#missed it when my literature teacher would play this throughout class | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanababes · 3 years

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The more, the merrier

Pairings: fem!reader x poly!SaYeon (Minatozaki Sana/Cho Miyeon)

Warnings: smut (hair pulling, daddy kink, thigh riding, bondage, a bit of overstimulation???)

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The sun sets over the horizon of Seoul's sky as you stare mindlessly outside the wide windows of your classroom. The faint sound of your teacher discussing something about the origin of a certain Korean literature is barely audible. You sighed gently before shifting your gaze back to your desk, it was all good and your day went well until Miyeon decided to extend her class for an extra hour.

You looked towards the older woman in front as she passionately covered the topic with its major details. The bright gleam coming from the recessed light on the ceiling hits her smooth and porcelain skin. Miyeon's eyes are sharp but vibrant which you liked a lot as she continued with the lesson, but seeing her laid beneath you while her body trembled in pleasure was more of your taste.

"Miss L/n, are you still with us?"

You flinched at the sudden call of your name. Your classmates started to holler around in a teasing manner, much to your dismay.

"Yes, ma'am…" you muttered, embarrassed that Miyeon caught you gaping at her shamelessly.

The latter gives you an innocent smile before getting the attention of the other students back to her discussion once again.

'Tsk, the nerve of this woman.'

---

Miyeon's class has finally ended and you immediately took a breather while dashing out of the lecture room. You were too preoccupied with your thoughts that you didn't notice your phone vibrate, indicating someone is calling you. You finally grabbed it after a whole minute and answered the call which seemed to be a little urgent.

"Hey, Y/n/n. Are you done with your classes?"

A distinct voice speaks up from the other line. You unconsciously let out a silent laugh before replying to the latter, "Sana unnie? You called, and yeah, I just finished them. What's up?"

"Hmm, nothing much. I'm done with my schedule for the week so…" you hummed, waiting for her to continue.

"Would you like to come over?"

Your eyebrow raised in interest, but you already predicted what the woman was up to. Nevertheless, you still agreed.

"Uh yeah, sure. I'll be there in a few." Sana lets out a few giggles before hanging up with her usual farewell.

You chuckled at her cute demeanor, at the same time, Miyeon had a glimpse of you walking towards the school's exit. She had a mischievous smile written on her lips as her legs strutted swiftly to catch up on you. The students around began to murmur endlessly while a certain brunette triumphantly clings to your arm. Your eyebrows furrowed and almost pushed whoever the person is when a playful whisper sends goosebumps down your spine.

"Hi baby," you promptly tensed up but the way Miyeon's hand rubs gentle circles on your back helped to calm you down.

"Can't you keep your hands to yourself? They'll probably start some nonsense rumors again." you groaned out. She had the nerve to laugh in the spur of the moment before purposely making her voice a lot louder, "Aigoo~ My dear, sister. You shouldn't act like that when unnie is babying you."

You swear to your life that the cringe you've felt after she said that was uncomparable. All you wanted to do was to dig a hole in the ground and yeet yourself in it. Your face contorted in a grimace of pain. A kind of pain that you'll never have the ability to look into any of these students nearby straight into their eyes.

"Fuck…" you dropped your head down, not wanting to see any of their reactions.

Meanwhile, Miyeon is having a fun time from teasing you. She loved how you would react and began to feel the need of doing it quite often. But, there was a specific reason. Miyeon loved getting you riled up. The way you get rougher and the inflamed gaze on your eyes just hits the right spot in her.

"Let go," you said through gritted teeth. The latter had yet to realize that you've already walked a block away from the school premises.

"What? But why? My car is just parked a few streets away." she mutters. You rolled your eyes and tried to loosen her grip on you, "I told you, let go."

"I won't, but maybe, until you give me a kiss."

You let out a harsh scoff before looking at her, her eyes reflecting an enchanting aura you knew very well, "You've got to be kidding me… I think that sister and shit roleplay had gotten inside your head now."

She chuckled slyly before brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Then why are you getting bothered so much? I thought it was just some 'nonsense' as what you call it. And it was a made-up rumor so they wouldn't be skeptical of our relationship, I'm sure you're aware of that since none of them are true. Am I right?"

You tried to keep your expression neutral as possible, knowing that Miyeon could make something a big deal so quickly. But she was indeed correct, all of the people in school believed your wonderful-sister relationship. You can't even recall how and when it happened, nevertheless, you were the type who wouldn't care too much so you just shrugged it off and played along.

