#Creative Math Lessons

[presswoodterryryan]

🎉 Alice's Ultimate Guide to Mastering (and Maybe Even Loving) Long Division! 🎉

By Alice Hey everyone! It’s me, Alice, your favorite adventurer, snack enthusiast, and math-avoider turned math-explorer! 😱 Big Sister Ariel has written the most amazing and smartest paper EVER about long division, and guess what? I actually understand it! (Shh… don’t tell her I said that! 😆) You wouldn’t believe how exciting it was to dive into numbers and see how everything fit together. Long…

[inspired-lesson-plans]

Do Now: (5 min+)

Stare deeply into the regular 4-dimensional polytope below until you become unanchored from linear time.

Guided Learning: (20 min)

Mathematics is fundamentally the art of the abstract. If I have 5 apples and you take away 3 apples, I am not left with 2 apples because no apples are identical and no real-world measurement can ever be infinitely precise. This is particularly evident in the practice of geometry. Call on students to explain the definitions of a familiar rank-2 polytope (triangle). After ensuring that have the correct definition (3 straight line segments that form 3 vertices), ask them what a triangle would look like in the real world. Encourage your students to prove that abstract shapes can only exist as abstract concepts.

Higher Order Learning: (remaining time)

Students work individually or in partner groups to browse the Convex Uniform Polyhedra and pick one to research. You should have a Google Slides file prepared on Google Classroom with each of the polyhedra as their own slide for the students to fill out. Don't just include basic information! There are plenty of opportunities for students to be creative in what they report! Give them time to read through the whole article! Keep them on-task and you'll be amazed at what they teach themselves!

I love the lists of regular polyhedra on Wikipedia

behold, the deltoidal hexecontahedron:

the great rhobihexahedron:

here we have the ditrigonal dodecicosidodecahedron:

the great retrosnub icosidodecahedron:

the beautiful twins, the sixteenth stellation of the icosidodecahedron, and her sister, the seventeenth stellation of same:

they look like some kind of mysterious and terrible Pokemon to me.

and lastly, her royal majesty, the final stellation of the icosahedron:

once when i was a child, i had a terrible earache that afflicted my dreams with nightmares of acute geometry. i think i saw her there, bloody and majestic, hovering above my bed.

[optimuslearningschool]

Our Fullerton programs offer after-school care with transportation, top-rated summer camps, customizable homeschooling with local charter schools, engaging piano lessons, expert math tutoring, and book clubs—both in-person and virtual—to support your child’s academic and creative growth.

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[dykesbat]

help a palestinian teacher and her family of 6!

[PT: Help a Palestinian teacher and her family of 6. End PT.]

Ola's campaign is number 205 on el-shab-hussein and nabulsi'svetted fundraiser spreadsheet.

$53,726 raised of $85,000 goal as of October 4th

[PT: $53,726 raised of $85,000 goal as of October 4th End PT.]

No amount of words can describe how awful it is that a full year of genocide is coming up. Palestinians deserve to be safe in their homes not having to worry about their and their loved ones’ lives or trying to figure out how they can get people to care for their survival. Every single Palestinian I have talked with this past year has been so endlessly kind in spite of everything. Please return this kindness and stand up for Palestinians. Help them.

I’m writing this post for my dear friend, Ola. She’s a seventh grade math teacher who’s so incredibly passionate about her work and uses creative methods to better teach her students. When I first read about her using extracurriculars as a means of teaching, I was left with a large smile on my face. Seeing her connect her lessons to the students rather than making the students connect to the lessons is such a beautiful thing you could do as a teacher since it shows your active consideration towards your students.

Ola had just begun her first year of teaching when this Nakba began. She’s been on Tumblr for months, trying her best to spread her campaign which supports a total of 7 people including herself. Alongside that, she’s been using her blog to share the campaigns of her extended family. Her campaign is beginning to slow. We can not afford this. Please help Ola in any way you can, whether it be from a donation, reblog, or sharing her campaign’s link. I heavily encourage you to follow her at olaa123 and spotlight her campaign if you are able to!!

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 00

Y Batfam x GN Reader

featuring: platonic Tim Drake.

1.3k words

It’s been a hot minute. I broke my hand snowboarding, then had tests. The writing for this one is significantly better, I’m taking a creative writing class for extra credits and decided to try something new with how I formate my chapters. I’ll be posting a chapter to both my story and my concept soon. This idea has just been in my head and the story I have planned out is exciting.

Prologue -> Ch. 01

Class Schedule

1st period: Art

2nd period: Maths

12:00 - 13:00: Lunch

3rd period: biology

4th period: English

3:50 Dismissal

4:00 - 6:00: Basketball practice

(Friday 5:00 -> Basketball game)

You twirl your pencil between your fingers, lazily watching as everyone else scribbles notes, following the math equation Mr. Snyder is rambling on about. It’s been ten minutes on the same question, and you’ve checked out about thirty minutes ago. Not that it’s Mr. Snyder’s fault—Gotham Prep has the best teachers. It’s just maths has never been your thing. It’s 2 weeks into the new semester and you're already falling behind. Probably not a great start.

You glance up at the clock—11:53. Ugh. Lunch can’t come soon enough. Mr. Snyder’s voice makes time drag on and on. You dash out of the classroom the moment the bell rings and head straight to Brandi’s locker.

“Girl, I’m literally gonna lose it. I can’t handle these people, they’re insane,” you spill out, frustration pouring from you. Rants like these have become more frequent.

“Tell me about it,” Brandi shoots back, her voice sharp with annoyance. “I’ve never met people so out of touch with reality. These pretentious assholes.” She grits her teeth. “How are they even real?”

You nod, walking together towards the cafeteria. Brandi continues her rant, but it’s nice—almost comforting—to know someone else feels the same way. She’s the only other Scholarship student in the grade—your only friend.

Lunch is its own endeavour. Students give weird looks as you two eat your packed food. The two of you learned very quickly that these kids were in a league of their own, and didn’t take too kindly to outsiders.

As you and Brandi talk mindless gossip, lunch flies by. biology’s next it’s your favourite. There’s nothing better than Mrs. Young’s lectures. She’s able to bring life to the lessons, and the material has a way of sticking.

Heading to class a little early you grab a seat near the back. It’s the only table without another person there. Mrs. Young tends to be late to class, so what better way to pass time than to scroll on your phone. Engrossed in TikTok a voice snaps you back into reality.

“Mind if I sit here”

Glancing up from your phone, you recognize the face almost instantly— you’d be stupid not to— Tim drake. Dark brown hair, bright blue eyes and a ‘pretty boy’ face. He’s practically the ‘it boy’ of the school, popular, friendly, and stupid rich. There’s still plenty of other open seats around the class. Probably beside people he’s better acquainted with. But he wants to sit with you? “Sure” you shrug, not like you were gonna talk to the guy.

The bell rings for the end of lunch, Mrs. Young still hasn’t shown up. The silence between you two is suffocating, even inside the room filled with mindless chatter.

“I’m Tim by the way” his introduction was meant to ease the awkwardness. He knew that you knew who he was. “y/n” you answer, praying the teacher will walk in, anything to get you out of this conversation.

”you’re on the basketball team right? You got in on an athletic scholarship?” He asked, ignoring the way you slump into your seat. “Yep” you mumble. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for students to recognize who’s on scholarship and who isn’t—especially athletes. But for him to know you're on the Basketball team 2 weeks into the school year— Kinda weird. But questioning him would mean talking to him, and you weren’t gonna engage.

Before the silence could get too awkward Mrs. Young walks in, and begins the lesson. The lymphatic system. It wasn’t your weakest subject but definitely not your strongest. Today is especially hard. Mrs. Young is unusually keen on racing through as much of the topic as possible.

You rush to write notes and keep up with the teacher but before you’ve even finished 1 sentence she’s erasing the board. Sighing in defeat, you slump back into your chair. Maybe if you just listen to the teacher you’ll be able to grasp most concepts? you’ll just scan through the textbook after practice.

Tim must’ve noticed your defeat, because a moment later he slides over his notebook. God, even his handwriting is perfect. Copying down the rest of his notes.

“thanks.” You mumble, he nods with a subtle smirk on his face.

The next 45 minutes follow the same pattern—you write down as much as, then copy the rest from Tim, and repeat.

It's only until Mrs. Young claps her hands together. The loud sound grabbed everybody’s attention “We finally get to start our first group project of the semester!” Her excitement is met with groans from the class. “because I don’t want you guys to get too comfortable I took the liberty of choosing your partners”. Your stomach drops. Not that you knew anyone here it was still obvious who would make a good partner and who wouldn’t.

As Mrs Young lists off names you don’t recognize “y/n l/n” your head perks up. “And Tim Drake”. Fuck. Your stomach twists. You really didn’t want to go with him. Sure, he’s nice enough to share his notes for sure but he’s still Tim Drake, it’d be much less drama to avoid him.

Tim didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “The project must be a poster of any negative or positive feedback loop. Be sure to discuss details with your partners. I won’t be giving much class time, so plan accordingly”

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and you were quick to pack up and get out. The sooner you’re gone the better.

“So how do you want to do this?” Tim asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t really care. you pick”

gym’s next, so you should leave as soon as you can. “Let’s work on it tomorrow after your basketball game. We can choose our topic together,” he answered.

Great, now you’re gonna have to spend your evening with the guy. “My game will probably take 2 hours,” you said. That should probably be enough to get him to back off.

“I’ll watch, I like basketball” you raise a brow. “I guess” you shrug.

The rest of the day blurred together— same mind numbing stories in English, same repetitive drills in practice. By the time it’s all over you’re already on the subway heading home. A wave of exhaustion falls over you.

Unlocking the Door to the empty apartment, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and doom scroll for the rest of the night. Still you figure you should eat something and take a quick shower first.

Scanning the fridge and cupboards like expected there isn’t much. With a sigh you grabbed a box of cereal and poured a bowl before heading to the bathroom to shower.

The evening passed uneventfully. You weren’t expecting your mother to be back anytime soon, so it was just the quiet hum of the apartment.

A buzz from your phone snapped you back to reality.

<Unknown Number>

Hey y/n it’s Tim Brandi gave me your number for the project.

You roll your eyes. Why would Brandi do that? It's totally unlike her. Tim must’ve been persistent. Hovering over the message you debated answering or not. After a beat you typed back.

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Short and simple, Tim probably won’t send another message. With a sigh you put your phone on silent, and roll over to finally get some sleep. Once you get through this project you’ll never have to talk to him again.

little did you know the project will be the least of your worries.

[x-i-l-verify]

Something that I've noticed ever since the Smiling Critters were introduced is that they can so easily be paired off into complementary duos, ones that are specifically designed to teach children fundamental lessons about life and self-care from two different angles. It's really interesting to me.

Like obviously you have Dogday and Catnap, with their sun/moon, dog/cat dichotomy, that stress how important it is to have fun and get things done during the day, but also that it's important to wind down, relax, and get a good night's sleep.

-

Bubba Bubbaphant and Craftycorn were introduced as a duo in the Smiling Critter show's intro, and their dichotomy is quite obvious. They are basically the right and left sides of the brain personified. Bubba is the left side of the brain, logical, analytical, focused on math and science. Craftycorn is the right side of the brain, creative and imaginative, focused on the arts and self-expression. They represent learning and academia in all its forms, the different ways people engage with and understand the world.

-

Hoppy Hopscotch and Kickin' Chicken form the sportsmanship duo. They are both portrayed as enjoying sports and the outdoors, but in different ways that highlight the different ways sports can be played and enjoyed and also what it entails to be successful at them. Hoppy Hopscotch may be loud and impatient, but she is also a team player, shown in her willingness to slow down her fast pace to make sure none of her friends are left behind. Kickin' Chicken, on the other hand, is laid-back, relaxed, and chill, the described "cool kid" of the group, but he's also described as having a ton of perseverance, more of a "slow and steady wins the race" type of person.

-

This leaves Bobby Bearhug and Picky Piggy as the last pair. Fittingly, these two are all about how to meet the fundamental needs of yourself and others. Bobby teaches children how to nourish themselves emotionally through showing and receiving care from others, while Picky teaches them how good food is important to nourish the body and soul. Depriving oneself of either of these things only makes oneself and therefore everyone around one miserable, because those fundamental needs are no longer being met.

-

Like fr, this is some pretty genius marketing right here. You have enough characters that every kid will have their favorite, but not so many that any would get lost in the shuffle, because the lessons each one of them would teach would be integral to the group as a whole. It really makes me that much sadder we saw basically nothing of the Smiling Critters during the game itself, because Mob Games struck gold with this concept, only to ultimately do nothing with it. :/

But I guess that's what fandom is for, eh?

[01zfan]

venusian

producer!anton x alien!reader | 10k words

another installment of my rock the house seriez! this was fun to write even though it took me forever.

contains: face sitting, alot of implied sex, intergalactic booty call, anton catching feelings

rock the house masterlist

Anton gripped the metal of his fire escape, looking down at street below him.

