just act like you don’t know her and just hang out with Janine and Jacob.

Melissa notices that you listened to what she said to you yesterday as you don’t attempt any conversation with her, and it seems you’re doing the same with Barb as well. She likes that you listened to her and you’re keeping your distance instead of annoying her and attempt a friendship. Your classroom ends up being right across the hall from her so she sees you moving around the room as you leave your door open. At the end of the day she locks up and sees you down the hall talking to Janine. She starts to walk up to you and hears the end of the conversation.

“Sorry Y/n but you live the other way from me and I need to save gas right now.” She hears Janine tell you and you nod.

“Ok, I understand, have a good night.” You tell her and then she leaves.

“Trying to get away from me?” You hear from behind you and you turn around.

“Well you seem like the type of person who doesn’t do things for people you just met.” You tell her.

“I already offered to take you home, and I stick by what I offer.” She tells you and she begins walking to her car. “Are you coming?” She asks you annoyed and you follow her out and to her car.

“I’m sorry if I upset you somehow.” You tell her as she starts her car.

“I just don’t like people who go behind my back.” She tells you and you look at her.

“I didn’t go behind your back, I just tried to get you out of something that you don’t have to do.” You tell her and she shoots you a glare before turning back to the road.

“Whatever.” She says and she finishes the conversation just like that. You feel a tension in the car between you both so you look for something to break it and you notice a ring on her finger.

“Are you married?” You ask her and she looks at you quickly before looking at the ring and she sighs.

“Yes, for 15 years.” She tells you.

“Oh, congratulations.” You tell her and she takes a deep breath.

“Thank you.” She says and you hear the slight hesitation and the tiredness in her voice.

“Is it a happy marriage?” You ask her as a joke but you seem to hit a nerve.

“Of course it’s-it’s happy, I wouldn’t stay married if I wasn’t happy.” She tells you with anger but also more hesitation. “He treats me nicely and I love him.” She tells you and you look at her weirdly.

You’ve never heard anyone describe their marriage like that and you have questions but she’s an extremely closed off person so you keep the questions to yourself. You decide to just keep quiet for the rest of the drive. She pulls up to your place and you quickly thank her and get out as fast as you can but also not trying to look like you’re running away from her.

Melissa picks up on your trying to get out quickly and she sighs loudly after you get out. She waits until you enter your house before she goes home.

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[thriftedtchotchkes]

his favorite girl, part i

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to learn. he really likes that.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, guitar teacher!joel, no outbreak, big age gap (reader’s 22, joel’s 56), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, slight dubcon, touching, smut for later chapters, some fluff, mostly angst

word count: 3.3k

a/n: my first chaptered fic! dedicated to joel's fingers! i've been playing guitar a lot more lately so...yeah 🥲 thinking this'll probably be 3 or 4 chapters? as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated! hope y'all enjoyy

Don’t stare at his fingers. Don’t stare at his fingers. He’s doing you a huge favor by teaching you to play guitar in the first place. The least you can do is pay attention and stop staring at his fingers. 

But it’s a lost cause, and you know it, because you’d have no hope of learning without staring at his fingers. 

Even so, you’re convinced he’ll somehow know that’s not the real reason you’re watching them so intently. The way they hop gracefully from fret to fret, strings biting into his well-earned calluses, producing the most beautiful chords that ring out perfectly with every strum. 

It’s a wonder any of that is even possible for him. You don’t mean to knock his talent—he obviously honed his craft through decades of fine-tuning and dedicated practice—but his fingers are just so thick.

With your clumsy, beginner’s touch, you’re constantly fumbling with the strings, unable to press down hard enough or keep your other fingers out of the way for them to vibrate the way they need to. They just sort of…fizzle.

But there’s a finesse to how he plays. It also helps that his guitar is a lot bigger than yours. It's a totally innocuous thought, but it still warms your cheeks a little. A big guitar for a big man. Broad and tall, with those thick, thick fingers—

“Hey, you still with me?” 

You’re not sure when he stopped playing, but you really hope it was right before he said something. Otherwise, he definitely knows exactly what you were thinking about, and that would be humiliating. 

Not a great start to your first guitar lesson, but how were you supposed to know your teacher was going to look like that? When your music theory professor recommended him, he conveniently left that part out, which, whatever, makes sense. But it still would’ve been helpful to know ahead of time.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Has a ton of experience and takes on very few students, so you should consider yourself lucky. That’s all of the information you were given before you stepped into his house this afternoon, and were greeted by possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. He was supposed to be your ticket to an A on your senior thesis. But you’re totally flubbing it.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just got a little distracted,” you laugh awkwardly, wishing you had said anything else but that. You couldn't be any more obvious if you tried. “Won’t happen again, promise.” 

He’s kind enough to pretend you’re not a filthy liar and taps the neck of his guitar to redirect your focus. “S’alright. We’ll just take it from the top. You remember the fingerin' for the first chord?”

You gape at him dumbly for a second. He’s kidding, right? You might as well leave now if he’s going to keep saying fingering with that devastating Southern drawl of his. 

“Um, yeah, I think so,” you sputter, lying for the second time in a row. You're struggling to recall anything from your lesson but, god, you can only remember his fingers, not their placement. With no confidence whatsoever, you press your fingertips down firmly on the three strings you think he showed you. “Here, right?” 

He quirks a brow. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me?” 

Ah, so he’s that kind of teacher. The 'learn the hard way', 'fail on your own until you succeed' type. Well, he’s about to learn that you’re not that kind of student.

“…Telling?” Your voice lilts with even less confidence. He chuckles, nodding at your finger placement.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he says expectantly, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but you’re about to find out. You strum slowly, and the sound reverberates around the room. 

Wrong. 

His smile widens just a fraction as you grimace, quickly wrapping your hand around the neck of the guitar to stop the horrible noises still playing from it. You look over at him, wincing, but he doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, he seems patient.

“Not quite,” he shakes his head, moving his instrument out of his lap so he can shift closer to where you’re sitting further down the couch. The cushion dips with his weight, and you tip into him slightly, but he remains completely unfazed. “Lemme show you again—and pay attention this time, alright?”

You start to nod apologetically, but then he throws an arm behind you on the back of the couch, and all hope of retaining whatever he’s about to teach you goes out the window. Instead of showing you on his own guitar, he gestures for you to hold yours up, gently arranging your fingers on the frets.

His fingertips whisper against yours like he’s hesitant to touch you, softly tugging them into place before pressing down, showing you the right amount of pressure to apply. 

They feel just as warm and rough as you’d imagined, dwarfing yours by a long shot, and the realization makes your fingers accidentally twitch out of place. Your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and lock with his, deep and brown, and very amused. 

“Doin’ alright there?” he teases, and now you know he’s on to you. You try to play it off, blaming it on your inexperience.

“Just haven't gotten used to using those muscles yet," you mumble, moving your hand away from his to flex your fingers. "Not sure I've ever had to stretch them like that before."

 "'m sure ya have. Probably just didn't realize it at the time. That kinda muscle soreness comes from prolonged repetition—repeatin' an action over 'n over," he explains in that syrupy-sweet accent, completely unaware of how his words are affecting you. "Bet ya use those fingers for a lot'a different things every day, just nothin' long or strenuous enough to leave you achin'."

You bite your lip to keep from reacting. He has to know what he's doing right now. How he sounds. This conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory, but the weird thing about it is that he genuinely doesn't seem to realize that everything he's saying has a double meaning. To you, at least. You knew all this fingering talk was going to get you into trouble. 

"Uhh, yeah," you agree, side-stepping that line of thought to bring yourself back to the lesson, but it's getting harder to stay focused. "I guess I just thought playing would mostly be memorization, but there's a lot of physicality to it, too, huh?" 

"Yeah, s'pose that's true," he muses, looking down at the calluses on his own hand. This time you refuse to take the bait, your breathing already too shallow, heart nearly pounding out of your chest with how close he's sitting. But he’s still completely calm and collected. "Your hand hurtin' a lot right now?"

You shrug, inspecting your reddening fingertips. "Kinda, yeah."

"It's like that in the beginnin’," he says kindly. "But the more ya play, the tougher the skin gets, and ya won't feel it as much." 

He surprises you by taking your hand again, massaging the tender skin between his thumb and index fingers. God, that feels so much better already. The heat of his fingertips seeps into yours, soothing the painful indents left by the unforgiving strings, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief. 

You feel his entire body tense palpably next to you. It might be your imagination or just wishful thinking, but you swear you can feel his warmth radiating into your side, somehow even closer than before. Your brain’s starting to fizzle more than the sound of your shitty guitar playing, and the room feels a little hotter. Hazier, like a daydream.

"That feel good?" he murmurs, lips practically brushing the shell of your ear.

Definitely closer.

“Y-yeah, feels nice…really nice,” you stutter, voice lowering almost to a whisper as if you were sharing a secret. “The, um—the rest of my hand is a little sore, too. Is that normal?”

You can feel him grinning at your obvious attempt to get him to keep touching you, and he gives in easily. Surprisingly so, and it's becoming clearer that he's as into whatever's happening right now as you are. You’re not sure what happened to the unfazed man from before, but you’ll happily welcome this change in demeanor.

“Yeah, s’normal,” he trails down to your palm, engulfing your hand with his own. “Don’t worry, I'll take care of ya.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his thigh presses into yours, and the arm behind you lowers around your shoulders, his hand skimming the side of your neck. Shit, what is going on? You’re pretty sure guitar lessons don’t usually go like this, but you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Not when he feels this good.

Everywhere his skin touches yours feels electric, sending jolts up your spine, and making you forget where you are and what you were doing in the first place. He ducks down to press his lips to your bare shoulder, and your mind goes completely blank. 

All that's left is...sensation. Something dragging roughly across your skin, then soft—a little chapped—and wet. Sharp. You're abruptly aware of him sucking a hard bruise at the crook of your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue, and you're unable to stop the whimper that escapes your lips. It's soft and inappropriate. A single, hushed syllable.

"Joel."

He lets out a pained groan that rumbles from deep within his chest, and the hand around yours tenses. That boundless patience he had earlier feels like it's about to run out, and the thought makes your blood run hot. 

God, how is he real? How is this real? You just met this man—this much, much older man—less than an hour ago, and, yet, this is probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. He continues to mouth up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw.

"What else hurts? Tell me, 'n I'll make it better," he mutters humidly, urgently against your skin. 

You want to tell him where it hurts the most. That unbearable ache between your legs, the burning in your belly that you didn't even realize he was stoking. But you're so wound up, all you can manage is a frustrated sob.

"Use your words, beautiful. C'mon, lemme hear 'em," he says as if you're his instrument, meant to produce dulcet tones and resonate at his hand.

"It—fuck...it—here," you drag the hand clutching yours down, next to where the body of your guitar rests on your thigh. Where you've already soaked through the thin fabric of your pants. "Joel...need you to make it better."

The gentle vibrato of your voice, the way it shakes tumultuously around his name, and even more so when he cups your heat. His lips return to your throat to feel it, to taste it as you moan for him. And those fingers. You knew they’d feel good, and they’re so close to where you need them. Just a little bit more—but there’s still too many layers between you and his rough touch. 

“M-more…need more, just—,” you whine, and he mirrors the sound back at you raggedly.

“‘Course, beautiful. Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I? 

You're too far gone to even notice yourself desperately grinding into the palm of his hand, or the fingers at your cheek turning your face toward his. 

