#making the grade

[hinamie]

trick or treat!

[daiwild]

asexual klapollo art i shouldve kept in drafts

[elodieunderglass]

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[chloesimaginationthings]

William Afton has top tier FNAF parenting skills

[likelimeonade]

Have you seen anything more romantic? (They make me SICKKKKK)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Vibes based grading system.

(for @epistemologys, who wanted some post-canon, teacher WWX)

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

action ready

[teaboot]

Social anxiety level: Chatting with someone experiencing a schizophrenic episode and becoming increasingly self-concious of how I'm just saying "That sounds really stressful", "I've never heard of that but it sounds scary", and "You must be pretty worried about that" over and over again

[ilium-ilia]

John Price is the type of professor to attend each lecture with a mug in his hand and glasses low on his nose.

Crisp slacks, salt and pepper hair, and a button up shirt—he likes order. Doesn't mess with the power point presentations or online assignments. His lecture hall sports an old chalkboard and all of his assignments will be handed in on paper, attendance is necessary to pass, and exams are to be taken during class time, no exceptions.

He is also—unfortunately—the most infuriating professor you've ever had the misfortune of signing up for.

Each assignment you turn in gets handed back with scrawling handwriting that reads see me after class in blood-red ink. He's insufferably predictable in the way he sits in his office, sprawled back in his chair, fingers tapping on the table as he waits for you. For a minimum of ten minutes he forces you to sit across his desk so he can scrutinize you with never-ending questions about your work as proof that you know what you're talking about.

You hate the red tinge of his cheeks, and that tight-lipped smile and curt nod he sports as he listens to your impromptu presentation. None of your classmates can corroborate Professor Price's antics—it seems targeted. Yet, at the end he always tells you what a wonderful job you've done and to keep it up before handing your paper back to you with a smile, sending you on your way.

What he doesn't tell you—however—is that there is a long line of zero's sitting in his grade book beneath your name. How is he supposed to let such star pupil slip out of his grasp so soon?

[seokminfilm]

printer problems — vernon chwe

🤍 pairing, vernon chwe x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, loosely (and i mean LOOSELY) based on the tv show abbott elementary, first-grade teacher!vernon, kindergarten teacher!reader, vernon is whipped, coworkers to ???, lowkey flirting, svt members mentioned as teachers, cursing (vernon says like 4 curse words), awkward vernon ftw

🤍 summary, the seemingly untouchable first-grade teacher vernon chwe has a little (read: huge) crush, and it's on none other than the sweet kindergarten teacher (aka you)

🤍 author's note, i was scrolling on my 'for you' page on tumblr today and saw a post by @miniskirtmods talking about an abbott elementary au with vernon and i was instantly enamored with the idea 😭 yes i know nothing about this show BUT this was just too cute of an idea to exist SO here we are!

(psa: if you don't know about this show, no worries!! there are no references to the show in this because i know nothing about it and don't want to look stupid trying to know 😭 so just enjoy it as a teacher!vernon fic)

🤍 now playing, mutt (leon thomas)

🤍 word count, 924 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

vernon felt like a second-grader, taking his measly lunch of a turkey sandwich and ranch-flavored veggie straws to the teacher's table as he spied out the land.

("spying out the land" meaning trying to find a place to sit among the many teachers that made this underfunded school what it is.)

he could sit with fifth-grade teacher soonyoung who had a worrying obsession with tiger-print clothes, second-grade teacher joshua who all the staff thought was secretly gay, or maybe even third-grade teacher seokmin who also doubled as the school's event planner, music teacher and librarian.

(yes, they were that understaffed.)

all of those options paled in comparison to you, though—the new kindergarten teacher who everyone loved. you had gotten on everyone's good side in just a short time, and all of your students loved you, singing your praises as they went through the halls.

and vernon's in love with you—how? he doesn't truly know? why? well, he can list a hundred things, but over half of that list would make him sound desperate for your company.

(which wasn't all a lie, either.)

so, vernon, like the second-grade loser he feels like, awkwardly makes his way over to the end of the table where you sit, munching on carrots after dealing with a small disagreement between kids arguing about which sour patch kids flavor was better.

"hi, chwe." you smile, eyes meeting his for the ninth time today—not that vernon was counting or anything. that would be crazy.