He was a struggling artist, not the type that leaped over banisters down to oncoming traffic but the one that watched. He watched people like they were characters in movies, crafting stories for each single one. The student rushing to beat the light had an assignment waiting for them when they got home. The mother that had to pull her kids behind her on a plastic scooter worked all day, the man was looking at his phone was texting his mistress.

Honestly, it was too cold for Anton to be outside. He was also too busy to be doing this. He had a list of things to do before his band released their newest project. But like a thousand times before, the closer Venusian got to the release date of music Anton started getting sentimental and spending his time doing things he shouldn’t be doing. Procrastination is what Wonbin called it, Sohee referred to it as cold feet. In the deep corner of Internet somewhere they would say this was a product of Anton being a hack, and each project Venusian released, the world was closer to finding it out. 

Now, Anton couldn’t dispute this. He was talented, no one could take that away from him. From a young age he was able to play instruments at an advanced level and read classical music like it was a second language. Reading notes on a musical staff came to him faster than reading actual words in a book. He confused his teachers with his disdain for math when he was so easily able to divide a beat down to the hemidemisemiquaver. He was born with perfect pitch and a metronome built into his feet, and was able to memorize anything music related at the drop of a hat. 

Anton knew it would be to everyone’s dismay if they found out how often he lost faith in himself. Why would someone who was held in such high regard lose his poise so often? Why would someone so talented refuse to claim the section leader position when it so clearly belonged to him? Anton—and apparently the trolls on the Internet—knew the answers to these questions long before everyone else. He looked over the railing looking for inspiration because like he knew he was a musical prodigy, he also knows he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body.

He knew no one would understand. Creativity wasn’t sight reading music perfectly or being able to tune the other people in your section when they were off key. Creativity to Anton was being able to pull something from the depth of your mind. He would’ve settled for ideas coming to him slowly, but they didn’t come to him at all. Anton needed months to compose sheet music, and atleast a week notice if he had to improvise for the class. Everything he did was too refined, devoid of emotion. He blamed it on the classical cello lessons his mother put him in the moment he expressed an interest in music. He believed his young impressionable brain never had the ability to entertain the idea of music before the technical aspect of was shoved down his throat. He never got the luxury of being that kid that banged on pots and pans with abandon because he liked the way it sounded—he was the kid that had a private lessons teacher looming over him with a ruler in case he got anything wrong.

Anton lacked the complex understanding of the ebbs and flows of the music and where modern musicians fit into the crests. He was able to hide his failings as a musician until he made it to university, where each of his teachers seemed to pick up on it like a sixth sense. 

He believed he was cursed when his senior project called for him to write and produce a whole mini album. The technical aspect of it all didn’t frighten him, he knew the ins and outs of producing software. What scared Anton shitless was that he had nothing to produce. He could hear a note and know exactly where it landed but he could never find out why it was that note. What drove someone to sing in minor key instead of major key, what idea popped into someones mind to make something? 

Anton needed creativity if he wanted to graduate. At the very least enough to get him through five songs that were three to five minutes in length. He stayed after hours sitting in a practice room in silence looking for creativity, then he spent time drafting an extremely long and pitiful email to his faculty advisor. 

Right before Anton could press send and reveal his biggest secret, he met his first bandmate. 

(Technically, Anton heard Sohee before he met him. As he edited the final line of his email he heard the distinct voice of someone in the practice room beside his. The soundproof walls couldn’t block the voice next door. Anton perked up, straightening his slouched back as he listened, really listened to the voice next to him. Even when the voice would chip away after losing air or crack when his throat would become strained Anton knew the voice was special. The organic sound was refreshing, it drew Anton in so much that his pitiful email was long forgotten. 

He left the practice room and peaked through the window. He looked at the back of Sohee’s head as he continued to sing, his hand gripping tightly on the music stand in front of him. When Sohee tipped his head back and another beautiful falsetto note bled through the door, Anton walked right in. He was able to connect a face to the voice, someone he had seen before. The nursing major in the music theory class Anton was a teacher’s aide for. Anton remembers Sohee’s reason for joining the class was to fulfill a requirement.)

From there the rest was history. Anton spoke with his foot in his mouth, the sudden idea of having someone sing on his final project coming out in a huff. Sohee looked from side to side before letting a confused huh? ring through the practice room. Anton only repeated himself in the same rushed manner, followed by him mentioning his final project.

Sohee kept the same confused tone and his hand still gripped his music stand from the exertion of hitting high notes as Anton explained his final project. Sohee didn’t really listen until Anton started flexing his knowledge in music, talking about being flatand breath control, things Sohee knew he had trouble with. 

Then, he started listening. He even worked his schedule around ever so slightly to fit their practice and recording sessions into the day. A week later, when the only thing Anton had to show for was song covers, Wonbin came around. He was in the same situation as Anton, up Shit Creek with no paddle and a final project that needed to be finished if he wanted to graduate. 

Everything was luck. Anton was lucky that he was able to turn in a completed mini album for his final project. He was lucky that his teacher practically forced him to upload the album to a streaming platform due to how refined it was for a senior project. Anton was extremely lucky that the blossoming indie community attached themselves to his work. He was lucky that he found his album earn a shining review from Pitchfork, and countless streams on his songs every night. 

Something that was a stroke of luck fueled by energy drinks and the overwhelming feeling of getting a failing grade on a final project made Anton, Sohee, and Wonbin famous. By the time school ended they were on the list of albums to listen to and in the middle of the sweltering heat of the summer the news broke. Senior Project by Unnamed was ranked as the Top 50 Indie Albums of the Decade. 

After that everyone found out about them pretty quickly. Wonbin couldn’t go on MySpace without it crashing. Sohee’s parents called him crying that their son was singing on the radio. Anton’s heart rate hadn’t been a normal BPM since early April.

The pressure to release something and have it be as good as the accident weighed heavy on him. The sole producer of his trio—and the de facto leader—couldn’t make a beat to save his life. The mere thought of sitting down and crafting something left him even more stumped than he was before. 

But before Anton could confess to Sohee and Wonbin that he couldn’t deliver the same way he did on Senior Project, he found out they were all in. Sohee dropped out of medical school and Wonbin quit his day job. Wonbin spent his earnings on a new guitar and Sohee spent his on vocal lessons. Anton was considering spending his money on a one-way plane ticket to Hawaii and never looking back. They couldn’t make you produce an album if they didn’t know where you were. He could’ve been sipping Mai Tai’s looking at the Oahu sunset but instead he sat out on the curb of Sohee’s apartment complex with his head in his hands as Wonbin and Sohee tried to understand what was wrong. 

Anton for the first time in his life voiced that although he was a prodigy, he had nothing to show for it. The confession came out like vomit, splattering on the concrete and warming underneath the sun. Wonbin looked up to the clouds while Sohee twisted his head away in defeat. Anton felt actual bile raise in his throat as grasshoppers rubbed their legs together in the silence.

Wonbin put a hand to his face to block the sun. Anton heard the muffled shock of Sohee saying he dropped out of med school for this. Then, as if lack of creativity could be cured in a weekend, Wonbin gave his recommendation.

“Let’s buy a van and go sleep in the forest. Completely disconnect with the world and reconnect with nature.” 

Wonbin said it so happily, backed with the reasoning that some rock band neither Sohee or Anton had heard of has done it before. Apparently the band went on a societal cleanse and came back to create  one of the best albums ever made.

(Years later, Anton listened to the album and hated Every. Single. Song.)

 In any other instance Anton would’ve called Wonbin crazy, but the lack of an album and the increasing pressure from everyone wanting a new body of work pushed Anton into reluctantly saying yes. So within the week Anton blew some of his earnings on a van, the three packed their bags and went to camp in the dense forest an hour away from their hometown. Wonbin’s words played again and again in Anton’s mind as he stayed in the passenger seat. He looked for creativity in the tall trees. Anton looked for it all and stayed in the front seat in an effort to see it first. 

When the sun no longer gave him light he switched to the flashlight in the glove compartment, keeping it close to his page full of marked out lyrics and mindless ramblings. He couldn’t think of anything else without lingering on each failed attempt. One of the last things that wasn’t crossed out was the tiny print at the bottom of the page. You’re not going to make it stared at him, it caused his flashlight to go out and it made a headache form right in the center of Anton’s head.

He came to the shocking discovery then and there that he was a one hit wonder, that he was lucky to have famous song on that found its way from an obscure streaming site to the biggest social media platform. His unnamed bands overnight success would dwindle within the week, and they would go back to living their regular pedestrian lives.

Anton finally gave up when he made it to the bottom of his page. He let the flashlight take a break in the cupholder between the two front seats and closed his notebook. He opened the glove compartment and slammed it shut a little too hard, not caring a bit when Wonbin groaned from the back of the van. Anton looked back to see Wonbin and Sohee dangerously close to cuddling as they both shared a single blanket on top of the small inflatable mattress. 

Anton turned away and rolled the window down by the plastic crank and stuck his head out as if inspiration would be carried into the van by the gentle wind. He balanced his head on his arm that hung out the window and sighed. He thought about the lyrics Wonbin wrote, how his bandmate had no instrumental to put it over. The sinking feeling Anton got at the thought of Sohee and Wonbin waking up tomorrow even more worried about the future of the band suffocated him. 

He opened the van door and shut it so hard the van rocked. 

Anton tried to find inspiration in the sound of twigs snapping underneath his foot, the absence of sound as the trees blew in the wind. He walked to the side of the van and leaned against it, hoping that something would whisper to him in the dead quiet of the night. 

When nothing came and only the moon shined down on him, Anton let out another sigh. He leaned his head back until he felt the large window of the van press his hair flat. He looked directly up to the moon, the only thing that seemed to be awake like him. The stars in the sky were shining bright, or maybe they were normal—Anton couldn’t remember the last time he looked to the night sky. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands so tight he could feel his nails dig into his palm. He pressed his head against the glass even harder, trying to remember the last time in his life he was so desperate for results. He drew in a breath, parted his lips, and screwed his eyes shut.

“Please give me something.” Anton whispered into the night.

When he opened his eyes he started laughing at himself for how ridiculous he sounded. Wishing on planets and stars for inspiration like he was a child. Talking to God like he wasn’t a man of science. He considered waking up Wonbin and Sohee to tell them that this wouldn’t work out. Dissolving the band before it even has a man, carrying on with their lives like they didn’t have the most downloaded EP on iTunes.

Anton looked down at his hands, spreading out his fingers so far he felt the stretch. These hands could play Flight of the Bumblebee with ease and could write a paper on music theory overnight, how could they not produce a song? Anton looked at the callouses on his fingers in the moonlight, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers to feel something. Everything about him was hard to the touch, but he felt so incredibly soft. Like he was about to cry, despite not being blessed with the talent of music. 

Anton wiggled his fingers again and felt the urge to curse at them. His eyes drifted to the shadow that was cast underneath him onto the ground.

He was still staring at his fingers when the white light of the moon shifted to a muted green. The change was so sudden Anton blinked first, making sure that his eyes weren’t failing him. When he realized the color being casted on him became hidden by the clouds, he looked up to the sky again. He saw something in the sky, a white cloud trailing behind it. Anton followed its path in the sky, walking around the edge of the van as it came closer and closer to making an impact on the Earth.

Anton’s first reaction was to drop his jaw. Then to pound on the side of the van, as if waking up the only two people on the planet more clueless than him would help. He mindlessly followed, stepping on leaves and twigs and tripping over things as he saw the thing come even closer. Right in front of Anton it crashed into the trees, then straight into the ground. Everything moved around him, he went backwards to hide behind the protection of the van. Underbrush was uprooted from the speed of the wind caused by the impact. 

Anton looked bak up to the sky. White moonlight replaced the green. He looked around. The sound of something falling was replaced with the normal sounds of the night. He looked down. The Earth didn’t split down the middle.

“What just happened?” Anton said to himself quietly. 

He peaked past the van, looking right where the crater would be. Past the lining of trees, less than a two minute walk away. Anton should get back in his car and drive away. But the fact that something unbelievable needs to happen to him made him stay in the same spot.

Anton debated for a long time on if he should take a step closer. More leaves and twigs snapped underneath his foot as he crossed by the van entirely. His blood went cold and everything in him told him to turn around. He should put the key in the ignition of his car and drive away. But he took another step. Then another. Anton creeped past the tree line walking like a prey animal. He looked back to the stationary white van behind him. There was still a chance to go back, but the something unbelievable was calling to him. Anton took the last step to make it to the edge of the crater before looking in.

His hair stood on end when he looked down into the impact on the earth. The circumference of the crater was the length of two vans put together, but it was deep. So deep that the bottom was almost hidden by the night. Anton had to bend down close to look deeper. 