Or your guitar quickly slipping out of your lap, more and more with each swivel of your hips. It hits the carpet with a hollow clang and, suddenly, the spell is broken. Then, it all comes crashing back. 

He’s saying your name, but he sounds...different. Less breathy, less needy, and more like your patient, collected guitar teacher. Joel Miller. 56 years old, remember? Way too old for you, for your body to be reacting to him like this, and the man whose help you still desperately need to help complete your thesis.

Your eyes snap open and you realize with abject horror that you’ve been daydreaming this entire time. You can’t even imagine how long he’s been trying to get your attention while you’ve just been sitting here, fantasizing about his hands on you. 

Not even ten minutes ago, you promised you wouldn’t get distracted, but you did. Again. And so much worse this time.

By his furrowed brow and the way he won’t even look at you, you must have accidentally said something out loud, too. Something totally inappropriate that you really shouldn’t have. But then, his hand twitches and your blood turns to ice. 

That—fuck, that's not where it was before you zoned out. It was still on yours, arranging your fingers on the frets for the chord he was teaching you. He…he was asking about your hand, if it hurt, and then—

As if you’ve been burned, you quickly release his hand from where you’re clutching it between your legs—not just in your daydream, but in horrifying actuality. You’re screwed. 

Not only is he probably going to kick you out of his house and refuse to be your teacher anymore, but he’ll likely tell your professor. And he’d have every right to. There’s no way you’ll be able to get anyone else to teach you after this.

The reason you’re here, everything you’ve worked so hard for, flashes before your eyes, catching fire and turning to ash. Your love for music, your degree—in the span of a single guitar lesson, you destroyed all of it.

And what would he think? Your father, your inspiration for choosing this path. He’d be so disappointed in you, though maybe not as much as you are right now. 

All of this for what? The attractive, middle-aged guitar teacher you’ve known for less than an hour? He doesn’t even want you and, even if he did, that’s not what you came here for. Stupid, stupid. 

You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t bear to look at him, to say anything at all. Instead, you lean down to retrieve your guitar from where it still lies face down on the floor, and slowly stand up. 

“I, uh…,” you croak out, fighting the urge to cry and look like even more of an idiot. You shake your head, unable to finish your sentence, and start to walk away, but then something miraculous happens.

Joel’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from leaving. You turn back to him, eyebrows raised in shock, dropping your gaze to where his skin is touching yours. He doesn't let go. 

“Look—,” he starts, and you wince. It’s never a good sign when someone starts a sentence like that. If all he’s trying to do is let you down easy, he shouldn’t have stopped you. He’s just shaming you even further. “—‘m not too sure what just happened here, but if you just—if ya sit back down, we can talk about it or…just keep goin’ with the lesson…”

You didn’t see that one coming. 

“You want me to stay?” you ask dubiously. “Why?”

You search his eyes for the answers to all of the things you’re not understanding, but come up with nothing. He’s sitting on the couch watching you, still holding your hand like nothing’s wrong. Acting like none of this is a big deal, as if you didn’t basically just shove his hand down your pants without his consent.

“Still got a lot to teach ya. We didn’t even get through the first line of music,” he chuckles, his voice filled with such kindness. So much more than you deserve. 

“Yeah, and that’s my fault. I—,” you pause, still trying to gather your thoughts, “—I crossed a line…made you uncomfortable. You really don’t have to do this.”

He sighs, rubbing his thumb soothingly into your wrist, and the gesture makes you shiver. Somehow it’s calming, even as the gears continue to turn in your head. You still can’t seem to grasp any of this or shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with this picture. 

“Well, isn’t this supposed to be a favor for some big, important grade? Don’t ya need this to pass your class?”

He’s not wrong. Without his help, you’re basically fucked for the rest of the semester.

“Yeah, I...actually really do,” you answer hesitantly.

Hope blooms in your chest. Maybe your thesis isn’t totally lost. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even be able to focus on your lessons.

“I think we can keep this professional. Don’t you?” he implores, brows raised.

He’s right again. That’s the only way this is going to work, but it’s still a reminder that he’s not interested in you in the slightest. You’re not sure why that feels so bad.

“Totally,” you breathe out, but your expression must betray your words because he rushes to reassure you.

“It’s not that I—look, I mean…you’re a beautiful girl ‘n all, but…,” he trails off, and…what?

Beautiful. He can’t have just said that out of the blue. Beautiful, of all the words he could’ve used to describe you right then. This man is driving you crazy—and he won’t stop.

“Can’t help feelin’ like maybe I gave ya the wrong impression. I took advantage of ya,” he looks away, pained, like this was all his fault. You have no idea how he came to that conclusion, but he’s got it all wrong.

“What—no. No, if anything, I took advantage of you. You were just trying to be a good teacher,” you shake your head furiously. “Look, I did this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t pull away, now, did I?” 

His eyes meet yours again, darker than before, and you know for a fact you’re not making it up this time. The setting sun is casting shadows around his living room, across his 80s-style leather couch and carpet, illuminating every one of his handsome features. 

And, yet, his eyes are black, endless voids that threaten to consume you. Whatever power he has over you feels dangerous. You knew you couldn’t have imagined it all. 

But it's gone as quickly as it came. He clears his throat, dropping your wrist as if he finally came to his senses. Your patient, unaffected guitar teacher is back.

“I, uh, think maybe that about wraps it up for today,” he says with finality, standing up. “It's already eight, anyhow. You should head on home.”

Gently plucking the guitar from your hands, he zips it up in its case and gives it back to you. You nod, feeling grateful, but cautious...and also extremely curious. His hand finds the small of your back, leading you to the front door, and you try your best not to react as his fingers urge you forward. 

You know you’ll be thinking about them later tonight, even though you really shouldn’t. About them finishing what you started earlier, taking care of you like you still want him to. Part of you hopes he’ll be thinking about yours, too. 

His hand drops and he turns to you with a small smile, leaning on his arm against the doorframe. 

"But, uh, same time tomorrow? And maybe put in a little practice time before then—stretch out those fingers so you're ready to play."

“Sure,” you reply breathily. “Same time tomorrow.”

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon 🥰

(p.s. how are we feeling about finger sucking...okay bye)

[the-cookie-of-doom]

dipping my toe in to add, re: my last reblog. The characters in KinnPorsche are so fascinating to me because they're all so flawed. Chay is a grubby little gremlin teenage boy. Khun is overdramatic, self-absorbed, and crazy. Kinn has a temper but he's also just a fucking dork that doesn't always understand social cues. Kim is the same. Vegas is being pulled in so many directions he doesn't even know how to be a genuine human. Porsche is just generally a mess.

But a sad trend I've noticed in this fandom, is that these beautifully flawed characters get stripped down to plain caricatures that lose so much of what gives them depth.

Fuck it, I'm going to make this a KimChay rant bc we all know that's what I really care about on this blog.

Chay becomes the perfect voice of morality and responsibility that can do no wrong, he's the one teaching Kim how to be a person and whipping the mafia into shape and can do everything perfectly always. Ignoring the fact that no, he's a literal high school student. He's messy and grubby and immature, and a little self-centered, and that's fine.

Meanwhile Kim gets demonized to high hell, he's the worst person ever, he betrayed Chay and ruined his life and and and. When in reality, Kim was looking out for his brother, he didn't ever encourage Chay or """seduce him""" for the sake of spying, and got so caught up in his own complicated feelings that he ran from them. He's also a college student. Man is like. 22 at the oldest.

I tend to meet media where it's at, and accept what it's trying to tell me. And KinnPorsche is fulfilling some very obvious tropes. KinnPorsche themselves are the protagonist action couple, with some bodyguard flavored boss/employee spice. VegasPete is for the dark romance girlies that like BDSM and dubcon. But KimChay? For the love of god, they are the wholesome high school/college romance. With a side of first heartbreak, yes, but I see no indication from canon that either of them really see this has some huge life-ending betrayal. Chay is literally just a heartbroken teenager getting over his first situationship.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with exploring other dynamics between other characters, that's the whole point of fic! But it's so disheartening to see the amount of meta where people have convinced themselves that Kim is literally worse than Vegas, that Chay is a perfect saint that can do no wrong, and that Kim deserves to be used and abused as repentance, always groveling for Chay's forgiveness.

They really are both just. Guys. Just two little guys. Yes they both made mistakes, yes they both got heartbroken, and yes it might feel like the end of the world. But it's just a breakup. And I think given a little time and distance, Chay would have no problem gaining some perspective and just. Having a civil conversation with Kim, and moving on, whether they get back together or not.

[kleeklutch]

Holla at my THG peeps! I rise from obscurity to celebrate and ask a question.

Since joining the fandom, I have 1. gone back to college and finished my English degree, inspired by the opportunity to edit or beta read for some of you as well as write myself. 2. Worked as a daily substitute in my local public schools with the goal of eventually working full-time as an English teacher. And 3. Been finally hired as a FULL TIME ENGLISH TEACHER IN HIGH SCHOOL!!!!!

My request, you will not believe it BUT...

I NEED HUNGER GAMES BOOKS!!!! HAAAALLLLPPP

If you would like some proof the universe has orchestrated this perfect moment to help out....

1. The first day I worked as a substitute at my now assigned school was May 8. KATNISS'S BDAY FOLKS. I was not even halfway home before I was sent an email offering for me to interview for a full time position there (I had applications in at all the schools with openings, they were the only ones that gave me a shot.)

2. My job interview was on my BFF's birthday and I met my BFF through the THG fandom.

3. I was HIRED to teach English 10! All the Eng 10 teachers are coordinating lesson plans and shit. you. not. the FIRST NOVEL they want to read is

THE HUNGER GAAAAAMES

OH MY GOD!!!

Literally the universe could not be more explicit that I belong exactly where I am.

But when we looked for the class sets of Hunger Games we realized we only have Catching Fire. We've asked for copies from other schools with no response, yet (its still the chaotic beginning of the year).

Soooo if you're willing to contribute a book or two....Used is fine as long as not extremely marked up. That would be amazing!

DM me for address to send books.

I think we need around 130 to have enough for each classroom. 4 classes and between 22 and 27-ish students per class plus some extras.

It would be freaking amazing for it to be raining THG books in my school.

Think about it.

DM me.

I cannot wait to see what my students have to say about Hunger Games.

Whether you are able to help or not, reblog the heck outta this so we can get some traction.

Thanks so so so much guys!

[donutwatches]

MHA 2.21: Gear up for Final Exams - part 2

This is my first watch of MHA, so no spoilers please!

Ah yes, the secret to learning. Getting walloped over the head 100x. There is something sweet about Kirishima going to study with Bakugo when everyone else went to study at Momo's fancy mansion.

You can tell the exam is going well by the looks of dark horror on their faces. It looks like Kirishima's eyebrows are about to dance off his forehead from anxiety.

Was he just curled up in Aizawa's scarf?! Can you imagine your mouse-boss snuggling on your shoulder? Why is this so cute?

How the hell are they supposed to beat All Might? That is like being told you have to beat a mountain just by punching it.

Aizawa looks waaay too excited about getting to fight his students, lol. I mean, try not to have too much fun beating up the students, teach. Poor Momo and Todoroki.

I wasn't expecting to see a bear telling me to cuff them. Sorry, principle, that is not my kink.

Okay, so the options are cuff or escape. Not as bad as actually having to win in a direct fight. That makes things a bit more fair to the kids.