When it comes to your bond with the brunette, you don't even know what kind of relationship it is. The two of you just started fucking each other at some point within the past few years and kind of became an affinity you couldn't let go easily.

"Fine," you looked around your surroundings, feeling a bit wary that someone might see the two of you. It would surely cause a lot of trouble if they saw you. And you weren't worried for yourself, you're mostly concerned at what it might result in Miyeon's future in teaching and you never once thought of disrupting her long time dream carelessly.

You guided her into a hidden alley nearby and she already brought your lips together before you did. You unconsciously pinned her against the wall, one of your hands cradled the back of Miyeon's head so she wouldn't feel too uncomfortable. Her tongue runs swiftly against your lip as she takes it between her teeth simultaneously. You groaned eagerly before hiking the pencil skirt she was wearing higher, caressing the soft flesh near Miyeon's throbbing heat. A hushed whimper came out from her as you took it as an initiative to pull away, but not completely, just letting your lips hover against hers.

"Getting a little greedy, aren't you, Y/n/n." she cooed.

You just smirked and fixed her skirt back to its knee-length position, "I'll accompany you to your car and then I'll get going."

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Miyeon asked while running her hands through her hair.

"No need," the two of you proceeded to walk to the next street until you spotted Miyeon's car parked in front of a bakery.

Your phone dinged and you immediately fished it out of your pocket, Sana's name was flashed on the screen and her text read, "What's taking you so long?"

"Who's tha-"

Miyeon scoffs as soon as she had a glimpse of the name shown on your phone. "Excuse me?! So now you prefer going over to that girl's house instead of mine, huh?"

You chuckled at her statement before dismissing it quickly, "I'm just going to hang out with her for an hour or two."

The latter glares at you, suspicious and having an idea of your possible motives.

"Bring me with you."

"What? But I-"

"No buts, bring me with you or I'll drive you back home."

You huffed frustratingly before giving in to Miyeon's request, "Fine, don't cause any ruckus when we get there."

---

The tension in the air was getting too much suffocating for you, Miyeon and Sana were literally cursing each other through their own eyes as they seated with distance on the bed of Sana's tiny apartment. You couldn't help but laugh silently at their looks, and if looks do kill, they're both probably dead right now.

You stood up from your seat on the couch nearby the girls' place and grabbed a glass of water. Your throat just dried up from the silence resonating throughout the small unit, also, your boredom was getting the best of you. Glancing at your phone, 30 minutes have passed by just like that and Miyeon and Sana are still in a silent battle with each other. Deciding that their childishness is simply just some funny business, you jogged towards the bed then jumped on top of the soft mattress. Sana just uttered a confused 'Eh?' while Miyeon just stared at you, puzzled at your sudden change of demeanor.

"Are you guys done at mentally killing each other?"

You alternate your gaze between the two of them as they sheepishly avoid any eye contact.

That was until Sana spoke up, clearly sulking as she went through her words, "Why did you bring this bitch here? I said we would spend time together, alone." she mumbled while emphasizing the last word. Miyeon visibly frowned at what the latter said.

"Well, the more, the merrier," you smiled teasingly before closing your eyes and leaning against the headboard.

Not even a few seconds have passed, you felt a weight settled on your lap, meaning one of them is now on top of you.

"Y/n… You're not letting her join us, aren't you?"

You opened your eyes, but there's no more signs of mischief on them. Sana gulped audibly which made a smirk plaster on your lips.

"Why are you such a brat today, hmm?" your hand slowly nudged the strands of hair which covered her gorgeous face from your view. Without any warning, you joined her locks together and pulled them from behind. It drew a filthy moan from Sana as her lips part in slight agony.

"I-I'm sorry," her breath hitched, feeling your hand toying with the waistband of her laced thong.

"I'm sorry, what?" you raised an eyebrow as you pulled on her hair roughly than before.

"Daddy… I'm sorry, daddy."

You moved your hand down to swipe the tip of your finger against her damped core. Miyeon just sat on the edge of the bed like a tamed puppy wanting the attention of its owner, her jaw was clenched as she watched you and Sana with jealousy. You continued to tease the woman in your lap while a series of gentle cries came out from her mouth.