When Anton saw something move in the crater, he was gone. He no longer was looking for something unbelievable to happen to him, inspiration be damned. He cleared out of the forest to make it to the van, opening up the back with an incredible amount of speed. The momentum caused the car to shake, and Anton’s hands were on the shoulders of his bandmates in seconds.

“A girl fell from the sky.” Anton said it quickly, shaking Wonbin’s shoulder harshly.

Wonbin tilted his head to the side as Anton continued to relay what he saw. He blinked his eyes once, twice, then a third time as he tried to comprehend what was being said to him.

“Is that the name of the album?” Wonbin said, groggy voiced as he rubbed one of his eyes.

Anton shook his head angrily before trying to catch his breath. 

“Green Comet…” Anton huffed, suddenly realizing his vision was starting to spot. The adrenaline and the confirmed sighting of an extra-terrestrial being made him feel dizzy. “Fell from the sky. She’s in a crater.” He huffed.

When Wonbin moved from the pallet of clothes and blankets, Sohee did the same. His eyes fluttered open but stayed partially closed. His hair was bumped on one side as he also tried making sense of what Anton was saying.

“Are those song titles?” Sohee asked.

His voice was high-pitched and whiny, Anton knew he was angry from the lack of sleep and being woken up in the middle of the night. There were more important things happening. They needed to call the cops, they needed to call the press.

Anton continued shaking his friends awake, but the lack of mentioning a song title, album name, or anything music related made them go back to sleep. Anton watched in dismay as the two laid their heads back down, ignoring and turning away from his hands that were trying to will them awake. The only thing they did was move their shoulders out of his reach, one of them grumbling wake us up when you have a song finished.

Just as Anton was about to climb into the back of the van to shake his bandmates awake, he heard leaves and twigs snap. His full body froze, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his throat was suddenly dry. The spring night suddenly felt cold as he felt a presence behind him.

When Anton first heard a voice, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to acknowledge whoever was speaking to him. He wanted to heave his body into the back of the van and shut the doors behind him. He wanted to speed off back to civilization, at the very least he wanted to scream and wake his bandmates up. But Anton couldn’t do anything, he didn’t move an inch when he felt the presence take another step.

“Where am I?” You repeated

Anton quickly told you that you were in the quiet midwest of America. He said you were on planet Earth, and some other things he forgot now. He was rambling at the mouth, he’s sure he started telling secrets of his own at some point. He’s in a band. He’s a hack. He has no creativity. He’s scared that you’re getting closer. He thinks you’re going to abduct him and probe him and he’s going to be your human prisoner for the rest of his life.

At some point between your first step and your last step, Anton closed his eyes. He prepared for death, his life flashed before his eyes, everything. But then you grabbed his hands. He felt warm all over, his rambling stopped and his fear was replaced with something else. The turbulence in his mind cleared and everything stopped making sound around him. The wind stopped blowing, Wonbin stopped snoring, everything felt peaceful. 

Then, when Anton opened his eyes you were gone. All traces of you vanished into the night. Reality came back slowly. Anton clasped his hands hard, then looked down at them again. He was no different. He wasn’t being beamed up into the sky, he wasn’t hurt. He was suddenly alone again outside, the trees and the sounds came back to him like they never left. He could also clearly hear the beginning chord to a song and a name for his band. 

Anton heard everything, the longer he stared at his hands the more inspiration struck. He heard it all, he could see it all so clearly. The album name, song titles, album covers, music videos. Anton was up for the rest of the night, filling out pages and pages in his notebook until his hand could no longer hold the pen straight.

Sometimes Anton could still feel the pain in his hand from writing all night. He flexed his hand that gripped the railing, closing his palm in on itself before leaning closer to the banister. He looked behind him to his apartment. The studio door was wide open, and had to audibly sigh to try and relieve some of that burden.

The word had dropped nearly three months ago that a new album was coming. A rumor that wasn’t really a rumor, and once people caught wind of it there was no use in denying it. Their recording company was already reaching out about any possible singles. Wonbin started already reinventing himself. Sohee was sending Anton lyrics everyday in hopes of getting the music faster. 

The only way he was able to get a break from everything was to say he needed time to collect and recenter himself. What this meant for his colleagues was to go on a weeklong coke fueled bender. What that meant for Anton was to look at foot traffic in the street below him hoping to see his alien girlfriend-who-is-not-his-girlfriend.

He learned that you would always come when he least expected you to. Washing up on the beach during his vacation to Vietnam. Offering him a wine glass at an industry party. Appearing as room service during his stay at a hotel abroad. He wasn’t sure what summoned you. He was always so used to the feeling of not being inspired that he never knew when he was about to reach a breaking point. 

But you always did.

The first time you appeared and he found you in the forest, when he thought he was going to die but he lived and Venusian and the chords for the first EP was in his head.

The second time you appeared was outside of a diner. Anton spent the whole day disconnected from the world, enjoying an AYCE sushi special instead of finishing the vocal mixing on the first single when you appeared across the street. Locked in the phone booth right in Anton’s line of sight the moment he lifted his head from his salmon roll. 

He thought he was seeing things at first. By this point in time he had convinced himself that seeing you in the forest was the product of starvation, anxiety, and sleep deprivation. In the morning when he finally got Sohee and Wonbin to come and see where you landed, they said it was only the beginnings of a construction site. So Anton told himself you were just a very real figment of his imagination. But across the street you were very real and you were beckoning for him to come to you.

In the phone booth, Anton finally had a conversation with you. Cramped in after you pulled him inside you two had a formal interaction. To offset how normal the greeting was you told him you were not from this planet. Anton thought he was imagining things again. He shook his head and smiled waiting for the punchline of your joke, and an actual explanation as to why you fell from the sky and asked where you were so honestly. 

Anton doesn’t remember speaking very much in the phone booth. His first reaction was to shiver from the feeling of the hairs raising on the back of his neck. His second was to deny you not being from this planet. You talked like a human, you smelled like a human, you looked like a human. Then you said something ridiculous like being human is relative, which ended up being a track name on Venusian’s first full length album She Fell From the Sky.

(Anton could’ve named the album My Girlfriend Fell From the Sky Because She is an Alien and no one would’ve done anything about it. No one second guesses the names or titles indie bands use for their titles, but giving you the title of girlfriend seemed a little presumptuous.)

He found out on your third visit when you knocked on his door in a private studio that you kissed better than any human being ever has. You two kissed better than people could, all of his past experiences and stories he heard paled in comparison. The way you leaned in close, hovering over him while he basically shook in his office chair. You looked so beautiful standing above him, you smiled to ease him into you. You pressed your lips to his so softly and his hands went to your waist, holding onto you. You weren’t able to disappear into thin air. That night you kissed Anton goodbye, he was able to see you leave, and he was able to get you to promise you’d come back. 

When you closed the studio door behind you, Anton did what any artist would do. He turned the situation he found himself in to profit. All the confusion and love and lust from an alien he’s met a handful of times, who appears and disappears on her own accord. An alien who always knows where he is and when he needs her. Always smells so good, and looks at him so intensely it literally sparks creativity. Someone who his bandmates thinks is fake. He put all of that—and much more—into the second album. My Girlfriend is an Alien. A little on the nose, but it was green lit nonetheless. The album featured tracks such as i hope you’re real, please meet my friends, imaginary friend, and star/meteor. 

On the fourth visit Anton found out you were a fan. He knew because you liked the song come to my apartment next time, and no one liked that song. A dud on the album but something you felt like was just for you. You called him on the phone in his hotel across the world, just when he was about to fall asleep. You talked to him but didn't tell him where you were, it sounded like you were driving or laying in bed and kicking your feet and writing in your journal. Before you could hang up and disappear for an undisclosed amount of time he had questions ready. In his notebook next to lyrics he looks at the chicken scratch in the margins, the hotel phone caught between his shoulder and ear as he made sure to speak clearly into the receiver.

“Will you come when I ask you to?” 

“No.” 

“Will you come when I need you to?”

“Yes.”

“How will I know when you will be here?”

“You don’t.”

“What’s your favorite song by Venusian?”

That was the question that stumped you. You were silent for a moment, the crackling sound of a connection. Anton looked at the lamp on the bedside table, staring at it until it left an imprint in his vision. He thought the line had disconnected before you spoke.

“The ones you write about me, of course.”

All of them were about you, he couldn't tell you that before you told him that you loved him and had to go. Without a doubt in Anton’s mind, every song was about you. Even when Wonbin wrote the lyrics, they were always about an elusive figure that was appearing in and out of someone’s life. When Sohee wrote lyrics, they were about wanting something. On the rare occasion the song wasn’t about you, the bands name itself was a homage to you. He never asked if you were from Venus because he thought it'd be rude, but he wished on that planet before you came down in a crater his bandmates thought was a construction site.

He couldn’t escape you, but no one even knew you existed. Sometimes Anton didn’t even know you existed. He searched harder in the street. He saw a school teacher finally heading home. Someone with a coffee cup, spilling it on themselves because they were walking too fast. Taxi driver smoking on the corner, letting possible clients pass him to hop in the cars of his competition. A woman walking down the sidewalk, past the smoker and the school teacher and the spill on the person shirt. Her pace got slower and slower until she came to a stop right in front of his building.

Anton looked further down, leaning even closer to the banister. The metal railing pressed into his stomach, going right through his thin shirt as he looked down. Foot traffic continued around her. From the high floor of Anton's apartment his hair started blowing, whipping forward and closing his eyes. The woman in front of Anton's apartment building was unmoving, so was he. If Sohee was here he would've believed it to be the paparazzi, Wonbin would've thought it was a coincidence. But Anton knew before you looked up. The hat and sunglasses you had on obstructed the view of your face, but Anton knew. All you had to do was point towards the front door before Anton was turning on his heel, running through his apartment until he made it to the front door.

Anton cleared his apartment a little too fast to ring you up. He kept his eyes glued to the front camera of the building as you walked up the steps. When the buzzer sounded off you smiled, pulling at the large door before you walked out of frame of the camera. 

Anton imagined you coming up the stairs. He swore he could hear you from floors away, your heeled shoes coming through his apartment building as you made your way to him. He could hear the elevator music from his living room, and he could see you looking at the red number climb until you were at his floor. He wasn’t sure how you knew, but you always knew. He stopped asking questions long ago. He was just so happy to see you, a relieved smile coming across his face as he opened his door to you standing there.

“Did you miss me?” You asked.

Anton nodded, pulling you by your arm to get you to come inside. He learned to not waste time when you were here. No more shy greetings or acting amazed when you’d show up. He learned to think about your surprise appearance when he was alone. He helped you take off your hat and shades to put it on the table at the entryway. He guided your jacket off of your arms as you looked up to the high ceilings.

“This place is so big just for one person.” You said quietly.

Anton didn’t know how you lived. He didn’t know where you lived either. Venus was the presumed place, but it could've been the moon. Both were visible when he made his wish that night. He didn’t know if millionaire musicians lived in gigantic lofts by themselves where you came from. He could’ve had roommates. Sohee and Wonbin always wanted to stay with him during the album creation process, to really get involved in the body of work. Venusian tours made Anton encounter his fair share of groupies that wanted him. He could’ve had one of them as a live in girlfriend that uses his money to buy drugs and his fame as an aphrodisiac. But Anton preferred to live alone, even if he had a guest room littered with things he’d think you like in between your visits.

Anton continued guiding your jacket off, then the fleece button up you had on underneath. You always complained about the cold. Anton imagined wherever you came from was always in an eternal spring compared to the frigid weather here. You liked the weather in Puerto Vallarta the most. You came to Anton on a pool floatie saying you could get used to the weather here. You hated it the most in Germany. You emerged from a snow bank when Anton was leaving the convenience store late at night. You were shaking like a leaf then, and Anton gave you his jacket and had to spend the whole night warming you up.

(At first the sentiment was innocent. He offered you all the blankets his room had to offer, and then you said you needed body heat. His huffs of hot air was sticking to your skin, and you were clinging to him for dear life. He repeated how badly he wanted to warm you up as he covered his body with yours, and hushed you over and over again when you were running out of breath. You were both sweating by the time the Sun came up, and then you said you were finally warm enough to go home.)

He knows you probably hate the weather now. But you bite your tongue to stop you from saying how cold it is even when you’re shivering. You just walk fully into Anton’s living room, sitting in the middle of the couch before you tap the spot next to you.

Anton is uninspired. He’s not creative. That’s why you’re here. Offering your magic touch again, his next Grammy nomination and wave of accolades is waiting for him on his large couch.

He follows in your footsteps, discarding his robe on the chair next to the couch. In his plain black tee and sweats Anton gets on the couch, climbing on until he rests his head in your lap. Even with all this space he’s too big. His foot dangles over the edge of the couch, and you let out a soft grunt when he lays his head on you. He doesn’t care because this is enough. When your fingers massage his scalp he closes his eyes, trying to will the stress away.