Cemontoss looks exactly like that blue muppet that is always frowning. Every single time I see this guy my brian goes, oh my god it's the frowny muppet!

FIGHT ON, YOUNG HEROES, FIGHT ON! (they are doing so badly).

I can't think of a way that could have gone worse for them. Are they going to fail the exam? Boo!

Click here for episode 22

Click here for the masterlist.

[lunar-system]

veilguard liveblog 22

Varrics dad advice 💖 "just fight one battle at a time, kid"

In other words: fought the two dragons in fire and ice!!

I'm definitely over-leveled (42 as we speak), they felt really easy compared to the god's champions I've been taking down in the crossroads… Still, a cool fight.

Elgahnain showed his face. Not nearly as creepy as Gilhannaen. Kinda just some guy. Which he is, and Rook will treat him like he is. (I also refuse to learn the proper spelling of their names out of disrespect.)

Assan has learned to give a paw!

I worry for Antoine, and how the altered blight sings to him.

Bellara writes fanfiction 😍

I had a sweet scene where Bellara complimented me and it was nice to be able to pick the friendly choice of "don't tell the others I'm secretly a good person" instead of always having to go for the flirt choises. I'm now committed to Taash, so flirts don't appear. I'm sure i missed a lot of fun dialogue because i wanted to try the flirts on principle.

Emmrich took me to see his parents memorial grave ❤️ I will support him in his lichdom, if that's what he wants.

Further evidence that Emmrich is a teacher to the core. He said to Taash: "A proper teacher never makes the student feel inadequate", after hearing how Taash's mom has tried to teach them. He is so patient with anything relating to teaching.

Harding's quest to find the missing dwarfs. - That one mountain sure looks like a petrified titan - Okay proper spooky that someone else moved the stone than Harding - Oh my god the heart of the titan quest was huuuuuge - I chose compassion for harding - And her room is so beautiful now 😭😭😭 - It'll be so great to get to watch all the lore theory videos after I'm done with the game, all this titan stuff is so heavy

next: Lucanis' mind prison, Lucanis/Neve ->

masterpost

[remembertheplunge]

June 15, 2013.  Saturday 7:10pm

I left my card at Zoe’s. 

Rang the door bell twice. No answer.

 Shades pulled down.

 Nice big quiet house. Near the “no gay news papers”  Maltese.

Chico is a very quiet town. Slow. Flys. Hot. 

Thank God for my new fedora and sun glasses!

I feel—a bit easier.—old home week is never easy.

So, while I’m here, why not explore the years 1973-1977, ages 18-22, the ages I was when I went to college here.

Who were you?

What did you want?

What about you then has not forgotten you now?

Maybe he’s the one you came to see.

Or, maybe, you bring him what he desired but could not allow himself: a few days of—waiting—of being still.

__________________________________-

40 years ago, pre———a lot.

Atwater was God. Stable. Secure

 I didn't know betrayal.

or the dusty taste of death in my mouth.

Loss on Loss on Loss.

___________________________________

I did know——

A kind of perpetual, enduring optimism—through it all—as Jim said, " Lew has no guile.”

So—maybe I’m bringing experience to his innocence and vise versa.

End of entry

Notes: 7/14/2024

My sister Zoe and I both attended California State University Chico in the 1970s.

After 20 years of teaching elementary school in San Diego, California, she moved back to Chico. 

We were raised in Atwater, California, bout a 4 hour drive south of Chico. Our child hood was stable and supportive, but, the family eventually broke apart and Zoe and I were disinherited in 2011. By 2013, both our parents and my gay partner Jim, had died. 

The Maltese was a gay bar that was in operation from 2010 until 2022 when it closed. It was a victim of the Covid 19 epidemic related business closures. It provided a safe gay space for CVSU Chico students and others who were LBGQ. 

I had driven up from my home in Modesto, California to visit with Zoe. 

Even though she was not home on my arrival, eventually we did connect.

Zoe died in a house near to the one described in this entry in May 2023 of pancreatic cancer.  

[snkts]

✍ Favorite thing about writing the muse?

💡 What inspires you to write the muse? 

😒 Is there anything canon about your muse that you ignore? 

MUNDAY QUESTIONS || ACCEPTING

✍ Favorite thing about writing the muse?

How nuanced the character is. There's just so much to him, y'know? Like, yes, he is the superweapon, he is the unkillable indestructible rage monster. But he also helps comfort and ground the people he cares about when they have panic attacks. In a fight, he will butcher and brutalize anyone who gets in his way, but when SHIELD calls on him and says, hey, Hulk is destroying a city, go fight him, he replies, Hulk doesn't do that for no reason, what did you do, and then finds Bruce Banner after the fact to get his side of things. When the W*ndigo is on a rampage, Logan is the one to step between him and the rest of the X-Men and say, hey, this is just a scared kid, let me talk to him before anyone gets hurt, nobody has to fight here. He's offered help to Victor Creed/Sabertooth, he tried to forgive Dog Logan, and it took his entire student body being at risk to turn on Daken and it CRUSHED him to do so. He will verbally tear you apart and crush your insecurities without hesitation, knock you down with every insult in the book, but he also improvised a bedtime story for a scared little boy and told Elsie Dee that just because she was a robot that didn't mean she wasn't a person too, and called her sweetheart and darling and little lady and insisted she had just as much of a right to life and freedom as anyone else. He's a hardened, grizzled, jaded, traumatized asshole who classifies himself as a loner and often 'bails' for weeks at a time to go do god knows what on his own, but also suffered through years of the worst physical and emotional agony he could be through, in a demeaning civilian job he hated, just so that there would still be someone there to look after Charles because he couldn't abandon the only person to ever really give him a fresh start. He is so much and I just love him.

💡 What inspires you to write the muse? 

A few things - but other people are asking this, so you get one! It's my own martial arts training. I've been training in various styles for about 22 years now, and I teach at the local dojo. It's a lifelong hobby of mine, but I find it helps me connect to Logan as a muse really well. The teaching, too. I've taught some kids from their first class all the way to their black belts, and I consider myself privileged to have been a part of their lives. There's just something about being a teacher that you can't really understand unless you are one, you know? And the different martial philosophies, meditation styles, the histories and traditions and cultures... Logan didn't grow up in Japan, but he spent a lot of his life there, learning under different masters and discovering who he was and who he could be. A lot of what he picked up there is going to bleed into his character and how he sees the world, and as someone who HAS grown up with the tradition (for the majority of my life, at least), it's nice to get to use it properly.

😒 Is there anything canon about your muse that you ignore? 

Oh boy. I'll give you one, because I'm going to go off. It's Jogan. I know, I know, I'm gonna get some hate, it's a popular ship, but I'm so sick of it and how it's written, Like-- Okay. I know it's a popular ship. I know a lot of people like it, and that's fine - this is just a comic book romance, if someone else likes it, we can still be friends, I don't care. I cannot stand the ship - especially with how much it gets shoved down our throats now.

In the early Claremont days, it wasn't horrible. They met when Logan came to the X-Men, Jean yelled at him, and Logan, seeing a strong, confident, self-assured, gorgeous woman, fell hard and fast. But here's the thing: He never acted on it, BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE WAS IN A RELATIONSHIP. He kept it to himself. Sure, he made goo-goo eyes and he would've shot himself in the foot if she asked him to, but he never made any advances, never flirted, nothing. It was to the point Jean was in hospital waking up from a coma, and Logan was going to bring her, his friend, flowers, until he saw her with Scott and thought hey maybe I'm overstepping a bit and threw the flowers out. He moved on, found love in Mariko, etc etc.

And that's FINE. I don't hate that. The problem is it didn't stop there. For some reason, writers keep coming back to it. And it's fucking weird. Because on one hand, why is Logan obsessing over his married-with-kids coworker like that? It goes completely against a lot of his characterization, often times it's dug up after he had no romantic interest in her for entire runs, and in my opinion, it cheapens all his other romances. Like, again, with Mariko. They were together for years, they had this beautiful relationship, they were engaged and WOULD have been married if not for some outside circumstances, he kept her gifts displayed in his room and she had their engagement photo on her home shrine, and she dies because women get fridged a lot in comics but it's still a very tragic moment, then whoops no Logan's still in love with Jean. Excuse me?? And it also leads to a lot of characters making weird comments, like 'Logan has a redhead fetish'. But he DOESN'T. None of his long-term canon relationships have red hair. Silver, Itsu, Herc, Mariko, and his more recent girlfriend whose name I can't fully remember (my mind is swiss cheese and I'm too lazy to google right now) all have dark hair. And if you consider Wolvertooth to be some degree of canon (which I do, and is in some multiverses, and according to Lavalle is in 616 too), that means he also dated a blond.

It also recontextualizes a lot of his other relationships in ways that are... frankly gross. I'll give you two examples so you can see what I mean.

The first is Rose O'Hara. She's Logan's childhood friend. He was really sickly as a kid, so his dad, John, adopted Rose so that James would have a friend. And they WERE best friends. She was also meant to help take care of James, which is where the writing gets weird, because they're often shown and written as being about the same age, but some people portray her as older-- Anyway. James/Logan and his half brother, Dog, both have crushes on her. Dog asks her out, she says no, he tries to force himself on her, which is the catalyst to the series of events that results in John and Elizabeth Howlett dying and James/Logan manifesting his powers early. Later on, James/Logan is planning on asking her out and finds out she likes someone else, and while he's initially heartbroken and upset, he gets over it and makes friends with her husband. (Her husband, Brendan, reportedly sees James as a son, which once again makes the ages weird, but I digress.) All well and good, right? Well, in a later issue, before Logan gets his memories back, it's the modern day and he meets Rose's ghost. He initially thinks she's Jean because for SOME REASON they're identical I GUESS, and she keeps calling him 'my love' and talking about how she always loved him and she waited over two hundred years for him and will keep waiting and doesn't reveal she's not Jean until the end, and just. WHAT. WHAT IS HAPPENING. She didn't 'always love him', unless it's a friend/familial thing, but that's not how they wrote it. She REJECETED him. They were JUST FRIENDS. And why did she wait when her husband wasn't there? Women and men can just have platonic relationships and James' and Rose's friendship was so sweet. It was also a good show of the difference between the brothers, and how Logan isn't his biological father, because Dog, when told no, did what their bio father would have done and forced himself on her. Logan, when told no, bowed out and respected her. BUT NOOOO NOW THEY'RE IN LOVE AND SHE LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE JEAN.

The other one is Heather Hudson, James Hudson's wife from Alpha Flight. Alpha Flight is... A very fucked up part in Logan's life. Heather and James find Logan in the woods when he's still feral after Weapon X. They help him re-learn how to be a person, they introduce him to the team, they give him a job. Unfortunately, the things they ask him to do get too brutal, and he can't in good conscience keep working for them and quits, heads south to the States, and eventually joins the X-Men. In later issues, they write Logan as having been in love with Heather, because she's ALSO a redhead and looks similar to Jean. Ignoring how weird that is, there's a fucked up power dynamic in there already - she saved him, she taught him to be a person, he owes her. She's also MARRIED, and if you read thew older runs (and even some of the newer ones), Logan wouldn't fucking do that. But the real kicker is later on, Alpha Flight decides they're not happy with Logan having ditched them for another team and TRY TO KIDNAP HIM. In some versions of the story (I believe the original cartoon), they're eventually successful, and strap him down to a table to vivisect him over and over until he's so wiped out they worry they might have killed him. BUT SURE. HE LOVES HEATHER TOO. WHY NOT.