Deciding that Sana still haven't had enough, you ushered Miyeon to sit beside you which she immediately obliged. You released your other hand from Sana's hair before using it to hold Miyeon's chin as you leaned closer to her, "Can you do something for me, babygirl?"

The latter nods, melting further into your warm touch.

"Bring out your rope and vibrator for me."

Beads of sweat started to form around Sana's forehead as you continued to assault her swollen clit. Her thong was no longer on her, the piece of clothing had been resting on the floor for a while now. The latter is only wearing her baggy white tee that made her perky nipples noticeable under the thin piece of clothing.

Miyeon obediently followed your orders as she brought two of the toys you requested in no time. You motioned for her to stay put, grabbing the rope from her hands first.

"Let me know if it's too tight," you said while grabbing Sana's waist from behind.

You hooked your chin on her shoulder as you pressed your lips against the back of her neck. You gently tied the rope around her chest before speaking up, "Hands on your back." Sana immediately followed your command, her wrists also being binded by the rope. You let her wear her shirt on since the thick thread could leave marks on her precious skin.

After a few checks and securing the final knot, you pushed her harshly onto the bed while reaching for the vibrator. The Japanese had her face tucked in her pillow as you pulled her hips and turned her body around.

"You're always the prettiest when you're tied up like this, Sana-yah." you smiled, the woman underneath you squirms needily as you propped your arms between her.

Well, she was indeed gorgeous in her vulnerable state right now. Her eyes soften as you capture her lips slowly, unaware of the toy that's nearing her dripping core.

Once you slipped the vibrator between her wet folds, Sana's back arches in shock as the pleasure suddenly overwhelmed her body. Strangled whines and moans began to erupt from her while you kept on kissing her roughly. Miyeon couldn't help but to get entranced at how you handled the latter. She never experienced being fucked hard by you as she usually only lasted for a round or two. But seeing how good Sana must be feeling, she suddenly had the nerve to stop being so obedient, even just for a while.

You pulled away from Sana when a tug on your blouse disturbed you from continuing to keep your lips locked from the woman beneath you. You gave Sana a last glance before leaving the toy clenched inside her dripping cunt, "Enjoy your little punishment, my pretty slut." you breathed huskily. "And if you cum without my permission, you'll need to last longer through the night, darling."

The latter tried to tug on the rope as she started to mutter a few complaints, her hips grinding against the toy inserted in her at the same time. You let her blabber apologies while proceeding to tend on Miyeon who's sitting on her knees with her eyes locked onto her lap.

You sighed empathetically before reaching your hand out for her to take. She looks at you reluctantly before succumbing to your embrace. You leaned in to kiss the girl as her arms naturally wrapped around your neck. Your hands traveled down to her skirt as you unzipped the hindering material, tugging on it repeatedly until Miyeon got your intention.

After stripping all of her clothes, you pulled the latter to let her settle between your legs, the two of you facing Sana who's been uttering whines for a while now. Miyeon looks at you, conflicted at exposing herself in front of the Japanese who's trying to keep her eyes on you, silently begging for permission so she can finally have her awaited release.

"Be thankful that I'm still giving my attention to you, baby. Why don't you be a good girl and ride daddy's thigh, hmm?" you gave her a warning gaze, she didn't have any choice but to obey your command.

Miyeon proceeded to straddle your left thigh as she starts to grind herself against the rough texture of your black jeans. Her ragged pants made you grin from ear to ear, your hands snaked up to her mounds as you grazed your thumb to her hardening buds. The latter whines at the contact while you latched your mouth into the sensitive part of her back.

"That's it, Miyeon-ah. You're doing so well right now, babygirl." she felt you smirking against her skin.

You couldn't have any less effect on her as the wetness spreading on your thigh proves you right. You let Miyeon do her best to reach her high, your gaze then lands onto the other woman who's starting moan louder than before. Sana's eyes started to flutter close while she tried her best to hold her orgasm. You also noticed her body shaking uncontrollably, meaning she's trying her best to keep up with your demand.

"Y-Y/n, I can't…" she rasped out shakily. "Huh? You can't what, Sana-yah?"

You glanced at the arousal leaking from her cunt, she couldn't reply well but a frantic nod answers your question. Meanwhile, Miyeon is starting to reach her limit too. Her grinds are getting sloppy and her hips stutters nearly every thrust.