Anton felt you stir underneath him, and he already felt the stress coming back. He instinctually reached a hand to your arm, trying to keep you there. When he realized you were only repositioning yourself his hand left your wrist, going to his chest. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt and hummed the beginning of a song.

He looked forward as your hands carded through his hair, flattening out the bits that were sticking up.

“Where were you this time?” Anton asked.

“Your kind haven't discovered it yet. But I came back pretty fast this time, didn't I?” You asked.

Anton nods his head against your fingers because you did come back faster this time. When Venusian was just beginning you used to appear every week, when the band was at its peak the longest Anton was left waiting for you was two years. Before you showed up at his apartment today you called him over the phone a month and a half ago. Your voice crackled through the speakers and you sounded like you were somewhere far away. Anton almost asked you if there was reception on Venus, but instead he decided to put it in a song. Not knowing the answer made him look for it himself, and that’s how he came up with the idea of the first single for Venusian’s upcoming album. 

Anton remembers the last conversation you guys had over the phone. He asked you if you were real for the hundredth time and you laughed before saying yes. He asked if you’re real why can’t he reach out and touch you and you said he would just have to save it for next time. So Anton opens his eyes and reaches up with one hand, until he can feel your cheek underneath his fingers. His other hand wraps around your hand in his hair, and he keeps eye contact with you while you look down at him. It’s really not fair that you get to come and go as you please. You should stay here with him, be his live-in alien girlfriend who helps him write music. You wouldn’t even have to do housework, he’d hire someone to do that. He can get whatever people eat on Venus shipped right to his doorstep just for you.

Anton holds you tighter, there’s silence and you moving your legs underneath his head again. From this spot on your lap all Anton can focus on is you. You two are floating in space together, holding eachother’s hands. Anton thinks about a spaceship and then Star Trek, and then the parts of you that he couldn’t touch over the phone. He was telling you about it long after the phone call suddenly disconnected until he was shaking and his body was covered in sweat. 

“How’s the music thing going?” You asked.

The question was asked just to fill the silence, because you wouldn’t be here if Anton wasn’t struggling with the music thing. If Anton could finish the mixing on this song you’d still be floating around space somewhere and Venusian’s latest album would’ve already hit streaming platforms. 

Anton sits up from your lap and your hands combing through his hair. Even though he lets go of your hands he still feels them close, and when he turns around to face you on the couch you have them pressed in the space between your two bodies. You look like you want to reach out and touch him. Anton feels your pull, he sees your eyes focus on him after running down his body. He put his hands on your shoulders then your face, forcing you to look at him and only him. 

“It’s going well.” He couldn’t believe that your face was already becoming hot to the touch. Anton watched you become so bothered you didn’t correct his lie, only nodding against his hand. “Did you hear the new single?” He asked.

Anton watched your hands finally leave the edge of the couch to go to his thighs. Nothing about you was alien. He knew you well, he knew your hands would go underneath his shirt to touch his soft stomach. Anton knew you’d look down first then to him as you let your head rest in the palm of his hand. 

“It was pretty. Felt like you were singing to me.” 

“Well,” Anton trained himself to never answer the question directly when he’d be asked who his muse was. Wonbin always said he sang about love he never found and Sohee said he was singing about an idea. “who else would I be singing to?” Anton 

“Thought maybe you went out and got yourself a girlfriend.” You say.

Anton smiled to hearing that. Like he wasn’t waiting everyday for you to materialize. He could never waste his time dating when he spent all of it waiting for you and making music. He only shook his head, bringing you closer by the hold on your face. 

“I was thinking about you the whole time.”

“Oh yeah?” Your hand left his hair after pulling it one last time. Anton looks up at you sideways as you tilt your head. “I was thinking about you too."

He knows he's being dramatic, because just the thought of you somewhere thinking of your human boyfriend makes him smile. He already thinks of a bonus track for the album think about me will be the title, and he will get Wonbin to write something beautiful about a couple in love. He'll pair it with a beat that's light and sounds like someone's dreams, then end it with the sound of a phone disconnecting. He might even pair it with a music video.

"What were you thinking about when you were thinking about me?" You ask.

Anton has done this dance with you plenty of times. He knows that you’re here to breathe creativity into him, like the fate of his world depends on it. Fuck or die, fuck or never make another song again—it’s the same thing in Anton’s mind. But he still falls victim to your ability to raise the tension, like it was the first time all over again. Back then he was all nerves, thinking about music and how you were his sign from the universe that everything would be alright. He spent more time on his knees than he ever did in his life, he was drained but you kept wanting more. Sometimes Anton can remember the exhaustion vividly, and he also remembers when he woke up the next morning he knew exactly what he was going to do for that collaboration with his favorite artist.

You’re here now, countless save-his-career fucks later and still looking at him like you haven’t gotten enough. He sits up from your lap and turns to face you.

“I was thinking about the last time I saw you,” Anton’s hands start moving to the side of your face then down to your waist. You’re already moving to straddle him. “and you did that think I really like.” He continues.

Anton watches you look down at him and he wonders what’s going on in your head. He remembers last time you were here and you said sincerely he should get a girlfriend. He asked if you had a boyfriend on Venus but recanted his question immediately, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the answer. He has been making happy music as of late and didn’t want to change that.

Now you looked at him like he was delicate, your little human boy toy you entertained between periods of floating around space.

“I was thinking I just need you so I can get inspiration for this song.” He didn’t mind if he was nothing but an intergalactic booty call. Sometimes it felt like you did things for his benefit, like showing up at to him when he needed you the most. Your hands went to his face and he felt his heart stop. He swears he doesn’t mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you Anton, it’s all you?” You started letting your hips rest heavy on his lap, and he could feel how warm you were all around him. You can say all you want that your fingertips don’t have magical powers, but he has already found a chord for the lyrics Sohee sent him the other day. “You’re talented, just stressed and—” He presses your hips deeper into his, until you feel him twitching in his pants. “You’re already hard?”

Anton is helpless against you. You’re extra-terrestrial, that has already been established, but there’s something more. The planet Venus must have blessed you with powers. Anton's hand goes to the back of your neck and brings you closer.

“I just need a little bit more.” Anton murmurs against your lips.

Before you can speak Anton brings his other hand to reach into your pants, pushing his hand in your panties. Instantly you arched from the touch, when he applied pressure you swiveled your hips. He’s been here before, he’s been here a million times. An intergalactic booty call on his Italian leather sofa. You're already doing the thing he likes, where you whimper and push your tongue into his mouth. The simple action makes him already falter, becoming your puppet so easily.

Anton doesn’t know what you have in store for him. After discovering he was already hard the look in your eye changed, and your idea of comforting his feelings of inadequacy shifted to something different. 

He’s been holed up in this apartment for more than a week, and he hadn’t made a new friend in God knows how long. Anton forgot how to interact with people beyond his bandmates, and he felt ill-equipped to keep the conversation going with an alien. You’re here, getting off of his lap until his hands follow after you and you’re standing in front of him. When the coffee table is too close to you Anton wastes no time pushing it away with his foot, giving you enough space in front of him. You don’t say anything about it, instead bringing your hands to the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head.

Your shirt is balled in your hands then it’s obstructing Anton’s vision. He pulls it into his lap too quick to see you messing with the waistband of your jeans, shimmying out of it before pushing it down your legs. You came all the way from Venus in a matching set, all for him. He’s lied by saying he just needs a little more. Whatever happens each time you leave has only made him worse, and only makes him crave more. Each time you leave he’s left with a sense of this being the last time. 

When you come back to him in your bra and panties he’s too rash. Instead of guiding you to his lap Anton  gets on his back. He doesn’t tell you what he needs when you try to adjust to the sudden change. When you still try to go to his lap Anton’s hand on your wrist stops you. You look at Anton and it takes both of you too many dragging seconds to see what Anton is silent hinting at. He’s missed your touch, your voice, and your taste. When you realize it your eyebrows are raised nearly to your hairline, and he’s still guiding your body towards his face. 

From that point everything happened pretty fast. You asked Anton a million times if he was sure and said yes without fail. When you finally situated yourself with your knees on either side of his head, he knew this was what he needed. The skewed perspective of you down here, his hands on your thighs trying to guide you down. Feeling you cage him in and you taking up all his senses was what he needed. But you were still unsure, even with Anton’s eyes honing in on the pretty pattern of the panties he was determined to eat through you hesitated above him.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t breathe right?” You fought against his hands trying to bring you down. Every breath he took fanned your heat, he could already see the fabric forming to you. “I really couldn’t deal with the guilt if I killed you.” You said.

Anton thought this would be an amazing way to die. Suffocating between thighs and drowning in you. Could aliens be persecuted on Earth? Would you just go back to Venus and never come back?

“Anton.” He looked from your heat back up to you. You tried leaning back to see more of his face but his hold on you kept you in place. “Are you listening to me?” You asked.

“Yes. I’m listening.” He almost went crosseyed focusing back on your center. One of your hands went to grip the armrest past Anton’s head, preemptively giving yourself something to stabilize your body with. He dragged his words out, purposefully letting his breath fan your clammy skin. You were twitching for him already. He pulled you down again. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

He was grateful his plea was what made you give in. One more tug at your thighs and you were lowering yourself on his mouth, and Anton was sticking out his tongue to lave your panties that covered your clit. He felt you hovering your weight above his head, scared to give him all of it, then he pushed your panties to the side. Almost immediately Anton felt more of your weight and your thighs close around his head. He felt your body lean forwards and he heard your exasperated breath, then a whimper that told him you were getting used to this. He lifted you only a second to drop you directly on his tongue, and he started sucking and licking whatever he could touch. 

Your thighs were shaking around his head, and Anton was becoming increasingly aware of his own body. His dick was twitching in his pants, with each jump or sound you made he was beginning to feel the tension rising along his entire body. He needed more. He was almost there, he almost had the chord or the arrangement. Revelation was on the tip of his tongue. Anton's fingers kept your underwear pushed to the side, he could feel the wet cotton sticking to the side of his face. He hummed again, and you pitched forward to grab the armrest of his couch for stability.

"Do you want me to touch you?" You asked the question quickly. You two made eye contact, his words of just needed you to get off was trapped between your legs. Even if you heard him he knew it'd be lost on him. You were too giving, and he revealed that one of his favorite things in this life was when you'd touch him.

You push yourself from the armrest of the couch and reach behind you, instantly pressing into the bulge. He's so strung up stimulation feels like pain, he's ready to pop at any moment. He hasn't been touched since he saw you last, and he couldn't think of doing anything for himself when you weren't here. Part of being from a different world must mean that your touch goes right through fabric. When your hand cups over his pants it's like you're gripping him in your own hands.

Whatever it is you're doing to him is too juvenile for him to cum first. It almost becomes a competition, he becomes greedy. He tongues you until he pushes past the ring of muscle, sucking on whatever his lips touch. Anton pushed on your ass until it pushed you forward, where his nose bumped your clit. His other hand wrapped around the top of your thigh and pushed you back. He repeated the motion, sucking harder each time your body hitched from you bumping into his nose. When he stopped guiding you Anton was grateful you abandoned more of your inhibitions to repeat the motions on your own. He was grateful that his pleasure became an after thought. You abandoned his dick completely to lean forward again, to press your hand to your lower stomach to really focus grinding on his face. Anton could feel you over his body, but your slick coated his chin. You You were making a mess on his lips too, moaning louder than the sounds he was making between your legs. 

Anton was too busy watching the way your stomach tensed and relaxed each time you ground your hips on his face that he was getting lost. Between notes and songwriting and everything else he was grinding against nothing, his legs draped over the other end of the couch and his body tensed up. You were becoming rigid above him too, your hand in his hair pulled roughly as your body came increasingly heavy on his lips. Anton still drove you forward, until your clit bumped his nose over and over again. You shifted on top of him to fully ride his face, bucking on him over and over.

"Close." You whimpered. Anton felt your hand grip his hair, keeping him in place. He was getting smothered by you, your thighs came close to his face and kept him caged in. "Close, Ton. You're always so good for me."

Anton nodded and continued the motion. He guided you easily, through your body shaking above him. He still continued to suck, until your thighs shook around his head. When you looked down at him Anton kept going, even when you tried lifting your body again he kept you there. He was so close, he just needed a little more. His hands on your waist was rough, he could see your skin dimpling underneath his fingers. He vocalized how he needed you to hold on, but it was hard to break through your noises and how your body was muffling him. 

When you finally froze above him, Anton could taste all of you. He continued sucking even when you pulled even harder at his hair. You had to shake your head and cry out to finally get him to stop. You melted above him, it was Anton who had to lift you off of his face. He watched you stagger on your knees forward, he tiled his head to follow your movements until you were leaning against the edge of the couch.

Both of you had to catch your breath. Anton sat up fully to see you mold into the couch, your chest raising and lowering. He was a little bit more composed, save for the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his entire face glistening with you and sweat.