...that would be crazy.

"hey," vernon tries his best to be nonchalant, throwing his boxed lunch on the plastic, slightly rickety table as he falls into his seat. his wire-framed glasses slide awkwardly down his nose as he looks down at the box, and he feels his cheeks heat up as you chuckle at him.

"your day been uneventful so far?" you ask sweetly, taking a bite of your salad as you watch vernon slowly. he unpacks his lunch, neatly arranging it before discarding his lanyard with his teacher id enclosed and wetting his lips.

"yeah, thankfully. i mean a kid did almost shit in his chair in my classroom, but that's nothing too new." vernon looks up at you through his eyelashes, admiring the sound of your pretty giggles. god, even your giggles were pretty.

"what about you? how's your day going?" vernon asks, finally taking a bite of his food as he watches you scroll on your phone. your hair falls in your face perfectly, obscuring most of your face except your pretty eyes as you return your gaze back to vernon. and that's the tenth time you've looked him in his eyes.

"it's going pretty good! we played with toys most of the day since the printer stopped working, and we—for some odd reason—we went and got the gym teacher to fix it." you say with a confused tone of voice, and vernon laughs to himself, trying to hide it.

that was very true—the school, being critically understaffed and underfunded (double wham), had a small circle of people who were assigned to do different things. mingyu, the gym teacher, was also the last-minute technician at the school.

"mingyu can't fix anything most of the time, let alone a fucking printer. i don't know why we still let him try to repair things." vernon laughs, and you shake your head, shrugging.

"i don't know, i think it's chivalrous for him to try to fix something, even if he doesn't know how to do it. it's cute, seeing him struggle sometimes." you smile down at your food, and vernon's smile fades just slightly, your words cutting like silly scissors.

vernon wasn't one for fixing things—he'd try to, sure, but as soon as he knew there was no use trying, vernon would stop.

mingyu, on the other hand, wasn't a quitter. he'd do what he did without fail, and whether it worked or not, he'd give it his best. and mingyu was cute while struggling to try to fix things? vernon might as well die, then.

who knew that vernon would ever want to switch places with mingyu? he'd do anything to have you talk about him like that.

"hey, i can fix your printer." before vernon is thinking, vernon is speaking, and he and all of his coworkers know how that ends.

you're staring at him with surprise in your soft, doe-like eyes, and god, vernon feels like he's melting on the spot. you're leaning in just slightly, fork in mid-stab as you eye vernon down. "you can?"

vernon knows he can't fix anything, let alone a whole printer, but with you staring at him like that, how can he say no?

"of course i can." vernon runs with the lie, shrugging nonchalantly and glancing down at his watch to quickly regain his composure.

"let me work on it after school. i'll stay late if you stay late." vernon feels a surge of confidence rush through him, and you smile, raising a playful eyebrow as you smirk at him.

"are you asking me on a date, chwe?" you say teasingly, and vernon's lithe lips part to reveal the prettiest smile you think you've ever seen.

"if you want to call fixing the school's rickety-ass printer after school hours a date, then yeah," vernon says with another shrug, and you nod, smiling as the bell rings, signifying the end of lunch. the two of you stand up, sounds of children filling the room loudly as you mouth: "it's a date."

[himemeiya]

Fuck you *unwhitewashes your Anthy*

[snoffart]

The kids of Gravity Falls!!

[threecowsusingthisforreblogging]

ninth grade frog dissection <3

[pothame]

Mick is here. Hide, both of you.

[katsukistofu]

i a-door you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. cursing. food. minor unintentional violence. ⭑ bakugo hits on you. literally.

You’re minding your business, book bag slung across your shoulder, and about to walk through the door to 2A’s classroom when something smacks you in the face.

Not only unprompted, but hard.

“Ow!”

It happens so quickly that you don’t remember squeezing your eyes shut as you stumble backwards, both hands flying to clutch your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you swear you can already feel the spot starting to bruise. The previously closed door to the classroom stood ajar and as the cherry on top of the concussion you just received, someone roughly brushes past you.

Fucking asshole.

You whip around, head still throbbing, about to give whoever it is a peace of your mind and finally speak above an inside voice for the first time since a robot almost fell on you during entrance exams semesters ago, when your teary eyes are met with crimson red ones.