"Nghh, daddy, I'm gonna- fuck!" you hummed soothingly as Miyeon leans her head back in ecstasy. She releases a prolonged moan while avoiding eye contact with the suffering Japanese in front of her.

"You can cum too, Sana." you looked at her half-lidded eyes while rubbing Miyeon's tummy in a comforting manner.

The older lets out a loud mewl as her body washes through intense shockwaves. You let Miyeon lay down onto the mattress before assisting Sana by removing the vibrator from her worn out core and aligning it to her mouth instead. She looks at you with teary eyes before languidly licking her own juices.

You threw the toy away and gave Sana a gentle peck on the forehead. Your hands then went on to untie the knot on her wrists as you helped her to get the rope off her body, kissing the leftover marks on her chest, arms, and wrists.

You laid them beside each other, the two are still clearly averting their gazes from each other. Hopping off the bed, you grabbed some warm water and towels to clean their mess. They even tried to help you out as you gently wiped their bodies but you sternly told them to just rest.

After placing the used towels away, you joined the girls in the bed before giving each of them a kiss.

"You did well, unnies."

(a/n: ya'll how was it??? PFFFPFFFPFF i would appreciate some feedback 😊)

#twice imagines #twice reactions #twice scenarios #twice smut #sana imagines #sana smuts #gidle imagines #gidle reactions #gidle scenarios #gidle smut #minatozaki sana #cho miyeon #kpop #twice #gidle #i cant stop me #lol #girlgroups

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lovemeafterhrs · 3 years

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come over when ur sober | s. rintarou

track fourteen: white wine

this chap ended up being so long i had to split it into two parts 😔 rip the plot ig

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the morning began with the dreaded ringing of suna’s alarm clock as he rushed to click the snooze button. much to his demise, morning had already turned into afternoon and he had ten minutes to get to the class he’d been both dreading and anticipating. he was trudging his way through his room much faster than he would’ve liked, pulling on the nearest clean shirt and reaching for socks and shoes. dragging his feet out the door, he remembered a crucial detail that normally would’ve sent him tumbling straight back into his dorm room for a ‘sick day.’

he had forgotten to finish reading that stupid short story mrs. elaine was raving about.. maybe the quizlet will be enough? god this is so fucked-

his shoes hit the pavement and a cold rush of air left his cheeks flushed as he turned the corner, eyeing the campus courtyard as he spotted a familiar face frozen in surprise next to one of the benches. she was staring down a tall, dark haired foreign man with an almost crucial eye, like she was trying to place the identity of a stranger that she’d long forgotten. her face contorted into one of realization as her eyes moved from his figure to suna’s, and she rushed over to him with wide eyes as she pulled him towards one of the nearby pillars.

“suna!” she squeaked, eyes shifting from him to the center of the courtyard. “does that guy look familiar to you?”

he paused, following her vision as he eyed the man up and down. it wasn’t every day that a disheveled american came to visit their university, but he looked a little too old to be a student. his white collared shirt crinkled under his jacket, hanging loose around his tie as he pulled on it nervously. he looked stressed, like he was waiting for someone he was afraid would never show up. his actions were almost hauntingly familiar, yet he couldn’t quite figure out why.

after a moment, realization overwhelmed him as he thought of the polaroids scattered across the desk of his comparative world literature teacher. they had caught his eye one day, shortly after learning about his professor’s long lost love from the states. one person had stood out amongst the others in the photos, towering over the younger image of his teacher as she smiled brightly in his arms. he looked much more serious now, face turned into a deep frown as he paced back and forth. suna turned to the girl next to him as she pulled on his jacket sleeve excitedly.

“you know what this means, right?” she smirked, and he rolled his eyes playfully as he started walking, inadvertently taking her with him.

“we’re gonna be late for class, you’ve been glaring at that guy for like five minutes.” he pointed out, and her footsteps picked up in speed to match his pace as she stuck her tongue out at him.

“since when do you want to go to class?” the sarcastic response earned a huff from the boy, causing her laugh to ring through the halls as they made their way up the stairs.

“to see if she’s there yet, duh.” suna wasn’t going to lie, he had taken a particular interest in professor elaine’s dramatic tale of lost love. he’d never admit it, but he spent many hours connecting the dots of small comments she’d made to figure out the story. it was a favored topic among the dinner table, and he found himself paying attention more in class just to catch those little details.