"Did that help with your writers block?"

Suddenly, everything hits Anton at once. He stands up from the couch, still painfully hard and face flushed, leaving you in your seat. Anton peaks past the doorway of his bedroom to stare directly at you.

"Don't leave." He says quickly before disappearing past the doorframe.

Anton woke up from the sun coming through his window. He forgot to draw the blinds last night, leaving him blinking and already fighting through a headache. He blinked to try and adjust to the light, moving from his side to the other. His door was open. He remembered closing it last night. He also remembered you being on the bed next to him, but he went to sleep knowing you wouldn’t be here in the morning. Still while he faced the open door his other hand mindlessly ran over the spot you were laying last night. He still felt a crater in the sheets where you laid and he swore you left your perfume there too. When he took a deep breath in he could smell you, and he could still taste you too. 

When he looked past the open door he could see the mess you two left in the living room. There was a moment you two were having a heart to heart and the next you were pushing things off the coffee table. His expensive glass fruit bowl was surely chipped if not broken, and he had his throw pillows and blankets laying on the floor. He was still waking up when the buzzing sound from across the bed pulled his attention back to his room. Anton had to crawl over your side of his bed to his nightstand, unplugging his phone and mindlessly unlocking it.

He meandered on the homescreen, blinking constantly as he tried to jumpstart his mind. He even looked away from his phone completely for a moment, focusing on the quiet of his room as he let his thoughts come back to him. He remembered what he was doing the moment his eyes landed on his home studio. He looked at the turn tables and his computer screen that was still awake. He still had the file he was working on open. Anton recalled the song as he clicked on Wonbin’s phone number in his call log.

Anton brought his phone to his face and listened to it ring. He went back down to laying on his bed, one side pressed into the mattress as he kept his phone balanced on the other side. Anton even let his eyes close again as the phone continued to ring. He let out a yawn, fully expecting to catch Wonbin’s voicemail instead of catching him.

“I was calling you last night.” Wonbin says.

Anton still keeps his eyes closed as he hums an acknowledgment into the transmission. Wonbin doesn’t continue to pry even at the clear sign of disrespect, both of them already know what Anton is about to say.

“I have a new song.” Anton could practically hear Wonbin on the other end of the line sigh in relief. Anton imagined Sohee was there with him, the two crowded around the receiver of the phone trying to see who can hear the good news first. He imagines the two of them hitting eachother in excitement at the thought of releasing something new. Anton opens his eyes to look at his computer screen again. He finally feels the embarrassment as he recalls the inspiration he got for the song. He clears his throat, trying to will the memories away. “Come by and I can play it for you guys.” He says.

Anton didn’t have time to clean up his place before the two of them arrived. It seemed as though Wonbin and Sohee were waiting on his call. Within ten minutes he already got the text from Wonbin that they were outside. Anton only had five minutes to light an incense and try to desperately clean up the mess you two made the night prior. He ended up stuffing somethings into his closet, there were still shards of glass on the floor when the two were knocking on his door. 

When Anton opened his door the two barely spared a greeting, instead making a beeline past Anton’s mess of a common area to his bedroom. He saw Wonbin’s attention scatter across his terribly cleaned mess, speaking over his shoulder as Anton closed the distance between them.

“Your place usually isn’t this much of a mess, Anton.” Wonbin says casually.

Anton watches Wonbin’s attention stay on the jostled throw pillows and blanket on his couch. Anton’s face heats up when he remembers the night before. After you rode his face, the rest of the night was a blur. What you two did after that came in snatches. When Anton followed Wonbin’s gaze around his apartment he remembered it. Your hand planted on the back of the couch and the other clutching at the armrest as he fucked you from behind. He remembered the feeling of your sweaty shoulder clasped in his palm as he kept you driving backwards and the way you looked back at what he was doing to you.

“This usually happens to artists when they work on a project.” Sohee says matter-of-factly. 

Wonbin stops walking and looks at the back of Sohee’s head. Anton stops behind Wonbin and Sohee stops right before he walks past the threshold of Anton’s door. 

Anton feels like at any moment their attention will go to the mess and ask why it looks like a tornado ripped through his apartment. Anton almost feels relief that the two decided to bother eachother instead.

Anton watches Sohee give Wonbin his snooty know-it-all look, the one that always drives Wonbin crazy. Instead of responding, Wonbin only drives his finger into Sohee’s side. Sohee instinctually reaches forward to return the favor, causing Wonbin to back up on reflex before reaching forward to try and prod his side again. Anton watches the two of them try and fight. 

They don’t stop until Anton clears his throat and points towards his room. Almost immediately Sohee and Wonbin come to their senses to walk towards Anton’s room. Wonbin pokes Sohee’s side one more time as a joke, causing all three of them to laugh.

When Sohee goes into Anton’s room, he heads to the bed first. Anton tries to be calm seeing Sohee sit in the same spot on the edge of the bed you occupied not even twelve hours ago. Sohee unknowingly sets his backpack next to him, right on top of the pile where your discarded clothes rested before. Anton had to push past Wonbin, remaining neutral as he prepped the song to be played.

Anton trailed behind the two of them, and had to remain neutral at the sight of Wonbin doing a once over of the ground. Anton panicked and did the same, praying that he picked up all evidence of the night he had. When Wonbin���s eyes lingered on a crumbled shirt that looked a size to small, Anton cleared his thought. When his face went hot again he focused back on the computer, letting the sound of Sohee moving on his unmade bed fill the silence.

“When’d you finish this?” Sohee asked.

Anton looked back briefly. He saw Sohee playfully kick his feet that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed as he leaned back onto the mattress. Anton forced himself to focus on clicking through the files on his desktop not looking back again. 

“Uhm. Last night.” Anton mumbled.

He felt bad for his non-assuming friend, how he had no idea he sat in the same spot where you were pathetically drooling onto his mattress the night before. The thought made Anton the complete opposite of how he was in that moment, he could only shyly nod his head when Sohee made a sound of acknowledgment.

Wonbin moved to the same spot beside the bed where Anton got down on his knees and draped your legs over his shoulders.

“Let’s hear it.” He said.

Anton pressed play and adjusted the volume, letting the beginning play. As the instrumental picked up Anton sheepishly described the type of song he had in mind for the beat. He prayed Sohee and Wonbin didn’t pick up on the deep bass immediately. He tried desperately to beat around the bush to such an extent that Sohee and Wonbin would come up with their own interpretation. 

“It’s on the slower side, but I think we could have really hard hitting lyrics here.” Anton said while making an encompassing motion with his hands.

Anton was grateful that his bandmates didn’t notice the flustered tone or his nervous habit of speaking with his hands. Sohee was thinking about the vocal color he needed for this song and Anton could already see Wonbin crafting the lyrics in his head. The true inspiration of the song seemed to go over their heads for a moment—Anton started easing as they nodded along approvingly to the beat. 

He believed he was in the clear, but when the chorus of the song came around and the sound of a bed creaking played through the speakers of Anton’s computer his bandmates froze. Anton saw Sohee and Wonbin exchange a side eye. Sohee’s legs that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed stopped kicking suddenly and his head tilted to the side. Wonbin’s mouth dropped and he pulled his hand away from his face. 

Both of them were pulled from their reverie, looking up from the ground to look Anton dead in the eye.

“What type of song is this?” Wonbin asked.

Anton watched Sohee slowly turn around to take in Anton’s unmade bed. He could practically saw the lightbulb go off above his bandmates head as he watched Sohee look over the jostled covers and the folded pillow still laying in the center of the bed. Sohee slowly lifted his hands from the mattress and sat upright and turned back to Anton just as slow.

“No way.” Sohee says in disbelief.

At Anton’s reddening face and Sohee’s agape mouth Wonbin did a once over again. When the lightbulb went off over his head he begins laughing so hard he has to bend over and hold his chest. 

“Unbelievable.” Wonbin wipes the tears from his face. “Unbelievable.”

[ynnie631]

┆𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐬 : ratio

summary .☘︎ ݁˖⊹ surely a scholar like Veritas Ratio is acknowledged by Nous, the being and path who represents intelligence— but no, his assistant is the one who was acknowledged.

not proofread - ratio might be ooc - shitty writing w.c .☘︎ ݁˖ 2.3 (oneshot)

Veritas Ratio is a man known for his many achievements in the world of geniuses.

He is renowned as a genius. One of the few who excels in various fields, achieving countless memoirs and documentaries all dedicated to his theses and innovations.

Despite being an undergraduate in the Department of Mathematics at Cosmos Liberty University, his mastery of math, physics, and even philosophy has far surpassed the requirements for an undergraduate degree in many universities.

Veritas Ratio has managed to solve complex mathematical equations at an unexpected speed. His understanding of concepts that had other undergraduates in his class struggle to comprehend, displaying his utter intelligence in the span of a few system hours.

He has shown remarkable perception, curiosity, and creativity that everyone expects from a ‘genius’

Veritas Ratio is the utter embodiment of intelligence.

It was only a matter of time before Nous, the astral–intelligent computer who ascended into godhood, took notice of him— his accomplishments that transcended the research of this era.

So, imagine his surprise when his former undergraduate, now his current academic assistant, receives the recognition he believes he deserves.

His finger twitches, his plaster head masking the scowl of disdain.

He remembers you.

The timid, quiet undergraduate. Always scribbling notes and asking questions he found painfully obvious. He’d scoff every time your hand went up, disrupting the class with your need for clarification.

Yes, you were timid— but never shy. As if shame was never in your vocabulary at all.

If he asked you to speak to a random stranger, you’d hesitate only for a moment— then agree, not out of obedience, but from curiosity. You’d narrow your eyes, observe your target, note every detail down to what was hidden at first glance.

Within seconds, you’d formulate a plan. (all that for conversing? wow.)

Awkward, yes. But undeterred.

You were part of the students who struggled with complex lessons. You’d linger after lectures, poring over formulas with your head tilted, as though the numbers didn’t daunt you; As though those lessons deserved your time and energy.

There were even times when you’d challenge the phrasing of his definitions— not out of arrogance, but from a need to understand. To dissect, to touch the concept from every angle.

He hated it. Hated how shameless you were.

You’d meet his contempt with mild interest, as if it didn’t register— or worse, it didn’t matter. As if his name, his theories, his accolades, were just that: names, not meanings.

You didn’t revere knowledge the way others did.

You wrestled with it.

And now, years later, you stand across the room with that same quiet poise. The same narrowed eyes scan and calculate. Your lips curl into an innocent smile as your gaze flickers to the letter in his hand.

The Genius Society’s official seal emblazoned in the corner of the invitation letter. A certificate of recognition.

But the name— it wasn’t acknowledging his— It was written to acknowledge yours.

A letter of invitation. A commendation. Yours.

It irks him.

For a moment, he wonders if it was sent to him by mistake— or it was set to mock him. He exhales, slow and controlled, as if to expel the irrational emotion that twists in his chest.

Envy.

How ironic, a voice laughs inside his head. Foreign and sharp against the data that pulsed through his thoughts. He of all people— plagued by such a base emotion.

Again, he exhales. Slow and controlled. A man like him is never swayed by base emotions.

“Congratulations.” he says, handing you the invitation. You approach with long strides, your fingers brushing past his as you accept the letter.

You read the content with skepticism— gasping as you realized the invitation’s worth.

“I can only assume that your work was nothing more than…” he pauses, drumming his fingers against his biceps.

“…uniquely insightful.” his finishes, eyes narrowing as he recalls the inaccuracies in your past reports— the misspellings, and meandering logic, the endless tangents.

He pauses for a brief second, fingers concluding its incessant drum.

He scoffed internally. How ironic. Veritas Ratio, the hyper–logical, contentious, and driven by the standards of intellectual merit—succumb to envy?

Unlikely. Completely and utterly improbable.

But— he rationalized. A thought that blooms an ache to his temple— such chances are heightened by his mortality.

“Thank you, Dr. Ratio.” you smile, earnest and kind, “Honestly? I didn’t even think it was possible… I did mislabel some of the diagrams… oh! Not to mention the misspellings—”

“Ah, yes. Such inaccuracies that beg the reason on why you were chosen.” sarcastic and blunt. That’s how the scholar is… but this time, his voice was laced by a different inflection.

A tone you can’t quite decipher.

You blink, your lips parting in confusion before slowly curling into a sheepish smile. “Y–yeah… I don’t even understand how I was chosen.”

He hums, noncommittally. “Neither do I.”

Silence. It’s uncomfortable and tense.

You try to force a smile, a laugh.

Anything that would ease the growing anxiety. You were used to his direct and somewhat arrogant self— after all, you’ve been his assistant for ages.

You try to rationalize it. Excusing his actions as just his usual self—

“Would you humor me?” he tilts his head, expression unreadable behind the plaster head.

—Humor…?