Neither of those were originally written as love stories (beyond James' brief, one sided crush on Rose), but they're redheads and they look like Jean, so they were reworked to fit that way.

I could also go on a rant about how it's 'canon in Krakoa'. but frankly, fuck Krakoa. Having it be a poly relationship, fine! I like Scogean because it doesn't shit on Scott's character. But when the poly relationships are all/almost all 'one woman and two men' and the tagline for it is 'make more mutants', it seems less like good poly rep, and more like a weird breeding thing. Jean deserves better.

But while I'm on the topic, poor fucking Scott. Scott Summers is a good man. He's not a perfect man, and later issues feel like they're dragging him through the mud, but he's a good guy. ... Until one of the writers thinks Jean and Logan should be together. It's a huge problem in the fandom, too. People think Logan should be the suave, slick-talking bad boy (which, btw, is NOT how he flirts - or at least not how he was originally written) and Scott is the boring stick in the mud holding Jean back. That's not his character. He's more logical, sure, more balanced, but he's not BORING and he and Jean are made to balance each other out. But as soon as the writers want Logan and Jean, Scott gets shoved aside and mischaracterized.

Which, by the way, is a bad fucking look for Jean. I'm not saying people can't grow and change and find they're no longer compatible. I'm not saying you can't leave a long term partner. My dad's a divorce attorney. It happens. But they don't write it that way. Most of the time, it's all happening behind Scott's back. They'll write it a lot of the time as Scott and Jean are having a rough patch, so Jean strings Logan along - or outright cheats with him - then pushes him away and rejects him when she wants to get back with Scott. Or, she and Scott are fine, and she strings Logan along anyway. ... That's not a good look for Jean. And again, if you look at her characterization in the early comics, SHE WOULDN'T DO THAT. If Logan made a move on her (which, as we discussed, he also wouldn't do), she would've thrown him through the fucking wall. I don't have as many thoughts on her and Scott, since they're not my muses, but god, it drags them down.

The last point is, I can think of exactly two universes that are canon where they get together. In one, he has Jean, then Jean dies, and it makes Logan lose his shit so bad he turns into an agent of Apocalypse and is a blatant antagonist. In the other, they marry, and despite them being 'soulmates' (a quote) their relationship is hugely toxic. Logan gives up his powers to try to make her happy and love him again, she walks out anyway, and he spends the rest of his life aging and depressed.

I dunno.

I like them as friends and teammates, but god, the ship annoys me so much.

[salty-professor]

You should know this already

So, I have several degrees. This isn't a humble brag. It is what is required to teach in Higher Ed. I did the work. I earned the degrees. I was a student over and over and I learned and I learned so that I could, one day, like say, today, impart my knowledge to a student who wishes to learn from me. Maybe not me per se but someone like me. Someone who is an expert in a particular field who can help people become better at something.

This is the job I do. This is the job I just did ten minutes before I sat down to write this. I have a student who is riding the struggle bus at the moment with this unit's concepts. To help out, I've spoken to her, met with her virtually, chatted with her on the phone, and today, replied with a detailed email.

I have the privilege to do my job, but I worked my ass off and made huge mistakes along the way and now, here I am, in the Ivory Tower, trying to take it apart bit by bit so that it can be built again, stronger than before.

I teach. That is what I do. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I am a professor who doesn't profess. I teach. I like to actually find out what my students need and I work with them to crack the code. Does it take more time? Yeah. It does. Is it the right thing to do? I mean, I guess it depends on each person who sits on my side of the desk, but I think this is the job.

A few things drive me crazy about my colleagues. OK. Way more than a few. I wrote a whole book about it because my list is so long. I should say ONE of the things that drives me crazy is when one of them says to a student "You should know this already."

For those who have never been insulted with this bullshit line, here is what it sounds like.

Student: Um...Professor Fuckhead, I am really struggling with subject/verb agreement. You keep telling me that I am doing it wrong, but I just don't really get what you are saying. Professor Fuckhead: That was something you should have learned in elementary school at best or middle school at worst. I don't have time for that. I'm not teaching you English, I'm teaching you how to write effectively.

Yeah, so, Professor Fuckhead isn't wrong about a lot of that, BUT, he should take a few minutes to help out. He totally has the time. The class only meets 2.5 hours per week. All kinds of fucking time. Beside, the fact remains the student doesn't know it and s/he/y is asking for help. So, it is Fuckhead's fucking job to help. I'm not suggesting that Fuckhead needs to set up private tutoring sessions for this struggling student, but the internet is vast and the resources are free.

If it were me, I would say something like:

Page 22 in the free handbook I send you all on day one of the class should give you a lot of insight. Also, Grammar Girl has some excellent videos and resources that can help you refresh your skills. Let's look at a few instances in your writing where you are doing it wrong and then you can look at the resources and you can try to find the others in your paper. I'm not going to fix them for you, but I will show you how you can fix them.

I didn't shame the student. I didn't put up a wall. I didn't do the work for h/er/m either. I gave some help. I showed the student how to fix the problem and shared some resources because, yes, the student should know this already. This is college BUT s/he/y is struggling.

I know I can pass the course I am teaching. That is sort of the point of getting all the degrees. At some point, someone with more degrees than me took a moment to explain things to me that I didn't know even if I "should" have known it.

The world is big and our brains are stuffed with a lot of shit. I know that Brian May is both a rock god AND an astrophysicist. Is that helpful? No. Could I have used that mental space to remember something someone taught me when I was 9? Maybe.

Instead, I listened to Queen and then I asked a question of someone who knew more than me and while I was told on many occasions by Professor Fuckhead that I should know that already, thankfully, I had plenty of teachers who decided to take five minutes to help me out. Seems only right that I pay that forward.

#educationisaright

[morgana-larkin]

Alright, here's part 24 of Just Tired. It's all in Melissa's POV and the next chapter will be Y/n's POV. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 25 Part 26

Just Tired - Part 24

Warnings: Manipulative Relationship (Mentioned), swearing

Words: 3.5k

Melissa wakes up the next morning with ruined makeup and her clothes from yesterday as she didn’t have the energy to get ready for bed. She reluctantly gets out of bed with a groan and gets ready for work. 

“Hey Barb, can I hitch a ride with you?” Melissa asks her as she sees her downstairs getting coffee ready.

“Of course, and maybe you’d want to tell me what happened yesterday between you and Y/n.” Barb says and Melissa looks down.

“We both said some things we shouldn’t have and then I told her to get out of my life.” She explains and then puts her head in her hands. “Oh god, I really fucked up.” She says and Barb hands her a coffee. 

“So you could both apologise and then put it behind you.” Barb says so simply.

“No you don’t understand, Y/n has a fear of intimacy and abandonment. She fears people leaving her and casting her out which is exactly what I did yesterday. She won’t want me back in her life, she’d be too scared to do that again.” Melissa explains.

“Hm, that does make it difficult.”

“More like impossible. She’s basically the best thing to come into my life and I fucked it up.” Melissa says and Barb looks at her with sympathy.

“I’m sure you and Y/n will be in each other’s lives again.”

“Well our classrooms are right across from each other and we teach the same grade so we will have to converse a few times but we agreed to avoid it if we can.” Melissa explains and lays her head on the kitchen counter. “What do I do?” 

“Well you could apologise and go from there.” Barb tells her and Melissa looks up.

“I don’t know, Barb, I really don’t know this time.” Melissa says and then they leave the house to go to work. Barb drives the both of them to work and keeps casting glances at Melissa who was leaning her elbow on the door and leaning her head on her hand. “She admitted she had feelings for me.” Melissa randomly says. “And what did I do? I told her I knew about her feelings but can’t be with her, like a fucking idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot Melissa, you’re still healing. And it was right after the trial, you were in shock that they didn’t come to an answer.” Barb tells her.

“That shouldn’t matter, I’ve seen how Y/n has pushed aside her feelings to make sure I was ok, many times. I should have been able to do the same for her, just one time.” Melissa says to her and sighs. 

Barb and Melissa get to school and walk up to the doors and enter the school. They make it to the break room and Melissa freezes when she sees you there talking to Janine and Jacob like nothing happened. Barb gives her a slight push and she goes to put her lunch in the fridge. She takes a deep breath before her and Barb go to the couch to watch the news, away from you.

“Oh, we gotta get to our classrooms.” Janine says and you all pack up and leave the break room.

You were too busy greeting your students that you didn't notice Melissa staring at you almost the entire time. She watches as you say hi to all of your students with a smile and she sighs, wishing you’d smile at her again but probably never will. She kept herself busy as she taught lessons to her little eagles and grading their worksheets that they did on Friday. While grading, she glanced at you and you were leaning on your desk, facing your class as you kept asking them questions about something, getting them engaged. She liked your teaching style, you tried to engage your students as much as possible, ask them questions and see if they can guess the correct answer.

“Ms. Schemmenti?” One of her students says as they came up to her desk.

“Yes?” She asks them.

“I’m stuck on question 3.” They tell her and she goes to explain it to them, a couple different ways until they understood.

When they go back to their seat, she gets lost in thought again. Mostly about what happened on Sunday after the court trial. She knows she regrets what she said but she wonders if you do. You seem to be following exactly what she said, to stay out of her life as you haven’t even looked at her once today and she hates that. She misses the attention you gave her, all the compliments, all the times you would smile at her, touch her when she needed it. She then thought of how you took her to the club, had fun on a tire swing, took her roller skating, suggested casual dating. You opened up a whole other world for her and she’s not sure if she could continue with the way she has been, not when you’re not even in her life anymore. The best part was doing those things together, having fun together.

Barb drives them both home after school ends and Melissa was quiet the entire way back and all through dinner and Barb was worried about her. The only times Melissa was this quiet was when she was retreating into her own mind, when life was too much to deal with. Melissa goes to her room for the rest of the evening and just lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Memories flash through her brain and a tear rolls down her face.

She thinks about how you were smiling at her when she was learning how to roller skate, how you were laughing with her on the tire swing, how you smiled when she said that the two of you were friends. She also thought of how you held her on Saturday night, how you cuddled her right after she left Joe, how you held her whenever she started crying. Thoughts of how you used to cup her cheek when she was sad or when you were about to kiss her, how you were so attentive to what she needed when having sex or even just in general. She misses being able to talk to you, have you in her arms some nights, look into your eyes and see the complete adoration you have for her. Or at least the adoration you had as you probably don’t feel that way anymore. You two spent a lot of time together in the 8 weeks that you’ve known each other and she doesn’t remember when she’s ever been happier. She then grabs her pillow and puts it over her face as she lets out a scream. She then hears her phone vibrating and she looks at it and sees her mom is calling her, strange.

“Hey Ma.” She says after accepting the call.

“Melissa, honey, how are you?” Teresa says.

“I’ve been better but I'm trying to keep busy.” Melissa tells her.

“I heard that you were divorcing Joe.” She says and Melissa lets out a sigh.

“Ya, I realised I wasn’t happy with him, haven’t been for a long time.” Melissa tells her and hears her mother hum.

“I’m glad you’re leaving him, none of us liked him.” Teresa says after a few seconds and Melissa sits up from her bed in shock.

“Really? I thought you’d be upset with me then I’m getting divorced.”