He turns his head to give you a once over and your body freezes as his eyes linger a little longer on the darkening mark where the door got you. Something similar to amusement tugs at his lips.

“Pretty cute.”

You blink, dumbfounded as he casually turns on his heel to walk away.

What. The hell.

Did you literally just get hit on by Bakugo freaking Katsuki.

The identical dropped jaws of your classmates that were visible from inside the open doorway confirmed that what just happened was not in fact a post-traumatic induced hallucination, with Midoriya looking the most gobsmacked, his eyes almost comically bulging out of his skull, and upon glancing at Mina, who quickly gets over her initial shock to grin and shoot you a double thumbs up, she excitedly mouths ‘i told you so,’  and you’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

The next day, you’re sporting a fresh, new bandaid on your forehead. It was quite a fashion statement, if you do say so yourself.

It was also the last one at the nurse’s so you were pretty happy to nab it, apparently being the brand that everyone chose when they too got their respective boo-boos.

The latte Mina and the girls brought back from your favorite cafe sat on the wooden coffee table in the common area, still steaming. You refused to go out with a huge bruise marring your appearance, even with the bandaid covering the most of it, and you would take the fullest advantage of the injured person princess treatment while it lasted.

All while awkwardly avoiding a certain blond.

Now that you’re thinking about it, he’s honestly always been kind of nice to you, in his own weird way.

Like when you were forced to ask if you could borrow his eraser, because apparently no one else in the class carried one. Imagine saving Japan your first year of highschool and only writing in pen, even for calculus. Is this what the future generation has come to?

After breathlessly rushing the words out in a hushed voice and wondering if he heard you at all, Bakugo doesn’t even turn around from where he’s resting his chin on his hand listening to Present Mic’s enthusiastic lecture on subject-verb agreement, as he reaches an arm behind him to drop it on your desk.

You’re not sure if you remembered to say “your” before “eraser,” so all he probably heard was “can I borrow eraser?” and it still haunts you to this day.

Shaking the thoughts of him from your mind, you flip your history textbook open to page three hundred and ninety four, ‘A Comprehensive Timeline of Quirk Generations.’ You’re attempting to study for your next upcoming quiz in Midnight’s class.

Key word: attempting.

A delicious smell was starting to waft your way from the kitchen across the room, and now you were kind of hungry. You could feel your attention waning and shook your head, the image of your most recent report card filled with straight As sobering you up. Food could come later, right now you had to focus.

Just twenty more minutes of review, then I'll eat.

Bakugo’s placing the breakfast he easily finished whipping up on the counter. As he uses a spatula to gently coax the fluffy soufflé pancakes out of the pan, he notices the familiar petals of your favorite flower decorating the ceramic he’s putting them on.

It was from a tableware set he picked out when everyone first moved into the dorms. Glasses had assigned everyone groceries among various other things to go shopping for in small groups, and he was paired up with Ponytail to go buy plates.

They were browsing the shelves of a local Daiso store filled with colorful, adorably decorated dishes and rice bowls, when he stopped in front of a price tag, eyes dragging up to study the item it belonged to. The details on it were intricate, and breathtakingly so.

It reminded him of how he felt whenever he looked at you.

Ponytail follows his gaze, and her own eyes brighten.

“Oh, it’s decorated with the favorite flower of–!”

“I know.” He cuts her off, glaring at the floral box set of bowls and plates, before carefully putting it in their cart.

Momo’s eyes widen a bit, before a small, knowing smile spreads across her lips and Bakugo curses at her perceptiveness.

He almost wished he was paired up with that icy-hot bastard instead, who was so oblivious that if you dangled a confession letter in front of him he would have thought you wanted him to proofread it for you.

That was a while ago now, and everyone’s been happily eating meals on the plates they bought ever since.

He tops off the pancakes with a handful of fresh berries and a drizzle of honey, and slides it next to a steaming plate of a kimchi omelette with a zigzag of sriracha sauce already on the counter.

From where he stands, he snorts at your bandaid, noticing the obnoxious amount of Hello Kitty’s plastered all around it. Out of all the bandaids from Recovery Girl’s collection that she kept in her office, of course you would pick the cutest fucking one.