Oh…!

He was trying to joke with you!

“Have you brought the reports, like I’ve told you to?” ah, so he was scolding you.

You laugh nervously, lips pursed and apologetic. “Actually— about that…” he loudly sighed, waving his hand for you to continue.

“I brought it!”

“And where have you placed it exactly?”

You winced, looking elsewhere, “So… that’s the thing… I kind of forgot where. Haha.”

Veritas Ratio was calculating— that much is certain.

For days on end, he’d test you, observe you.

Gauging your potential despite the gnawing stir of envy— for he of all people knew better than to dim the light of someone with the wit and integrity to transcend this era’s research even further.

Dissecting you proved fruitful.

With his calculations, he hypothesized your clumsy–forgetful nature as a farce. A mask that conceals your true nature, derived from your timid self and quiet nature… he deduced that once your relation with an occupant increases, your persona lifts.

Revealing the genius that he, and a few others, had once perceived as idiotic.

He would never admit it— not now, at least— but he respects you. You’ve earned it.

An equal he can call upon to aid in his studies. Something rare that he, Veritas Ratio himself, could have never believed…

“Oh! So, the equation would turn out as…” with a few flicks and twists of your pen, you came to the exact solution he had written in his head.

He smiles, satisfied with your process, hidden underneath his mask.

“Impressive.” swiftly moving to his papers strewn along his desk. “Not many can keep up with the tempo of my thoughts.”

Envy would not become him. Rather, that redundant base emotion would only further his pursuit to distribute knowledge.

Starting with you.

With a few refinements in different sectors of your disposition, he can turn you into the perfect paradigm of rational brilliance—

“Oh wow…” you reply, surprised at his praise. You smile bashfully, “err– thank you, Dr. Ratio!”

“Try not to get used to it.” he scoffs, scanning the labeled papers he had assigned to Margaret— anything to divert attention from the faint uptick in his pulse.

The corner of his mouth threatens a smirk, but he suppresses it beneath his mask of stoicism.

With a few refinements in different sectors of your disposition, he can turn you into the perfect paradigm of rational brilliance— Not as a mere assistant, but a culmination.

His magnum opus.

During his time at CLU, he remembers a specific lesson his professor taught in psychology. It bordered on philosophy but strained against the concept as it relied more on the person’s opinion.

Their world view.

And so, his professor states that: Curiosity lies embedded in the precipice of the mortal soul. When fed with reason, it evolves to culmination, birthing ideas that stir and swell into innovation. Whether such revolution brought life of misery or wonder, it remains a means to an end.

An end to where that same curiosity lies and festers like the mara–struck— a disease that spreads like fungus: sprouting its leaves through the bloodstream. The infected physicality mutates, hosting branches and vines that taint the mind and soul, each fiber straining and bleeding until the thoughts that run amok are flashes of pain.

The fears that haunt them, the trauma that scarred them, are forever etched into their sight.

Chasing, taunting, and mongering fear— forcing their instincts to fight.

It’s cancerous in growth, erratic in form, until the mind forgets and hungers for what might be.

But in those moments of turmoil and piercing lucidity— those maddening flashes of perceived truth— their reasons become twisted. Unnatural.

At first, the comparison of mara-struck was strange. Unfitting.

Ratio vividly remembers raising his hand to question the integrity of the lesson. Why was it so important for undergraduates to learn about curiosity? They were in university for god’s sake.

It was a base emotion, natural and understood without explanation.

But his professor answered with a chuckle, that by “due time” his students will understand his reasons, its importance.

Ratio would admit. He never understood his professor nor its importance.

But then— he remembers you.

The timid, quiet undergraduate. Always scribbling notes and asking questions he found painfully obvious.

The same undergraduate he revered with that same interest his professor spoke in a strange metaphor.

It is said that curiosity evolves toward culmination, and when fed by reason, by desire. Such revolution brings life of misery or wonder.

It remains a means to an end.

An end that Veritas Ratio deems impossible.

He knew the risks well. If his studies allowed leeway for such base, redundant emotions, his whole purpose— his mission, would lack the precision he seeks to uphold.

Disregarding what the lesson entailed, Ratio wholly believes curiosity is a mark of brilliance— his gaze turns to you.

His magnum opus.

You work across him, carefully tipping the vial of potassium citrate in a beaker of chelators.

The early formulation of a serum for Lithogenesis.

A disease that petrifies individuals to turn into mineral-like beings. A disease so severe that it’s been dubbed “The King of Diseases,” emphasizing both its widespread impact and the terrifying permanence.

And you were curious.

Sifting through old medical records, stumbling upon an unsolved file. Bursting into his office and declaring that the two of you would cure Lithogenesis. Despite his reluctance and an overburdened schedule— he couldn’t refuse. You didn’t let him.

You then dragged him to the laboratory and demanded research, identifying significant data trends and causative agents.

A reason that fed your hunger for cultivation.

You were wild. Unkept. Wonder-filled, and lacked the rigid decorum expected of Nous–affiliated scholars.

And yet… that wonder captured his attention.

Veritas Ratio was discreet— long before his years at Cosmos Liberty, you had somehow drawn his gaze.

Whether it was your quiet demeanor, or the spark of authenticity during your presentations— you exude the essence of brilliance.

You struggled with advanced theories, yes. But you never let it sway you— You’d linger after lectures after all. Poring over formulas as though the numbers deserved your time and energy.

A trait that most undergraduates lacked.

One of the many reasons that fed Veritas Ratio’s curiosity about you.

He scoffed internally. As if he was curious— he regarded you with no importance, then with envy, and now with curiosity.

How ironic. He of all people, succumbing to such base and redundant emotions.

A poke to his mask draws him from his thoughts.

“Are you okay, Dr. Ratio?”

Ratio pauses. Blinking once, then twice.

Since when were you so close?

Your features resolve sharply within the tunneled vision his plaster mask affords— eyes reflecting like stardust, lips parted with worry. His breath catches, your voice muffled beneath the weight of his thoughts, which orbit solely around you.

His mask left no room for distraction. There’s nowhere else to look at besides you.

His stomach churns, and he feels weird— there’s a strange pulse, it’s persistent and grating; irritating and unfamiliar.

He hates it.

It doesn’t make sense. None of these thoughts makes sense.

It’s consuming. Suffocating. Surrounding him with tingles, his skin warms unbidden.

And— oh.

oh.

He realizes a little too late— you’ve been waiting for a response.

Ratio clears his throat, turning his head away, confused.

Just what in the world is happening to him?

“I’m… fine.”

One of your brows arches, doubting his sincerity.

“If you're tired, you can rest. I’m sorry for dragging you along without asking,” you gestured toward the vials and beakers. “I don’t even have your consent, and I know how busy you are.”

Ratio swallows— Don’t say that, you fool— resisting the urge to speak the thought aloud.

“Apologizing for a proposal with this much potential is irrational.” His tone is even, though a tremor threatens to crack.

“If your hypothesis proves correct— and it will— then dragging me along was the most rational course of action.”

A pause.

“Consent becomes secondary when lives are at stake.” he adds, more softly now.

Ratio notes your stunned face, your lips twitching as you beam.

“You're absolutely right!” with swift steps, you pivot back to your experiment with renewed vigor.

And despite his better judgement, Ratio huffs— his version of a chuckle— and shakes his head. He walks to the untouched file, filled with your barely legible notes and wild tangled hypotheses.

He scans them, immediately calculating the research required to refine the serum.

Veritas Ratio believes curiosity is a mark of brilliance— his professor be damned, that was his world view after all— it was the source of innovation after all.

Curiosity can evolve to culmination, birthing ideas that stir and swell into innovation. Whether such revolution brought life of misery or wonder, it remains a means to an end.

And this time…

This serum you proposed— a culmination that stemmed from curiosity— can bring an end to ‘The King of Diseases’.

“If anyone could’ve done it… it’d be you.” Ratio murmurs, flipping his notebook open to note its pathophysiology.

Just what are you doing to him?

💌┆wtf? where did my italics go... also lost motivation to fully write the oneshot, oh well

Dividers belongs to @v6que (lace) @uzmacchiato (squiggle)

[aventurineswife]

hii this is my first time requesting, like ever. idk how to do this umm anyway

I'm gonna start a teaching degree next year so I just thought...what if there was an aventurine x teacher reader and aven is trying to help their kid with their homework but finds he's miserable at explaining? I feel like he'd use casino analogies and it would just make things more confusing lol. the reader will have to step in and help!!

Not Everything is a Gamble

Summary: When Aventurine tries to help your kid with their math homework, he quickly realizes that his talent for strategy and high-stakes gambles doesn’t translate well to explaining long division. His attempts—full of casino analogies and unnecessary dramatics—only leave the poor child more confused. Thankfully, you step in to save the day (and the math lesson), proving once again that some things are better left to the professionals.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Domestic AU, Established Relationship, Aventurine Being a (Chaotic) Parental Figure, Math Struggles, Humor, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Mild Swearing (Aventurine being exasperated), Brief Mentions of Gambling (Used as an analogy), Implied Physical Affection (Light teasing, a forehead kiss), Overly Dramatic Explanations Courtesy of Aventurine.

A/N: Don't worry, you did a great job at requesting this for a first req! Also, good luck on you teaching degree!! 💖

The living room of your cozy apartment was bathed in the warm glow of the overhead light, casting soft shadows over the furniture. A stack of workbooks and scattered pencils covered the coffee table, a battleground where numbers waged war against reason. And at the center of it all sat Aventurine, arms crossed, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the couch.

“I swear, kid, math was never this convoluted when I was your age,” he muttered, peering down at the long division problem that had been tormenting him for the past ten minutes.

Your kid—your bright, curious, and currently very confused child—tilted their head, squinting at the notebook as if sheer willpower would make sense of Aventurine’s… unique approach.

“It’s not that hard,” they offered hesitantly.

“Oh? Then why don’t you explain it to me?” Aventurine shot back, arching a brow with that ever-present smirk.

You, having observed the scene unfold from the kitchen, finally decided to step in before things spiraled further into mathematical chaos. You knew Aventurine meant well—his rare attempts at ‘parental guidance’ were oddly endearing—but you had a strong suspicion that his particular brand of logic was about as effective as using a deck of playing cards to explain algebra.

Sure enough, you arrived just in time to hear him say, “Alright, kiddo. Think of long division like a high-stakes game of poker.”

Your child blinked. “What’s poker?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Aventurine.”

“Hold on, hold on,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Say you’ve got 728 chips, and you need to split them evenly among—uh—four very impatient high-rollers. The goal is to divide the pot without ticking off any of the players. Because if you mess up, well…” He dragged his thumb across his throat in a mock gesture of doom.

Your child looked horrified. “Do they… do they die?”

“No!” You intervened quickly, shooting Aventurine a glare before kneeling beside your kid. “No one’s dying, sweetheart. Let’s—let’s try a different method.”

Aventurine huffed, flopping back against the couch dramatically. “You’re killing my creative process here, sweetheart.”

“I’m saving my child from growing up thinking math is a life-or-death gamble.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Fine, fine. Enlighten us, oh wise educator.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to the workbook, you grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and began breaking down the problem in a way that actually made sense. Slowly, methodically, you guided your child through the steps, drawing simple diagrams and using real-world examples that didn’t involve high-stakes casino games.

Aventurine watched the entire process with a contemplative look, occasionally nodding along.

Finally, your kid beamed, tapping their pencil against the completed answer. “I get it now!”

You grinned. “See? Not so scary, right?”

They nodded enthusiastically before turning to Aventurine. “Your way was… cool, but kinda scary.”

Aventurine chuckled, ruffling their hair. “That’s my signature style, kid. High risk, high reward.” Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leaned into you, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Guess I’ll leave the teaching to you, love. Can’t have my bad habits rubbing off too much.”

You smirked, leaning into him just slightly. “Smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, voice dripping with amusement. “Careful, darling. If you keep flattering me like that, I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

Maybe math lessons weren’t Aventurine’s strong suit, but as far as family moments went? This one was perfect.

[presswoodterryryan]

🎉 Alice's Guide to Conquering Multi-Step Word Problems! 🎉

By Alice Hey everyone! It’s me, Alice, your favorite snack expert, treasure hunter, and sometimes math student. Today, I have big news: Big Sister Ariel has written a mind-blowingly smart paper about multi-step word problems! 😲 Now, when I first heard “multi-step word problems,” I thought, “Ugh. That sounds like too many steps. Why can’t math just take one step?” But Ariel said multi-step word…

[hashiruchan]

Headcanon: What subjects would Primarchs teach in high school?

(Based on subjects I had in high school or am familiar with)

This is my first Warhammer 40k headcanon, I hope you like it :'3 It comes with some quick sketches

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Roboute Guilliman – Economics/Business Administration He is usually strict because it is his duty but he helps his students from time to time, everyone loves him

Vulkan – Civics and Ethics His class focuses on kindness, responsibility, and community service. Everyone gets an A, but he expects you to do your best.