“I probably would be if you were leaving anyone else but it seemed like he was trying to control you and I didn’t like that.” Teresa tells her honestly. “I may not have been there for you when you were growing up but I do love you and all your siblings.”

“Even Kristen Marie?” She asks with a smile.

“Even her.” Teresa says. “I’ve also heard that you’ve been hanging out with this young girl.” She says after a few seconds.

“Ya, her name is Y/n and her and I are friends, were friends…not anymore.” Melissa says and lets out a sigh.

“What happened?” 

“Joe talked to both of us and I guess let both of our insecurities come to light and her and I had a fight yesterday and I told her to get out of my life.” Melissa explains to her mom.

“It’s that Schemmenti anger, I’m sure you both will be fine, us Schemmenti’s are hard to leave and hard to get rid of, and we also do what we can to get what we want.” Her mother says and Melissa nods.

“Maybe.” Melissa says and then her and her mother chat for a few minutes before her mom has to go and they say goodbye before hanging up. Melissa lets out a sigh of relief that her family seems to be on her side in this and won’t cast her out. 

She then grabs the pillow that you slept on on Saturday night and buries her face in it, being able to still smell you on it. She lays her head on her pillow and holds the pillow you slept on close to her body. She places a kiss on the pillow before she closes her eyes and falls asleep.

The next morning she got up and went to get ready for work. Barb drives her again as Melissa is too distracted to drive carefully right now.

“So your mom said she was glad you were finally leaving him?” Barb says as they enter the school.

“Ya, she said she never liked him.” Melissa finishes telling her about the phone call. 

They walk into the break room and Melissa sees you there sipping from your coffee mug and wrapping your sweater closer to your body. She’s never seen you do that before, it may be the last week of October but it’s always the same temperature inside the school. You put your mug down and you seem lost in thought while Janine and Jacob carry on a conversation. Melissa then goes to put her lunch in the fridge before she makes her way to the tv.

“Y/n? Are you even paying attention?” Janine asks you and you look up at them.

“Not really, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” You tell her. “Sorry.” You tell them before you stand up and head for the exit. You weren’t looking at your surroundings and you bumped right into Melissa as she was walking from the fridge to the tv and the coffee spilled on both of you. You end up dropping your mug and it breaks upon impact with the floor and you were in shock. “Oh god, Melissa I’m so sorry.” You apologise and she goes to say something but you speak again. “I’ll go get Mr. Johnson so he can clean this up.” You tell her and she sees tears in your eyes before you speed walk out of the break room. Were you just as upset as she was about the whole situation?

“I’m gonna go change my shirt.” She tells Barb and then goes to her classroom. 

She grabs the extra shirt she has before she starts to head to the bathroom when she sees your classroom light on but the door is closed. She decides to cross the hall and peek in through the little window and sees you crying at your desk. She raises her hand to knock but then she stops and thinks. She wants to comfort you right now but if you’re upset with her then she wouldn’t be much help. Also, would you even want to be comforted by her after what she told you? Probably not. She took one last look at you before she heads towards the bathroom, heart hurting from seeing you in pain. 

She sees you greeting your students with less enthusiasm than you usually do and she sighs. Against her better judgment, she crosses the hall to you and stops right beside you and you look at her in confusion.

“Can I help you Ms. Schemmenti?” You ask her, voice neutral.

“Just wanted to say no hard feelings about the coffee, accidents happen.” She says and then goes back to greeting her students. 

An hour later she’s staring at her phone as her students are doing quiet reading time. She’s had 5 people ask her out since Saturday night but she has no interest in going out with any of them. She had her insecurities brought to the surface by Joe and then had a huge fight with you which caused her to lose you, her interest in casual dating and sex is currently non-existent. She then puts her phone down and then starts working on next week's lesson plan. She gets a notification on her phone and she looks to see it’s a text from you and she quickly goes into her phone and looks at it. 

You: Thank you for forgiving me about the coffee incident.

It wasn’t a lot but it was enough to bring a smile to her face before she looks down the hall and see you writing something. You must have sensed you were being watched as you looked up and then turned your head to see across the hall and you both lock eyes. She sees that your eyes don’t seem as bright as they were a couple days ago, and you have pain in your eyes instead of adoration when looking at her. 

That information alone is enough to crush any hope Melissa has of ever making it up to you. Of course you look at her and feel hurt, she casted you out when you were starting to trust her and your fear is probably even worse now than ever before. Melissa turns away from you and looks down at her desk and continues working. 

She was saying goodbye to her students when she heard shouting across the hall and sees a parent yelling at you and furrows her eyebrows. 

“My kid has been telling me everything you’re teaching and I don’t like it! I want you to change what you’re teaching!” They yell at you and Melissa sees you seem to remain calm.

“I’m very sorry to hear that but I teach them what I’m told to teach them and what I think they should be taught as it’s important.” You tell them calmly.

“I don't want you teaching them queer history! I don’t want it rubbing off onto my kid! It’s bad enough that her teacher is a queer!” They yell and Melissa immediately walks over. 

“Is there a problem here?” Melissa asks the parent.

“Mrs. Schemmenti, you’re a respected teacher here. Please tell this queer that she shouldn’t be teaching gay history to our kids.” The parent tells her.

“Well first it’s Ms, and secondly I think it’s important for our kids to know our whole history and not just parts of it.” She defends you and the parent gets angry at that.

“Why are you defending her? This queer! This *insert gay slur*!”

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you take your daughter and leave now.” She tells them and the father takes his daughter’s hand and walks away. Melissa then looks at you and you’re looking at the floor. “Are you ok? Parents can be mean sometimes, don’t listen to what he said.” She tells you and you look up at her.

“Never had anyone say anything bad about my sexuality before.” You tell her and she goes to grab your hand but stops herself and freezes as she doesn’t know what to do.

You see her go to reach for your hand but then freezes. You then go and wrap your sweater closer to your body and cross your arms.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a homophobic jackass.” She decides on and you nod.

“Thanks.” You tell her and she nods before she goes back to saying goodbye to her students while casting glances at you. 

Barb drives both of them home as Melissa tells her about the incident with the parent.

“Well it must be nice for her to know that you’ll defend her no matter what.” Barb tells her.

“I don’t even know how she feels though. She’s spoken to me like 4 times in 2 days and I hate it.” Melissa says, followed by a huge sigh. 

“Just give her time, if she’s hurting right now then she’ll just need some time.” Barb says.

“Time for what? Time to heal? Time to forget about it? I can assure you that both will probably happen. She’ll heal but also won’t give a shit about me.” Melissa complains.

“What makes you think she’ll forget about you?”

“I looked into her eyes today. Before when I looked into her eyes, I used to see adoration for me. Today, all I saw was pain as she looked at me and it broke me. Her remembering the pain I cause her everytime she looks at me, it’s gonna break me.” Melissa says and leans back into the seat. 

“Melissa, do you think it’s possible that it’s not only the pain you caused her that’s hurting her. Maybe it’s also the pain she caused you.” Barb says and Melissa thinks about it. “You told her to get out of your life because of what she told you, don’t you think that maybe she’s also carrying guilt of causing it. She also could be respecting your wishes of staying away from you.” Barb tells her.

“Did she tell you any of this?” Melissa asks.

“No, I haven’t spoken to her since Sunday, I think she’s avoiding me too.” Barb says and Melissa sighs.

Barb watches as Melissa carefully makes dinner an hour and a half later. Melissa keeps slapping their hands if they try to help so Gerald left to the living room as Barb stays to keep her company. 

“Why does it have to be perfect?” Barb asks her.

“Because I’m giving a serving to Y/n tomorrow to help her feel better about what happened with that parent and good food makes anyone feel better.” Melissa explains as she starts chopping up the ingredients. 

“Why does it have to be perfect though? She basically ate anything you made.” 

“But that was when we were friends, before she never wanted to see me again.” Melissa says.

“So you think you could just slip a serving to her without her noticing and hope that she feels better?” Barb asks.

“Yep.” Melissa says.

“You really do love her.” Barb says and Melissa looks up at her. “I hope you don’t go too far just to try and get her back though.” Barb adds and Melissa lets out a deep breath.

“What if I’m willing to do whatever to get her back?” Melissa asks her. “Anything just to have her back in my arms? To be able to see her smile at me again, to have those eyes shine with love towards me just one more time.” 

“I’d say your feelings run deeper than I thought.” Barb tells her. “Everyone has their limits though. If you reach hers while trying to get her back and she’s still not wanting to be in your life, then you still have to be prepared to let her go.” Barb tells her cautiously and Melissa looks at her before she nods.

“For now, let’s hope that food makes her day better.” 

Melissa gets Mr. Johnson to unlock your classroom before you get there so she slips in and leaves the container of food on your desk. Melissa is organising some papers when she sees you go to unlock your classroom and walk inside. You go to your desk and read the note.

‘Hope this helps you feel better.’

-Melissa

You read it and then you look up to where Melissa went back to organising her papers so you don’t know she was staring at you. 

“Feel better about what?” She hears and didn’t realise you were at her doorway.

“About yesterday.” She simply says as she begins placing the test on the desks.

“I’m grateful that you defended me but I don’t need your food.” You tell her and she sees you have the container in your hands.

“I’ll defend any teacher here, no matter what. As for the food, just think of it as a celebration for surviving the first time a parent yells at you.” She says. “I’ve been here for 15 years and parents weren’t too pleased to have another white teacher at first.” She tells you.

“Well thank you.” You say to her and she shrugs, trying to play it cool even though she was happy on the inside. 

“Just give me the container back when you’re done with it.” She tells you and you nod before you go to the break room quickly to put the food in the fridge. After you leave, Melissa can’t help but smile, maybe she can get you back.

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Let me know if you want to be added!

[rpersearch]

Hi there! 

My name is Shiro, and I’m looking for someone who’s just as self-indulgent and passionate as I am for reverse harems. I want someone who enjoys large amounts of men who want to romance our characters and can play upwards of 20 characters, as I will be doing the same. 

Info about me ~ I am a 22-year-old woman (she/her) who lives in EST. I am in university and work, so my responses will vary. However, I try to respond when I can, as role-playing is my hobby. 

Rule #1. You must be 18 or older! I am not role-playing with children. 

Rule #2.  Please be able to respond multiple times a week. Nothing kills my vibe more than waiting for a response every two weeks. I understand we have lives outside the internet, but I’m more likely to forget and become disinterested in the role play as time passes.

Rule #3.  Ladies, gents, non-binary folks: this will be a double-up role play if I haven’t made that clear yet! 

Rule #4. I am a semi-literate to advanced literate role play. BUT don’t force yourself to write more than is necessary. I’d rather have quality over quantity. I’m fine as long as I have something to work with. Now, onto the fun ~

________________________________________

Ouran High School Host Club

Ouran High is a school for the extremely wealthy or, in YC’s case, the highly talented. However, no amount of talent will help when YC accidentally drops an eight million yen vase in a music room. The vase was the property of Ouran High School Host Club, a group of attractive young men who, for a fee, provide their time and affections for their lovesick clientele: the female students. Fascinated by this strange new specimen, a poor and clumsy commoner, they force YC to work for them until the debt is repaid, but they get much more than they bargained for…

Options: 1.2.3.4.5

Hakuoki

Disguised as the opposite gender, YC has come to Kyoto searching for their missing father. This doctor developed a magical elixir that increases the drinker's speed, strength, and healing abilities. Instead of their father, they stumble across a battle between the Shinsengumi and the Furies, evil vampire-like creatures of their own making.