It was undoubtedly something you would like, he thinks, begrudging in his fondness. It was so you.

“Get your ass over here.”

You jump in your spot on the couch at the loud volume of his voice, though it sounded a bit softer than usual. With a finger pointing to yourself, you raise your head in confusion. “Me….?”

Was this about yesterday? Oh my god, was he mad?

You’re not sure why he would be, since he’s not the one that got bitch-slapped in the face by a giant door.

“I don't see anyone else I'd be talking to.” Bakugo scoffs.

He's right, to your increasing dread. The entire common area is completely empty, and you have no choice but to comply with his request.

You’re still nervously fiddling with the edge of your hoodie sleeve, the usual comfort of its softness abandoning you as you approach the kitchen to find him standing at a seat near the counter, arms folded. It hasn’t even been a minute in the same proximity as him and his presence is kind of overwhelming you already.

You’re trying so hard not to stare at his biceps. And just him in general.

“Sit.” he commands, the sound of the metal stool echoing against his hand as he pats it.

You obediently sit down, cursing your lack of a backbone. But his tone didn’t sound like he was planning to take no for an answer, anyway.

“Eat.”

He jabs a thumb at the plate of warm, sweet smelling cloud-like goodness in front of you. You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“This is for me?”

“Huh. You’re slower than I thought you were.” He rolls his eyes and starts to dig into his own plate of omelette in front of him, taking a seat on the stool across from you. It looked good too, as expected. “You’re welcome or whatever.”

With his aggressive blessing and after throwing a quiet but extremely grateful ‘thank you for the meal’ his way, you start to eat.

Your face lights up in joy as the divine taste of spongy goodness and honey spreads across your tongue, and you silently praise his mom for giving birth to the next Gordon Ramsay.

He flicks your forehead as you’re mid-bite in pancake and you yelp in surprise, raising your head to glare at his handsome face. What now? And did he have to be as infuriating as he was good-looking?

That crimson gaze once again stares you down, barely contained amusement dancing in embers of the hot coals of his eyes, and your skin grows warm as you realize you said that last part out loud.

You’re about to give into the urge to run away and take the plate of half-finished pancakes with you when he gruffly speaks up.

“You can’t retain information unless you have something in your stomach, idiot.”

You nod, mouth full, and make a mental note to study on an empty tummy away from him in the future. It’s like he reads your mind because you wince as he scowls, flicking your head again, although a little more gently this time.

Taking care to do it in a spot away from the bandaid covering the injury that he caused, your brain points out.

The both of you continue to eat in comfortable silence.

After a while, your plates are nearly clean.

You smile a little, realizing that you were eating on your favorite plate in the dorm’s kitchen the whole time, and admire the petals of your beloved flowers delicately painted in the center and outer edges of the stark white dish, with the pancakes no longer covering them.

Bakugo notices this, as you softly begin to trace the rim with your finger, and fights the twitch of his lips that threatened to curl upwards.

He’s also noticed those little glances you think you’ve been discreetly throwing his way between the bites of pancake, which you nearly inhaled to his pride.

You could almost be as quiet as that rock-faced animal whisperer of a classmate you both had, but you’ve always sucked at being subtle.

Good thing he hates subtle things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks as you start to slide off the tall stool, a hint of smirk in his voice. It was cute, how you think you could run away from him so easily. You stop in your tracks, blinking at him as he rises from his own seat.

Strong, toned arms that you totally haven’t been staring at for the past half hour are slowly placed on both sides of you, caging you against the counter. An embarrassing noise escapes from your lips, and the cold granite bites into your back as you lean away, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to look to the side, suddenly finding the chibi magnets of various high ranking heroes on the fridge to be very interesting.

“I said,” he grabs your chin in his hand, which was so big compared to your face that he could squish your cheeks between his ring finger and thumb, “look at me.

You huff, now forcefully held in place to face him against your will. “I’m looking.”

“Good.”

He leans down and his lips graze your ear, seeming to take great pleasure in only further adding to your embarrassment when he mutters:

“And don’t stand so fucking close to the door next time.”

not bakugo pulling the classic asian parent move and giving u food instead of a proper apology LOLL

[cozylittleartblog]

girl help i have been transported back to middle school

artfight attack on @necrotic-nightshade !!