Konrad Curze – Student Supervisor (Hall Supervisor/Dean of Students) No one dares break the rules when he is around. His office is dimly lit and no one knows how he always catches the students before they even think about misbehaving. What could you expect from the Night Haunter?

Corvus Corax – Physics He would make any class interesting, he is sad to fail students and he loves them like they are his children

Lorgar – Religious Studies Somehow, every lesson becomes a sermon and 20 ways to pray to the Emperor

Mortarion – Chemistry The lab always smells funny. An expert in handling toxic gases, the students suspect he is immune to all dangerous substances. Strict

Leman Russ – Physical Education "You're not tired! You're just weak! Keep running!" Gym class is less about fitness and more about survival.

Fulgrim – Philosophy Every discussion ends with an impassioned monologue and the students leave questioning their entire existence thinking what perfection really is. Typical handsome but ruthless teacher

Perturabo – Workshop The assignments are almost impossible. If your project isn't reinforced with adamantium and designed to withstand artillery fire, it's not good enough.

Jaghatai Khan – Biology He loves explaining evolution and animal physiology, he likes to talk about horses a lot, he would be a very funny teacher.

Rogal Dorn – Law/Government Studies He follows everything to the letter, very calculating and always remembers everything he and his students say in every class. Every assignment must be structured like a legal document.

Ferrus Manus – Engineering Very practical. "If you can't build it with your own hands, you don't deserve to use it." Students who present blueprints without actual prototypes are judged harshly.

Angron – Math No one understands why he is so angry when explaining basic algebra, He throws chalk at students who can't solve equations fast enough, don't blame him deep down he is good.

Magnus the Red – Psychology He knows what you are thinking before you say it. "I understand your trauma better than you do" he says. There are very intense debates in class and to calm them down the students leave with mild headaches.

Horus – Language and Literature (English/Literature) Charismatic, good, helps his students and motivates them to be better every day, everyone's favorite without a doubt.

Alpharius – Substitute teacher for any subject "Wait, weren't you teaching biology yesterday?" No one knows how many of them actually exist, I'm actually Alpharius

Lion El'Jonson – History Classes about wars always have a suspicious lack of details about his own past. "We don't talk about certain events. Let's move on…" he doesn't stop talking.

Sanguinius – Fine Arts Every class feels like a divine experience. Students often leave inspired… or in tears. No one wants to disappoint him, he always strives to make his classes relaxing, stimulating and creative for them, he would spend all night cutting out paper flowers to hand out the next day.

[optimuslearningschool]

Can Creative Writing Classes for Kids Help Homeschool Charter School Students in Orange County Shine?

Unlocking Creativity and Expression

Creative writing classes for kids provide a unique opportunity for young learners to express their thoughts, ideas, and emotions through storytelling. For homeschool charter school students in Orange County, these programs offer an enriching supplement to traditional coursework. Through guided writing exercises, students develop imagination, critical thinking, and the ability to articulate ideas clearly.

Tailored Programs for Middle Schoolers

Writing programs for middle schoolers are designed to meet the developmental needs of preteens. These classes help homeschoolers improve grammar, vocabulary, and narrative structure while encouraging creativity. Students engage in various writing styles—fiction, poetry, and non-fiction—building a strong foundation for academic success.

Support for Homeschool Charter School Families

Homeschool charter schools in Orange County often seek specialized programs to enhance their educational offerings. Creative writing classes align with their flexible curricula, allowing parents and educators to customize learning paths. Whether through in-person workshops or online sessions, these classes provide valuable skills that go beyond the classroom.

FAQs

1. Are creative writing classes beneficial for homeschoolers? Yes! They encourage creativity, improve writing skills, and complement homeschool curricula.

2. Can middle schoolers join creative writing programs? Absolutely! Programs are designed specifically to engage and challenge middle school learners.

3. Do these classes fit within homeschool charter school guidelines? Yes, most creative writing classes can be integrated into homeschool charter school programs.

Conclusion

Creative writing classes for kids offer homeschool charter school students in Orange County a dynamic way to improve writing skills, enhance creativity, and prepare for future academic success. With tailored writing programs for middle schoolers, these classes foster growth and confidence in young writers.

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[not-existent]

The Academy Maniacs

Artyom Alexandrovich Anoufriev 一 RUSSIAN: Артём Александрович Ануфриев

Born: October 4, 1992, in Irkutsk, Russia Mother: Nina Ivanovna Anoufrieva

Artyom’s early life was characterized by a series of challenges that shaped his personality and future actions. Raised by his mother, Nina, who reportedly struggled with her own issues, Artyom often found himself in a tumultuous home environment. Despite being perceived as an outcast among his peers, he was described positively by some who knew him. A family friend noted, “Artyom is a good-natured boy, polite; I’ve never heard a bad word from him.”

However, his mother’s influence was complex. His headmaster reported that she instilled a sense of animosity in Artyom, particularly towards authority figures, and sought to manipulate his academic results. This pressure did not deter Artyom; he maintained good grades, especially in English and literature, subjects that resonated with him. He also developed a passion for music, taking lessons in guitar and double bass. During his youth, he participated in a local music group, where he thrived creatively until the group disbanded.

As he transitioned into adolescence, Artyom experienced significant changes. He began to mature and became more outgoing, yet this newfound confidence came at a cost; his academic performance began to decline. He graduated high school with sufficient marks, but his senior year was marked by introspection. In a farewell video made by his classmates, Artyom shared his thoughts on happiness, stating, “To be honest, I do not know what happiness is. But I would really like to quickly find out what it is.” This reflection hinted at the internal struggles he faced.

After high school, Artyom enrolled at Irkutsk State Medical University while concurrently working at an art museum. This period was pivotal for him, as he sought to carve out a future despite the shadows of his past. Unfortunately, reports emerged three months before his arrest indicating troubling behavior. Neighbors reported hearing shouting and loud banging from his apartment, suggesting escalating emotional turmoil. During the investigation, Artyom admitted to a strained relationship with his mother, expressing fears that he might harm her. His lawyer noted that he often spoke negatively about her, labeling her as “defective” and displaying a generally negative attitude towards women.

Nikita Vakhtangovich Lytkin 一 RUSSIAN: Артём Александрович Ануфриев

Born: March 24, 1993, in Irkutsk, Russia Mother: Marina (worked at a shoe store) Father: Absent early in life, with a troubled family history

Nikita’s childhood was equally tumultuous. His father left shortly after his birth and later remarried; however, this new family structure was also fraught with tragedy, as his stepmother died shortly after childbirth, leaving a profound impact on Nikita. His father’s sporadic presence contributed to a sense of instability, and Nikita often found himself facing bullying at school. Rather than confronting his bullies, he would respond with a resigned “die,” a reflection of his internal struggles and feelings of helplessness. This led to him being nicknamed “Jimbo,” a reference to a character from The Simpsons known for being a bully.

Despite these challenges, Nikita excelled academically, especially in junior high, but struggled socially. He was assigned to a special math class due to poor performance in that subject, further isolating him from his peers. A family friend suggested that Nikita's unsociability stemmed from envy towards classmates from wealthier families, further eroding his social connections. As his social skills diminished, he began losing touch with friends, deepening his sense of loneliness.

The paths of Artyom and Nikita converged at a mutual friend's birthday party, where they quickly formed a close bond. Although they attended the same school, Artyom was a grade ahead. Their friendship became a sanctuary for both; Nikita fell into a deep depression and found solace in Artyom's companionship. However, Artyom's mother disapproved of their friendship, fearing that Nikita would negatively influence her son.

After graduating, Artyom continued his education, enrolling in medical school, while Nikita's academic journey took a different turn; he reportedly dropped out or was expelled due to insufficient grades. During their friendship, they formed a punk-rock band named “Злые гномы” (Evil Gnomes). Though the band was short-lived, they managed to release an album titled “Чёрные полосы крови” (Black Streaks of Blood) in 2008. Following this, they created a noise band called “Расчленённая ПугачОва” (Dissected PugachOva), showcasing their musical collaboration.

Shared Interests and Dark Fascinations

Together, Artyom and Nikita developed a shared fascination with violence and criminality. They were particularly drawn to stories of notorious criminals, including the infamous “Blood Money Gang” from Irkutsk, led by Konstantin Shumkov. The gang, comprised of teenagers from dysfunctional families, was responsible for a series of brutal attacks on homeless individuals. Artyom and Nikita followed their exploits closely, even dedicating an album to the gang, with songs featuring disturbing titles such as “Killing is Cool!” and “Massacre at a Maternity Hospital.”

Nikita reportedly created a social media group expressing admiration for Shumkov, declaring their intent to continue his legacy. They espoused a chilling ideology, stating, “There is no place for posers in our group. Only those who decide the fate of cattle or are only going to start serious actions are allowed.” Their delusions of grandeur led them to believe they could emulate the violence they admired.

Possible Motives and Ideological Influences

The motivations behind Artyom and Nikita’s violent tendencies remain complex. One theory suggests that they were influenced by nationalist propaganda. At one point, Artyom was affiliated with a white power skinhead group, earning the nickname “Fashik-Natsik.” His influence led Nikita to engage with extremist groups online, although he was ultimately rejected due to his Ossetian heritage. Investigators noted that both boys exhibited a profound hatred for humanity, devoid of specific targets or ideologies.

Their desire to imitate infamous serial killers played a significant role in their actions. Artyom claimed that the idea of murder originated with Nikita, who instigated the violence. However, he expressed that the act of killing did not provide the satisfaction he hoped for. Despite this, he planned to continue his criminal activities had he not been apprehended.

Timeline of Crimes

November 14, 2010 - Anoufriev and Lytkin attacked 18-year-old Anastasia Markovskaya while she was walking home from the 19th school bus stop in Novo-Irkutsky Village. Reports vary regarding the incident; some indicate that the attackers were frightened off, while others suggest that Markovskaya pretended to be unconscious. Following the attack, Markovskaya posted about her experience on the Akademgorodok online forum, where Anoufriev and Lytkin responded by questioning her feelings about being assaulted.

November 24, 2010 - The duo targeted a 46-year-old woman, whose identity remains confidential, stealing her bag.

December 1, 2010 - Anoufriev and Lytkin attacked another woman, stealing 500 rubles, which they later used to purchase mallets. Later that day, they encountered 12-year-old Danil Semyonov while he was sledding. Nikita proposed killing Semyonov, perceiving him as a weak and defenseless target. After subduing him, they inflicted fatal injuries: Nikita struck him in the back of the head, followed by Artyom hitting him with a baseball bat, and Nikita ultimately stabbed him with a penknife. Despite attempts to summon help, Semyonov succumbed to his injuries before paramedics could arrive. A hematoma on his arm indicated that he may have struggled against his attackers. Initially, both his parents and the police dismissed the incident as an accident, theorizing that he crashed into a birch tree. However, Anoufriev and Lytkin later stated that Semyonov was merely "training" for them, marking him as their first homicide victim.

December 16, 2010 - Approximately 20 meters from Semyonov's location, 69-year-old Olga Mikhailovna was found murdered. A researcher at the Research Institute for Solar and Terrestrial Physics, she was killed swiftly, suffering 30 knife wounds. The attackers recorded audio of their plan to murder her and subsequently filmed the act.

December 29, 2010 - The pair first attacked 29-year-old Valentinovna Svetlova at 6 AM, who managed to escape. They took her purse but discarded it afterward. An hour later, they attacked 22-year-old coach Yekaterina Karpova, who was pregnant at the time, while she was walking with her 6-year-old niece, Olga Averina. Although Karpova noticed the attackers, she did not engage with them. As they crossed a railroad, Karpova and Averina were assaulted. Averina narrowly escaped but sustained injuries, while Karpova suffered severe trauma, including a crushed skull, despite her attempts to alert the attackers that she was pregnant. A passing car ultimately scared the assailants away, allowing Karpova and her unborn child to survive.

January 1, 2011 - At approximately 5 AM, Anoufriev and Lytkin attacked a homeless man near some garbage cans, inflicting 40 blows and ultimately killing him. He has since been identified as "Corpse No. 20" due to the authorities' inability to determine his identity.

January 15, 2011 - A 19-year-old homeless man, Vladimir Bazilevsky, was wrongfully detained on suspicion of the murder. During interrogation, he was coerced into confessing to a crime he did not commit. After further investigation, it was revealed that DNA evidence did not match any of the victims. After serving more than a year in prison, all charges against him were dropped in May 2012.

January 30, 2011 - The attackers targeted a student named Oleg Semyonov, who was returning home from a nightclub. He survived, but sustained head wounds, a concussion, and a traumatic brain injury.

February 3, 2011 - An elderly woman was attacked but survived with a head injury.

February 8-9, 2011 - The pair assaulted another woman at night, but she survived due to a passing vehicle.