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12

Kamigami no Asobi

YC discovers a mighty sword that transports them to another world. There, this ordinary high school student finds themself face-to-face with the mighty Greek god Zeus, who has an unusual request: remain in the dimension he has created and attend a school of legendary proportions. Zeus acts as dean for a school of young, misguided gods. The bond between humans and gods has weakened, and it is now up to YC to teach the gods about love and what it means to be human.

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10

Free!

When Haruka, Makoto, Nagisa, Rin, and YC were in elementary school, they swam together in a relay race and won the match. As Rin was on his way to Australia to train to become an Olympic champion, the gang decided to bury their trophy in a time capsule and retrieve it when they all had grown up. Now, Haruka, Makoto, Nagisa, and YC have reunited in high school and decide to dig up the prize. But on the way there, they run into none other than Rin, and he's determined to show Haru who's the best! As a result of this fateful meeting, the four friends decide to start a swim club, along with fellow classmate Rei, and their rival's little sister Gou as the team manager. Can the gang hold their own against Rin and prove their skills at the Prefectural Tournament?

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12.13.14.15.16.17

Uta no Prince Sama

When YC gets the chance to take the entrance exam for Saotome Academy for the Performing Arts, it seems as though they’re one step closer to their dream of composing songs for their favorite singer, Hayato. However, this is no gleeful high school musical experience, and YC is hiding a dreadful secret that may silence their musical ambitions forever. And even if they do get into Saotome, the competition will be more brutal than going on Japan’s Top Idol!

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12.13.14.15.16.17

Dance with Devils

YC has the perfect school-to-life balance, but all of that’s thrown into chaos when they discover that several of their handsome male classmates are actually demons in disguise.

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7

Amnesia

When YC regains consciousness in an unfamiliar place, they have suddenly lost all memories of everything that happened before August 1. What is this place, and what were they doing there? Who are they, and what sort of life had they lived?

Options: 1.2.3.4.5

Vampire Knight

Cross Academy is a school with a difference: in a unique and experimental setup designed by the headmaster, it has a Day Class consisting of ordinary humans and a Night Class filled with vampires. YC and their friend Zero Kiryu are school prefects whose job it is to make sure the secret of the Night Class is always safe; they patrol the school grounds at night and supervise the switchover of classes at dawn and dusk to prevent any 'accidents' from happening. While Zero is suspicious of vampires and hates the idea of sharing the same space as them, YC admires the Night Class for their beauty and sophistication; they are especially intrigued by their charming leader, Kaname, because he once saved their life. However, as YC quickly learns, not all vampires are amiable like the Night Class, and as terrible events unfold, YC must ask themself whether in a world where vampires are the hunters and humans are the prey, peaceful coexistence can really be achieved.

Options: 1.2.3.4.5.6.7

-

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Yes, He Really Does Hold Your Life and Your Future in His Hands

by Kevin DeYoung

Q. What do you understand by the providence of God?

A. Providence is the almighty and ever present power of God by which he upholds, as with his hand, heaven and earth and all creatures, and so rules them that lead and blade, rain and drought, fruitful and lean years, food and drink, health and sickness, prosperity and poverty—all things, in fact, come to us not by chance but from his fatherly hand (Heidelberg Catechism Q/A 27).

This is my favorite Lord’s Day in the entire Catechism. I absolutely love its poetic description of providence. ”Sovereignty” is the word we hear more often. That’s a good word too. But if people run out of the room crying whenever you talk to them about sovereignty, try using the word “providence.” For some people God’s sovereignty sounds like nothing but raw, capricious power: “God has absolute power over all things and you better get used to it.” That kind of thing. And that definition is true in a sense, but divine sovereignty, we must never forget, is sovereignty-for-us. As Eric Liddel’s dad remarked in Chariots of Fire, God may be a dictator, but “Aye, he is a benign, loving dictator.”

Coming to grips with God’s all-encompassing providence requires a massive shift in how we look at the world. It requires changing our vantage point—from seeing the cosmos as a place where man rules and God responds, to beholding a universe where God creates and constantly controls with sovereign love and providential power.

The definition of providence in the Catechism is stunning. All things, yes all things, come to us not by chance but from his fatherly hand.” I will sometimes ask seminary students being examined for ordination, “How would the Heidelberg Catechism, particularly Lord’s Day 10, help you minister to someone who lost a limb in Afghanistan or just lost a job or just lost a child.” I am usually disappointed to hear students who should be affirming the confessions of their denomination shy away from Heidelberg’s strong, biblical language about providence. Like most of us, the students are much more at ease using passive language about God’s permissive will or comfortable generalities about God being “in control” than they are about stating precisely and confidently to those in the midst of suffering “this has come from God’s fatherly hand.” And yet, that’s what the Catechism teaches.

And more importantly, so does the Bible.

To be sure, God’s providence is not an excuse to act foolishly or sinfully. Herod and Pontius Pilate, though they did what God had planned beforehand, were still wicked conspirators (Acts 4:25-28). The Bible affirms human responsibility.

But the Bible also affirms, much more massively and frequently than some imagine, God’s power and authority over all things. The nations are under God’s control (Psalm 2:1-4; 33:10), as is nature (Mark 4:41; Psalm 135:7; 147:18; 148:8), and animals (2 Kings 17:25; Dan. 6:22;Matt. 10:29). God is sovereign over Satan and evil spirits (Matt. 4:10; 2 Cor. 12:7-8; Mark 1:27). God uses wicked people for his plans—not just in a “bringing good out of evil” sort of way, but in an active, intentional, “this was God’s plan from the get-go” sort of way (Job 12:16; John 19:11; Gen. 45:8; Luke 22:22; Acts 4:27-28). God hardens hearts (Ex. 14:17;Josh. 11:20; Rom. 9:18). God sends trouble and calamity (Judg. 9:23; 1 Sam. 1:5; 16:14; 2 Sam. 24:1; 1 Kings 22:20-23; Isa. 45:6-7; 53:10; Amos 3:6; Ruth 1:20; Eccl. 7:14). God even puts to death (1 Sam. 2:6, 25; 2 Sam 12:15; 2 Chr. 10:4, 14; Deut. 32:39). God does what he pleases and his purposes cannot be thwarted (Isa. 46:9-10; Dan. 4:34-35). In short, God guides all our steps and works all things after the counsel of his will (Prov. 16:33; 20:24; 21:2; Jer. 10:23; Psalm 139:16; Rom. 8:21; Eph. 1:11).

It’s worth noting that Lord’s Day 10 is explaining what the Apostles’ Creed means when it says, “I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.” If God is the creator of all things and truly almighty, then he must continue to be almighty over all that he has created. And if God is a Father, then surely he exercises his authority over his creation and creatures for the good of his beloved children. Providence is nothing more than a belief in “God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth” brought to bear on our present blessings and troubles and buoying our hope into the future.

You can look at providence through the lens of human autonomy and our idolatrous notions of freedom and see a mean God moving tsunamis and kings like chess pieces in some kind of perverse divine play-time. Or you can look at providence through the lens of Scripture and see a loving God counting the hairs on our heads and directing the sparrows in the sky so that we might live life unafraid. “What else can we wish for ourselves,” Calvin wrote, “if not even one hair can fall from our head without his will?” There are no accidents in your life. Nothing has been left to chance. Every economic downturn, every phone call in the middle of the night, every oncology report has been sent to us from the God who sees all things, plans all things, and loves us more than we know.

As children of our Heavenly Father, divine providence is always for us and never against us. Joseph’s imprisonment seemed pointless, but it makes sense now. Slavery in Egypt makes sense now. Killing the Messiah makes sense now. Whatever difficulty or unknown you may be facing today, it will make sense someday–if not in this life, then certainly in the next.

We all have moments where we fear what the future may hold. But such fears are misplaced if we know the one who holds the future. The fact of the matter is all my worries may come true, but God will never be untrue to me. He will always lead me, always listen to me, and always love me in Christ. God moves in mysterious ways; we may not always understand why life is what it is. But we can face the future unafraid because we know that nothing moves, however mysterious, except by the hand of that great Unmoved Mover who moves all and is moved by none, and that this Mover is not an impersonal force but the God who is my Father in heaven.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 21-22

CHAPTER XXI

IT was not only the November sleet, setting up a forbidding curtain before the mountains, turning the roadways into slipperiness on which a car would swing around and crash into poles, that kept Doremus stubbornly at home that morning, sitting on his shoulder blades before the fireplace. It was the feeling that there was no point in going to the office; no chance even of a picturesque fight. But he was not contented before the fire. He could find no authentic news even in the papers from Boston or New York, in both of which the morning papers had been combined by the government into one sheet, rich in comic strips, in syndicated gossip from Hollywood, and, indeed, lacking only any news.

He cursed, threw down the New York Daily Corporate, and tried to read a new novel about a lady whose husband was indelicate in bed and who was too absorbed by the novels he wrote about lady novelists whose husbands were too absorbed by the novels they wrote about lady novelists to appreciate the fine sensibilities of lady novelists who wrote about gentleman novelists—Anyway, he chucked the book after the newspaper. The lady's woes didn't seem very important now, in a burning world.

He could hear Emma in the kitchen discussing with Mrs. Candy the best way of making a chicken pie. They talked without relief; really, they were not so much talking as thinking aloud. Doremus admitted that the nice making of a chicken pie was a thing of consequence, but the blur of voices irritated him. Then Sissy slammed into the room, and Sissy should an hour ago have been at high school, where she was a senior—to graduate next year and possibly go to some new and horrible provincial university.

"What ho! What are you doing home? Why aren't you in school?"

"Oh. That." She squatted on the padded fender seat, chin in hands, looking up at him, not seeing him. "I don't know 's I'll ever go there any more. You have to repeat a new oath every morning: 'I pledge myself to serve the Corporate State, the Chief, all Commissioners, the Mystic Wheel, and the troops of the Republic in every thought and deed.' Now I ask you! Is that tripe!"

"How you going to get into the university?"

"Huh! Smile at Prof Staubmeyer—if it doesn't gag me!"

"Oh, well—Well—" He could not think of anything meatier to say.

The doorbell, a shuffling in the hall as of snowy feet, and Julian Falck came sheepishly in.

Sissy snapped, "Well, I'll be—What are you doing home? Why aren't you in Amherst?"

"Oh. that." He squatted beside her. He absently held her hand, and she did not seem to notice it, either. "Amherst's got hers. Corpos closing it today. I got tipped off last Saturday and beat it. (They have a cute way of rounding up the students when they close a college and arresting a few of 'em, just to cheer up the profs.)" To Doremus: "Well, sir, I think you'll have to find a place for me on the Informer, wiping presses. Could you?"

"Afraid not, boy. Give anything if I could. But I'm a prisoner there. God! Just having to say that makes me appreciate what a rotten position I have!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I understand, of course. Well, I don't just know what I am going to do. Remember back in '33 and '34 and '35 how many good eggs there were—and some of them medics and law graduates and trained engineers and so on—that simply couldn't get a job? Well, it's worse now. I looked over Amherst, and had a try at Springfield, and I've been here in town two days—I'd hoped to have something before I saw you, Sis—why, I even asked Mrs. Pike if she didn't need somebody to wash dishes at the Tavern, but so far there isn't a thing. 'Young gentleman, two years in college, ninety-nine-point-three pure and thorough knowledge Thirty-nine Articles, able drive car, teach tennis and contract, amiable disposition, desires position—digging ditches.'"

"You will get something! I'll see you do, my poppet!" insisted Sissy. She was less modernistic and cold with Julian now than Doremus had thought her.

"Thanks, Sis, but honest to God—I hope I'm not whining, but looks like I'd either have to enlist in the lousy M.M.'s, or go to a labor camp. I can't stay home and sponge on Granddad. The poor old Reverend hasn't got enough to keep a pussycat in face powder."

"Lookit! Lookit!" Sissy clinched with Julian and bussed him, unabashed. "I've got an idea—a new stunt. You know, one of these 'New Careers for Youth' things. Listen! Last summer there was a friend of Lindy Pike's staying with her and she was an interior decorator from Buffalo, and she said they have a hell of a—"

("Siss-sy!")

"—time getting real, genuine, old hand-hewn beams that everybody wants so much now in these phony-Old-English suburban living rooms. Well, look! Round here there's ten million old barns with hand-adzed beams just falling down—farmers probably be glad to have you haul 'em off. I kind of thought about it for myself—being an architect, you know—and John Pollikop said he'd sell me a swell, dirty-looking old five-ton truck for four hundred bucks—in pre-inflation real money, I mean—and on time. Let's you and me try a load of assorted fancy beams."

"Swell!" said Julian.

"Well—" said Doremus.

"Come on!" Sissy leaped up. "Let's go ask Lindy what she thinks. She's the only one in this family that's got any business sense."

"I don't seem to hanker much after going out there in this weather— nasty roads," Doremus puffed.

"Nonsense, Doremus! With Julian driving? He's a poor speller and his back-hand is fierce, but as a driver, he's better than I am! Why, it's a pleasure to skid with him! Come on! Hey, Mother! We'll be back in nour or two."

If Emma ever got beyond her distant, "Why, I thought you were in school, already," none of the three musketeers heard it. They were bundling up and crawling out into the sleet.

Lorinda Pike was in the Tavern kitchen, in a calico print with rolled sleeves, dipping doughnuts into deep fat—a picture right out of the romantic days (which Buzz Windrip was trying to restore) when a female who had brought up eleven children and been midwife to dozens of cows was regarded as too fragile to vote. She was ruddy-faced from the stove, but she cocked a lively eye at them, and her greeting was "Have a doughnut? Good!" She led them from the kitchen with its attendant and eavesdropping horde of a Canuck kitchenmaid and two cats, and they sat in the beautiful butler's- pantry, with its shelved rows of Italian majolica plates and cups and saucers—entirely unsuitable to Vermont, attesting a certain artiness in Lorinda, yet by their cleanness and order revealing her as a sound worker. Sissy sketched her plan—behind the statistics there was an agreeable picture of herself and Julian, gipsies in khaki, on the seat of a gipsy truck, peddling silvery old pine rafters.

"Nope. Not a chance," said Lorinda regretfully. "The expensive suburban-villa business—oh, it isn't gone: there's a surprising number of middlemen and professional men who are doing quite well out of having their wealth taken away and distributed to the masses. But all the building is in the hands of contractors who are in politics—good old Windrip is so consistently American that he's kept up all our traditional graft, even if he has thrown out all our traditional independence. They wouldn't leave you one cent profit."

"She's probably right," said Doremus.

"Be the first time I ever was, then!" sniffed Lorinda. "Why, I was so simple that I thought women voters knew men too well to fall for noble words on the radio!"

They sat in the sedan, outside the Tavern; Julian and Sissy in front, Doremus in the back seat, dignified and miserable in mummy swathings.

"That's that," said Sissy. "Swell period for young dreamers the Dictator's brought in. You can march to military bands—or you can sit home—or you can go to prison. Primavera di Bellezza!"

"Yes.... Well, I'll find something to do.... Sissy, are you going to marry me—soon as I get a job?"

(It was incredible, thought Doremus, how these latter-day unsentimental sentimentalists could ignore him.... Like animals.)

"Before, if you want to. Though marriage seems to me absolute rot now, Julian. They can't go and let us see that every doggone one of our old institutions is a rotten fake, the way Church and State and everything has laid down to the Corpos, and still expect us to think they're so hot! But for unformed minds like your grandfather and Doremus, I suppose we'll have to pretend to believe that the preachers who stand for Big Chief Windrip are still so sanctified that they can sell God's license to love!"

("Sis-sy!")

"(Oh. I forgot you were there, Dad!) But anyway, we're not going to have any kids. Oh, I like children! I'd like to have a dozen of the little devils around. But if people have gone so soft and turned the world over to stuffed shirts and dictators, they needn't expect any decent woman to bring children into such an insane asylum! Why, the more you really do love children, the more you'll want 'em not to be born, now!"

Julian boasted, in a manner quite as lover-like and naïve as that of any suitor a hundred years ago, "Yes. But just the same, we'll be having children."

"Hell! I suppose so!" said the golden girl.

It was the unconsidered Doremus who found a job for Julian.

Old Dr. Marcus Olmsted was trying to steel himself to carry on the work of his sometime partner, Fowler Greenhill. He was not strong enough for much winter driving, and so hotly now did he hate the murderers of his friend that he would not take on any youngster who was in the M.M.'s or who had half acknowledged their authority by going to a labor camp. So Julian was chosen to drive him, night and day, and presently to help him by giving anesthetic, bandaging hurt legs; and the Julian who had within one week "decided that he wanted to be" an aviator, a music critic, an air-conditioning engineer, an archæologist excavating in Yucatan, was dead-set on medicine and replaced for Doremus his dead doctor son-in-law. And Doremus heard Julian and Sissy boasting and squabbling and squeaking in the half-lighted parlor and from them—from them and from David and Lorinda and Buck Titus—got resolution enough to go on in the Informer office without choking Staubmeyer to death.

CHAPTER XXII

DECEMBER 10th was the birthday of Berzelius Windrip, though in his earlier days as a politician, before he fruitfully realized that lies sometimes get printed and unjustly remembered against you, he had been wont to tell the world that his birthday was on December twenty-fifth, like one whom he admitted to be an even greater leader, and to shout, with real tears in his eyes, that his complete name was Berzelius Noel Weinacht Windrip.

His birthday in 1937 he commemorated by the historical "Order of Regulation," which stated that though the Corporate government had proved both its stability and its good-will, there were still certain stupid or vicious "elements" who, in their foul envy of Corpo success, wanted to destroy everything that was good. The kind-hearted government was fed-up, and the country was informed that, from this day on, any person who by word or act sought to harm or discredit the State, would be executed or interned. Inasmuch as the prisons were already too full, both for these slanderous criminals and for the persons whom the kind-hearted State had to guard by "protective arrest," there were immediately to be opened, all over the country, concentration camps.

Doremus guessed that the reason for the concentration camps was not only the provision of extra room for victims but, even more, the provision of places where the livelier young M.M.'s could amuse themselves without interference from old-time professional policemen and prison-keepers, most of whom regarded their charges not as enemies, to be tortured, but just as cattle, to be kept safely.

On the eleventh, a concentration camp was enthusiastically opened, with band music, paper flowers, and speeches by District Commissioner Reek and Shad Ledue, at Trianon, nine miles north of Fort Beulah, in what had been a modern experimental school for girls. (The girls and their teachers, no sound material for Corpoism anyway, were simply sent about their business.)

And on that day and every day afterward, Doremus got from journalist friends all over the country secret news of Corpo terrorism and of the first bloody rebellions against the Corpos.

In Arkansas, a group of ninety-six former sharecroppers, who had always bellyached about their misfortunes yet seemed not a bit happier in well-run, hygienic labor camps with free weekly band concerts, attacked the superintendent's office at one camp and killed the superintendent and five assistants. They were rounded up by an M.M. regiment from Little Rock, stood up in a winter-ragged cornfield, told to run, and shot in the back with machine guns as they comically staggered away.

In San Francisco, dock-workers tried to start an absolutely illegal strike, and their leaders, known to be Communists, were so treasonable in their speeches against the government that an M.M. commander had three of them tied up to a bale of rattan, which was soaked with oil and set afire. The Commander gave warning to all such malcontents by shooting off the criminals' fingers and ears while they were burning, and so skilled a marksman was he, so much credit to the efficient M.M. training, that he did not kill one single man while thus trimming them up. He afterward went in search of Tom Mooney (released by the Supreme Court of the United States, early in 1936), but that notorious anti-Corpo agitator had had the fear of God put into him properly, and had escaped on a schooner for Tahiti.

In Pawtucket, a man who ought to have been free from the rotten seditious notions of such so-called labor-leaders, in fact a man who was a fashionable dentist and director in a bank, absurdly resented the attentions which half-a-dozen uniformed M.M.'s—they were all on leave, and merely full of youthful spirits, anyway— bestowed upon his wife at a café and, in the confusion, shot and killed three of them. Ordinarily, since it was none of the public's business anyway, the M.M.'s did not give out details of their disciplining of rebels, but in this case, where the fool of a dentist had shown himself to be a homicidal maniac, the local M.M. commander permitted the papers to print the fact that the dentist had been given sixty-nine lashes with a flexible steel rod, then, when he came to, left to think over his murderous idiocy in a cell in which there was two feet of water in the bottom—but, rather ironically, none to drink. Unfortunately, the fellow died before having the opportunity to seek religious consolation.

In Scranton, the Catholic pastor of a working-class church was kidnaped and beaten.

In central Kansas, a man named George W. Smith pointlessly gathered a couple of hundred farmers armed with shotguns and sporting rifles and an absurdly few automatic-pistols, and led them in burning an M.M. barracks. M.M. tanks were called out, and the hick would-be rebels were not, this time, used as warnings, but were overcome with mustard gas, then disposed of with hand grenades, which was an altogether intelligent move, since there was nothing of the scoundrels left for sentimental relatives to bury and make propaganda over.

But in New York City the case was the opposite—instead of being thus surprised, the M.M.'s rounded up all suspected Communists in the former boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx, and all persons who were reported to have been seen consorting with such Communists, and interned the lot of them in the nineteen concentration camps on Long Island.... Most of them wailed that they were not Communists at all.

For the first time in America, except during the Civil War and the World War, people were afraid to say whatever came to their tongues. On the streets, on trains, at theaters, men looked about to see who might be listening before they dared so much as say there was a drought in the West, for someone might suppose they were blaming the drought on the Chief! They were particularly skittish about waiters, who were supposed to listen from the ambush which every waiter carries about with him anyway, and to report to the M.M.'s. People who could not resist talking politics spoke of Windrip as "Colonel Robinson" or "Dr. Brown" and of Sarason as "Judge Jones" or "my cousin Kaspar," and you would hear gossips hissing "Shhh!" at the seemingly innocent statement, "My cousin doesn't seem to be as keen on playing bridge with the Doctor as he used to—I'll bet sometime they'll quit playing."

Every moment everyone felt fear, nameless and omnipresent. They were as jumpy as men in a plague district. Any sudden sound, any unexplained footstep, any unfamiliar script on an envelope, made them startle; and for months they never felt secure enough to let themselves go, in complete sleep. And with the coming of fear went out their pride.