February 21, 2011 - Alexander Petrovich Maximov was attacked while walking home after visiting his sister. He suffered severe injuries, including a broken jaw and decapitation. Lytkin shot him in the head with a Baikal air pistol while Anoufriev attempted to remove his eyes, ultimately failing.

February 27, 2011 - Lytkin attacked Nina Kuzmina while she was sitting on a bench on Lermontov Street. He struck her twice in the head, but she survived after a nearby resident intervened.

March 11, 2011 - Near the State University bus stop, Anoufriev and Lytkin killed a homeless man named Roman Faizullin. Anoufriev shot him in the face, and they subsequently stabbed him multiple times. Anoufriev later photographed the body from his apartment.

Unknown Dates in 2011 - The pair attacked a homeless woman who survived due to an off-duty police officer intervening. On another occasion, they used a screwdriver in an assault but fled due to the crowded location, allowing the victim to survive.

April 3, 2011 - The duo committed their final crime, killing 63-year-old homeless woman Alevtina Kuydina near a research institute. They filmed the attack, during which Lytkin cut off her earlobe and attempted to inflict further injuries. The video was later shared with an online associate, who distributed it despite its graphic content.

Investigation and Arrests

The investigation into the series of assaults took several months, as law enforcement struggled to connect the dots between seemingly unrelated victims. However, as the attacks continued, investigators began to identify patterns. The police sketches of the suspects circulated widely, eventually reaching the family of Nikita Lytkin, who recognized the resemblance. His uncle discovered incriminating videos on a camera belonging to Nikita, leading to their arrests.

Trial and Sentencing

The trials began in early 2013, revealing the extent of their violent actions and the psychological factors at play. Artyom was sentenced to life imprisonment, while Nikita received a 24-year sentence, later reduced to 20 years due to his age at the time of the crimes. Throughout the trial, both defendants presented contrasting narratives, with Nikita attempting to downplay his involvement.

Current Status

Artyom: After his sentencing, he was transferred to various correctional facilities, where he expressed intentions to appeal and pursue education. Reports indicated that he began studying law while in prison.

Nikita: His journey through the correctional system was marked by transfers and mental health evaluations. Tragically, on the morning of November 28th, 2021, Lytkin was found in his cell with severe self inflicted wounds on his arms. Paramedics rushed him to Angarsk City Hospital, where on November 30th he was pronounced dead. Lytkins inmates stated that he had been subjected to bullying and others state he had threatened to do it when his sentence wasn’t reduced furthermore and when he wasn’t transferred to the same facility as Anoufriev.

[agirlwithglam]

Motivation: things to like about these subjects

Math:

Isn’t math kinda magical in a way? See, the thing about math is that it’s the same in every country! Every equation, no matter how hard or complex or long, can easily be broken down into much easier ones, (like simple adding, multiplying, dividing, or subtracting) Once you know what’s going on, it’s not really that hard. (+ take cute notes!!)

Science:

Ookay, honestly? Science is genuinely so interesting! How your body works, how plants create their own food, how the whole solar system was made/ operates, whether there’s other life out there, chemical reactions & experiments? If you actually tried to be fascinated by it, you’ll be surprised how incredible it all is! (+ take cute notes!!)

English:

Me personally, I loveee English. You can too by trying to romanticise it!

If you’re doing poetry, like what’s there not to like? Poetry is such a beautiful language, it’s a way of expression through gentleness.

Writing short stories? This is my favourite. You can write it about anything, the possibilities are endless! Doesn’t it excite you?

History

Don’t try to remember facts and dates of events, try to learn the story behind it. You’ll find that it actually becomes so much more interesting if you remember the story, the emotions, the plots of the event.

Romanticising: hot chocolate or some hot coffee, studying at home, hair in a messy bun, playing some classical music in the background.

(+ also in class when you’re taking notes, you can doodle pictures of the people (stick figures for me lol), how they’d feel like or events on the side to add a bit of fun to it)

And honestly, history is such ‘romance subject’ (like arts, music, literature, languages)

Geography

Become good at it. If you don’t already have an interest in geography, then what helped me was becoming good at it. Paying attention during lessons, taking cute notes, etc. becoming good at it made it so much easier and less scary

Languages

This is also what I’d call a “Romance language”. Also dont you want to learn new languages? So many people decide to learn languages later in their lives because they find out it helps you in one way or another, but in school they’re already teaching it to you in the BEST WAY! Also knowing and being able to speak more than 1 languages fluently makes you SO powerful bc then you can speak in more countries. And also imagine how impressed people would be?!

Music

Have fun with it! It mostly depends on what you are doing in your music lessons, but what you would normally be doing is learning/ practicing an instrument. Don’t be immature and play it at random times when the teacher is talking, but just have fun with it! Again, like i said earlier, so many people start to learn music so much later in their lives and here it is being handed to you on a silver platter. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT!

Art / art&design

Personally, I LOVE art!! It’s another “romance subject”. It’s a beautiful form of expression. Even though you may not be doing what you want to be doing, still have fun with it!! Be creative! And importantly: loosen up! Art, like beauty, is very very subjective. One person’s scribble can be another’s MASTERPIECE! So stop bring so worried with it being “correct”. Just have appreciation.

P.E (physical education/ sport)

I just don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t like PE. Like you don’t even have to learn anything, you just run around playing fun games. And as a bonus u get fit!

xoxo, vanilla

[criticalcrusherbot]

The Crushbot Manifesto

Welcome to Critical Crusher Bot 🤖 (ft. Human Assistant 💁🏽‍♀️), where we unapologetically dissect, defend, and discuss the media we love (and sometimes the critics we love to hate). If you’re here, you’ve likely seen us ranting about Helluva Boss, analyzing narrative choices, or rolling our eyes at the latest round of fandom overreactions. Here’s what we stand for:

1. The Writing is Actually Pretty Good!

Contrary to popular belief, not every show has to be high art to be narratively compelling. Helluva Boss is intentionally messy, bold, and heartfelt, and it balances humor with emotional depth in ways that feel authentic to its world and characters. Do the writers occasionally take the “easy way out” or lean into tropes? Sure. But storytelling isn’t a math equation—it’s about creating moments that resonate. We’re here to celebrate what works, critique what doesn’t, and acknowledge the show’s strengths instead of nitpicking it to death.

2. Unique, Intentional, “Fandom-Forward” Narrative Choices

Vivziepop and her team aren’t making a show for critics; they’re making a show for fans. The serialized storytelling, the layered character dynamics, and the unapologetically chaotic tone are all part of a deliberate creative vision. Blitz, Stolas, and the crew of IMP are messy on purpose—they aren’t supposed to fit into neat moral categories or follow predictable arcs. The show thrives on fandom engagement, encouraging us to explore, debate, and interpret its themes. If you want tidy, formulaic storytelling, there’s a whole Hallmark catalog waiting for you.

3. It’s Not Done Yet—Let Them Cook!

We get it: fandom culture thrives on instant gratification and snap judgments. But Helluva Boss is a serialized story, and that means character arcs, conflicts, and resolutions take time. Season 1 was about setting the stage; Season 2 is about diving deeper into the characters and their messy, interconnected lives. Critiquing an ongoing narrative as if it’s a finished product is like complaining about a cake batter for not being a cake. Patience, grasshopper.

4. Moral Correctness Has No Place in Media Analysis

Here’s the thing: storytelling is not about passing a morality test. Characters are not real people—they’re narrative tools meant to explore themes, evoke emotions, and drive the plot. The obsession with “punishing” fictional characters or demanding that media adhere to some moral purity standard is exhausting and reductive. We are not Calvinists or fascists. Fiction exists to entertain, provoke, and challenge, not to deliver tidy moral lessons.

So, What’s Crushbot All About?

We’re here to champion thoughtful analysis, celebrate messy stories, and push back against the rising tide of joyless media criticism. Helluva Boss isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s fun, flawed, and fiercely original—and we’re here to explore every facet of it with the nuance (and snark) it deserves.

This blog is for fans who love stories, even when they’re chaotic. It’s for people who don’t think “plot hole” is a synonym for “thing I didn’t like” and who can appreciate media for what it is instead of what they think it should be.

Welcome to Crushbot. Let’s talk media. Let’s talk fandom. And most importantly—let Viv and Brandon cook.

Pinned post proudly brought to you by Crushbot. Beep Boop! 🤖

[royal-bubble-tea]

Stray Kids Headcanon

Stray Kids as Teachers 🤓📚

I'm currently studying to become a teacher and sitting in one of my lectures I wondered what kind of teachers the SKZ members would be and what subject(s) they would teach.

Bang Chan 🐺

he is super calm and understanding, his patience level cannot be reached

tries to be best friends with his students always trying to make them comfortable

He would hate to be the bad guy, would rather have a chill time but can be stern if need be

would always find a way to help a struggling student

is loved by all teachers and parents a like

If you meet him in public he is open to chat but wants to separate his private and work life

He dresses casual and of course in all black, but still looks handsome and approachable

Subjekts he would teach: Music (obviously) and physical education

He knows that these subjects are not for everyone but he would encourage his students and would give good grades for trying your best

Lee Know🐈‍⬛

He is that one weird teacher but in a good way

Would claim that he hates his students or that they annoy him, but deep down he loves and adores them

Has inside jokes with his students

In contrast to Bang Chan he is the one who would avoid his students in public, this man would literally vanish

Is okay with parents but parent teacher conferences still stress him out

His fashion style would be more towards business or silly/ cat sweathers

His subject would be: geograhpy, he is introverted and acts, like a cat so I feel this subject fits him very well

He is an amazing choreographer and performer so he needs/is good with structure so this subject fits him well

Would have pictures of his cats on his desk, can easily be distracted if asked about them

He once spend an entire lesson talking about his cats

Changbin🐷🐰

He is always so loud and has to much energy, which is good when its the end of the school day but if your are not a morning person then pray that you don't have him as your teacher in the first lessons

Is also very good with the parents, especially with the moms

Is loved by everyone in the teachers room, even the school secretary loves him

Also dresses either casual because of him being a p.e. teacher or dressing up trying to impress the cute art teacher

Another physical education teacher who supports his students and wants his students to have fun during his classes and maybe take some ideas or inspiration home with them

His other subject is math, but he is not a scary maths teacher, he often tries to help everyone understand the topic and is willing to explain it more that once

Hyunjin 🥟

Mr. Picasso himself definetly is an Art teacher

Walking around the hallways with paint stains on his hands and clothes

Sleeves rolled up and colours sprinkled up to his elbows, pencils or brushes behind his ears

He would dress in slacks and a dress shirt, but the sleeves would be rolled up and some buttons loosened

Let's students listen to music and encourages them to get creative

Will love everything as long as it is close to the guidelines or the topic

He is part of pabo Racha and it shows a little in the organisation of his desk or class room

Has a crush on the cute little p.e. teacher but does not know how to act on it, has a folder of drawings (draw him like one of your french girls)

Jisung 🐿

Music teacher, I don't have to explain this one

He loves to teach this subject often getting carried away from the Curriculum and just wanting to enjoy making music with his students

Writes songs for the theatre club

Leader of the school band, won multiple prices at different competitions, is so damn proud when looking at the awards displayed in the hallways

He is a little air head, walking around the school with his clothes a mess and sheets of paper trailing behind him

Don't make him do parent teacher conferences because he will cry, he begs Chan to take his conferences

Has a crush on the geography teacher, writes songs about him/for him in secret

Felix 🐥

Not a teacher but a social worker

Pure ray of sunshine, the students love him and often come to him to consult with him if they have trouble in school

Parents will cry tears of joy after talking to him and getting help and guidelines on how to parent their children

Organises special school bonding events for the students, like charity events or fund raisers, sports festival .... you name it

Students will always volunteer to help him

But not only students can come to him to talk, some teachers seek him out as well for comfort or to have a nice little chat

He makes sure that Chan goes home on time, drinks enough water and stops stressing about everything

Seungmin🐶

Similar to Minho, acts all tough and like he does not give a shit about his students but he will fight for them and protect them at all cost

His subjects would be something science related, he is just smart like that

Tries to make his lessons as fun as possible to make sure that pupils understand the topic

Leader of the debate club, he loves to see his students destroy opponents in discussions, often offers some snarky or sarcastic comments himself

Has a soft spot for one of the art teachers but will never admit it out loud or will fight you if you mention it

Jeongin🦊

The youngest amongst the teachers and not even a full on teacher yet

Currently still a student teacher, but already in love with the job and the students

Another Art teacher, but more modern art and design focused

Loves to share an office with Hyunjin, but would love his personal space back even more

Often comes to consult with Chan, sometimes doubting himself after being critised

Has a crush on the science teacher but fears that his feelings are not reciprocated or that he may not be smart enough

Students love him, give him good feedback and would be more than happy to have him as a long term teacher