Daily—common now as weather reports—were the rumors of people who had suddenly been carried off "under protective arrest," and daily more of them were celebrities. At first the M.M.'s had, outside of the one stroke against Congress, dared to arrest only the unknown and defenseless. Now, incredulously—for these leaders had seemed invulnerable, above the ordinary law—you heard of judges, army officers, ex-state governors, bankers who had not played in with the Corpos, Jewish lawyers who had been ambassadors, being carted off to the common stink and mud of the cells.

To the journalist Doremus and his family it was not least interesting that among these imprisoned celebrities were so many journalists: Raymond Moley, Frank Simonds, Frank Kent, Heywood Broun, Mark Sullivan, Earl Browder, Franklin P. Adams, George Seldes, Frazier Hunt, Garet Garrett, Granville Hicks, Edwin James, Robert Morss Lovett—men who differed grotesquely except in their common dislike of being little disciples of Sarason and Macgoblin.

Few writers for Hearst were arrested, however.

The plague came nearer to Doremus when unrenowned editors in Lowell and Providence and Albany, who had done nothing more than fail to be enthusiastic about the Corpos, were taken away for "questioning," and not released for weeks—months.

It came much nearer at the time of the book-burning.

All over the country, books that might threaten the Pax Romana of the Corporate State were gleefully being burned by the more scholarly Minute Men. This form of safeguarding the State—so modern that it had scarce been known prior to A.D. 1300—was instituted by Secretary of Culture Macgoblin, but in each province the crusaders were allowed to have the fun of picking out their own paper-and-ink traitors. In the Northeastern Province, Judge Effingham Swan and Dr. Owen J. Peaseley were appointed censors by Commissioner Dewey Haik, and their index was lyrically praised all through the country.

For Swan saw that it was not such obvious anarchists and soreheads as Darrow, Steffens, Norman Thomas, who were the real danger; like rattlesnakes, their noisiness betrayed their venom. The real enemies were men whose sanctification by death had appallingly permitted them to sneak even into respectable school libraries—men so perverse that they had been traitors to the Corpo State years and years before there had been any Corpo State; and Swan (with Peaseley chirping agreement) barred from all sale or possession the books of Thoreau, Emerson, Whittier, Whitman, Mark Twain, Howells, and The New Freedom, by Woodrow Wilson, for though in later life Wilson became a sound manipulative politician, he had earlier been troubled with itching ideals.

It goes without saying that Swan denounced all such atheistic foreigners, dead or alive, as Wells, Marx, Shaw, the Mann brothers, Tolstoy, and P. G. Wodehouse with his unscrupulous propaganda against the aristocratic tradition. (Who could tell? Perhaps, some day, in a corporate empire, he might be Sir Effingham Swan, Bart.)

And in one item Swan showed blinding genius—he had the foresight to see the peril of that cynical volume, The Collected Sayings of Will Rogers.

Of the book-burnings in Syracuse and Schenectady and Hartford, Doremus had heard, but they seemed improbable as ghost stories.

The Jessup family were at dinner, just after seven, when on the porch they heard the tramping they had half expected, altogether dreaded. Mrs. Candy—even the icicle, Mrs. Candy, held her breast in agitation before she stalked out to open the door. Even David sat at table, spoon suspended in air.

Shad's voice, "In the name of the Chief!" Harsh feet in the hall, and Shad waddling into the dining room, cap on, hand on pistol, but grinning, and with leering geniality bawling, "H' are yuh, folks! Search for bad books. Orders of the District Commissioner. Come on, Jessup!" He looked at the fireplace to which he had once brought so many armfuls of wood, and snickered.

"If you'll just sit down in the other room—"

"I will like hell 'just sit down in the other room'! We're burning the books tonight! Snap to it, Jessup!" Shad looked at the exasperated Emma; he looked at Sissy; he winked with heavy deliberation and chuckled, "H' are you, Mis' Jessup. Hello, Sis. How's the kid?"

But at Mary Greenhill he did not look, nor she at him.

In the hall, Doremus found Shad's entourage, four sheepish M.M.'s and a more sheepish Emil Staubmeyer, who whimpered, "Just orders— you know—just orders."

Doremus safely said nothing; led them up to his study.

Now a week before he had removed every publication that any sane Corpo could consider radical: his Das Kapital and Veblen and all the Russian novels and even Sumner's Folkways and Freud's Civilization and Its Discontents; Thoreau and the other hoary scoundrels banned by Swan; old files of the Nation and New Republic and such copies as he had been able to get of Walt Trowbridge's Lance for Democracy; had removed them and hidden them inside an old horsehair sofa in the upper hall.

"I told you there was nothing," said Staubmeyer, after the search. "Let's go."

Said Shad, "Huh! I know this house, Ensign. I used to work here— had the privilege of putting up those storm windows you can see there, and of getting bawled out right here in this room. You won't remember those times, Doc—when I used to mow your lawn, too, and you used to be so snotty!" Staubmeyer blushed. "You bet. I know my way around, and there's a lot of fool books downstairs in the sittin' room."

Indeed in that apartment variously called the drawing room, the living room, the sittin' room, the Parlor and once, even, by a spinster who thought editors were romantic, the studio, there were two or three hundred volumes, mostly in "standard sets." Shad glumly stared at them, the while he rubbed the faded Brussels carpet with his spurs. He was worried. He had to find something seditious!

He pointed at Doremus's dearest treasure, the thirty-four-volume extra-illustrated edition of Dickens which had been his father's, and his father's only insane extravagance. Shad demanded of Staubmeyer, "That guy Dickens—didn't he do a lot of complaining about conditions—about schools and the police and everything?"

Staubmeyer protested, "Yes, but Shad—but, Captain Ledue, that was a hundred years ago—"

"Makes no difference. Dead skunk stinks worse 'n a live one."

Doremus cried, "Yes, but not for a hundred years! Besides—"

The M.M.'s, obeying Shad's gesture, were already yanking the volumes of Dickens from the shelves, dropping them on the floor, covers cracking. Doremus seized an M.M.'s arm; from the door Sissy shrieked. Shad lumbered up to him, enormous red fist at Doremus's nose, growling, "Want to get the daylights beaten out of you now... instead of later?"

Doremus and Sissy, side by side on a couch, watched the books thrown in a heap. He grasped her hand, muttering to her, "Hush— hush!" Oh, Sissy was a pretty girl, and young, but a pretty girl schoolteacher had been attacked, her clothes stripped off, and been left in the snow just south of town, two nights ago.

Doremus could not have stayed away from the book-burning. It was like seeing for the last time the face of a dead friend.

Kindling, excelsior, and spruce logs had been heaped on the thin snow on the Green. (Tomorrow there would be a fine patch burned in the hundred-year-old sward.) Round the pyre danced M.M.'s schoolboys, students from the rather ratty business college on Elm Street, and unknown farm lads, seizing books from the pile guarded by the broadly cheerful Shad and skimming them into the flames. Doremus saw his Martin Chuzzlewit fly into air and land on the burning lid of an ancient commode. It lay there open to a Phiz drawing of Sairey Gamp, which withered instantly. As a small boy he had always laughed over that drawing.

He saw the old rector, Mr. Falck, squeezing his hands together. When Doremus touched his shoulder, Mr. Falck mourned, "They took away my Urn Burial, my Imitatio Christi. I don't know why, I don't know why! And they're burning them there!"

Who owned them, Doremus did not know, nor why they had been seized, but he saw Alice in Wonderland and Omar Khayyám and Shelley and The Man Who Was Thursday and A Farewell to Arms all burning together, to the greater glory of the Dictator and the greater enlightenment of his people.

The fire was almost over when Karl Pascal pushed up to Shad Ledue and shouted, "I hear you stinkers—I've been out driving a guy, and I hear you raided my room and took off my books while I was away!"

"You bet we did, Comrade!"

"And you're burning them—burning my—"

"Oh no, Comrade! Not burning 'em. Worth too blame much, Comrade." Shad laughed very much. "They're at the police station. We've just been waiting for you. It was awful nice to find all your little Communist books. Here! Take him along!"

So Karl Pascal was the first prisoner to go from Fort Beulah to the Trianon Concentration Camp—no; that's wrong; the second. The first, so inconspicuous that one almost forgets him, was an ordinary fellow, an electrician who had never so much as spoken of politics. Brayden, his name was. A Minute Man who stood well with Shad and Staubmeyer wanted Brayden's job. Brayden went to concentration camp. Brayden was flogged when he declared, under Shad's questioning, that he knew nothing about any plots against the Chief. Brayden died, alone in a dark cell, before January.

An English globe-trotter who gave up two weeks of December to a thorough study of "conditions" in America, wrote to his London paper, and later said on the wireless for the B.B.C.: "After a thorough glance at America I find that, far from there being any discontent with the Corpo administration among the people, they have never been so happy and so resolutely set on making a Brave New World. I asked a very prominent Hebrew banker about the assertions that his people were being oppressed, and he assured me, 'When we hear about such silly rumors, we are highly amused.'"

[missjanjie]

Need some advice from someone not invested in the situation,so don't mind the vent:

My mother is hell-bent on my returning to complete a degree programme that I was in when I was a teenager (17 or so). Here's the thing though. I was so unhappy doing this programme that I couldn't even go to class without getting anxious or wanting to throw up. Grades-wise, I was fine, I suppose(the pass mark for this particular degree was a B, so 60%). But I grew to hate the programme itself because my anxiety was through the roof.

So, my Registrar saw the state I was in and suggested that I take a break and do an unassociated(heh) Associate Degree till I got myself together mentally. As of currently, I'm the top student in that particular Associate Degree and having a great time(and my anxiety's practically non-existent).

Here's the issues though. My mother hates that I've "downgraded" myself by doing an Associate Degree and continues to insist that I was "tricked" into doing it by the Registrar(who was genuinely trying to help). So,to fix my supposed "mistake", I should immediately return to the original Bachelor's Degree I was doing and complete it (despite the visceral trauma it caused me) because "everyone else in your age group has Master's Degrees and PHDs and you have nothing to show" (I'm 22).

But the thing is, why not get a Bachelor's Degree in a different subject area? I'm not opposed to higher education at all,but she's so fixated on the original Bachelor's Degree (in STEM) that I was doing that she can't let it go. She brings it up every chance she gets. I could be drinking a glass of water and she'll find a way to bring it up. Going so far as to say that it's what God wants me to do(I'm sure God wouldn't want me actively having panic attacks while doing what He supposedly wants me to do, but I digress).

So,yeah. What do I do? Where do I even go from here? If I make suggestions about an alternate path,she'll either ignore me, talk over me or segway into talking about my original Bachelor's Degree programme and how I should be graduating right now.

(Sorry for the long rant. Kinda don't have anyone to get my feelings out to IRL.)

unless you live in a weird mensa cult I don’t think people your age have masters/phd’s. people my age don’t have phd’s and only those in specific fields (usually teaching or social work) have masters and im 28.

also i have a little anecdote that while may not provide answers, can offer some perspective. when i was in college i took a feminist studies course and in that class was a 72 year old woman. i initially assumed she was just auditing the class (ie taking it for fun) but she explained to me that she was finishing her degree. i asked her what made her decide then and she told me “sure, i couldve gone back ten years ago or even twenty years ago. but that wasn’t where my journey was taking me.” point being, your journey is yours alone

there isn’t really anything you can do about your mom if you still live with her or are otherwise financially dependent on her except stay the course until you’re able to get out on your own or something like that. im assuming you’re not american based on some spelling, so i don’t really know the university system there so i could be off base