“see, i knew you were interested! don’t try to play me for a foo-“ her voice slowly began to trail off as they turned the corner, before stopping completely as they walked in the door. “she’s not here yet?”

students were littered throughout the classroom, sitting on desks talking or catching up on homework as she walked towards the window. suna followed shortly behind, staring through the glass at the man’s distant figure. he was standing at the fountain now, staring off into the ocean of people as they made their way to class.

poor guy. maybe she knew and decided to avoid him-

“oh my god, oh my god! she’s walking through the courtyard right now. suna, get your camera ready!” he turned to face her, fighting a blush as she beamed up at him. her eyes were practically sparkling, and his mind was running wild as he coughed and turned back to the scene at hand.

after getting stuck in traffic for forty five minutes on her way to work, professor elaine was absolutely at her wits end. when she finally pulled into the parking lot and turned off her car, she thought she’d dealt with the worst possible inconvenience of the day. undoubtedly, she was wrong.

her heels clicked against the cement as she walked through the courtyard, determined to get to class and finish the day. as she passed by the fountain, a head of dark hair caught her eye as she stopped and turned towards the tall man. her entire world stopped for a moment as he fixed his glasses, and the words dried up in her mouth as she turned and quickly shuffled her way up the stairs.

she had bigger priorities, like the full class of students waiting for their instructor. she had all the time in the world to tell him, right?

she didn’t expect to be greeted by every student gathered at the window, gawking at her in disbelief.

“what the FUCK was that,” came a comment from one side of the large window.

“i uh.. have a class to teach?” she offered, and the students booed at her as she tried to wave them off. “no, seriously guys, we have to annotate that short story today-“

“fuck that, aren’t you in love with him or whatever?” suna responded plainly, still planted next to the short girl as she shook her head at her teacher.

“yeah, professor. you’re always talking about taking chances, and you’re here wanting to annotate the monkey's paw? seriously?” she added, and they nodded amongst themselves as she looked between them.

since when have they been such a pair? have they always been so.. friendly?

“what are you still doing here?” mei stood from her desk, glaring at her professor as she shooed her away with her hands. “go, before we drag you!”

“but what about class-“

“we’ll catch up tomorrow! now get out of here!”

huddled together at the window, the comparative world literature students watched as she approached the fountain, and the sounds of clapping and cheering echoed through the other classrooms as he pulled her into his arms. frozen in the moment with sun shining through the windows, suna rintarou felt at ease. her bright smile never faded, pulling open the window to cheer at the top of her lungs with her head poking through the glass. whoops and whistles poured out of the room, filling the courtyard with laughter as they watched the professor get her happy ending.

if only suna hadn’t been so focused on the arm that had wrapped around his as she pulled herself back from the open window, giggling as she smiled down at her teacher. if his eyes had bothered to leave her for just a moment, he might’ve seen the ending to the story he’d been so interested in only moments prior.

masterlist:

taglist: @skomiomi @elianetsantana @dae-kirei @koushiskitten @sredamancy @inarizakiu @kozutenshi @alienvarmint @4kaashl @witcherydotcom @dreamstormings @sapphicstarss @atsunakaashi @words-in-air @laughingismorefun @ssunasimpp @iminlovewhaikyuu @melodiamore @peteunderoos @my-love-for-you-is-missing @anngelllla @kathya420 @youngestdelacour @lgbtq-haikyuu @momoinot @indecisivehusky @moonlightsof @02hhsailor @sakusarights @crybabbicus @rintaoreo @colorseeingchick @peganimeboys @sunakissses @keisunaa

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #suna smau #rintarou suna #suna rintarou x reader #cowys <3 #enemies to lovers! suna #also THIS IS THE DREADED CAMPUS SCENE #I REWROTE THIS SO MANY TIMES #id like to personally thank campus by vampire weekend for making this chapter happen #basically pain

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skevans · 3 years

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Nocturne op.72 no.1 — Essay

Hi, welcome to my long-forgotten tumblr I barely remembered existed. Dust and cobwebs aside, this is an essay I initially wrote in French for a Literature class. Don't ask me how the hell I found the will to hand this in to my teacher, bless his soul.

A couple of years later, I found that essay in the depth of a folder on my computer. I remembered what was in it, to a point, but when I decided to read it again, I got very emotional (and very mortified 'cause oh god school). And during the following weeks, I started thinking about a lot of things that were still floating unresolved within my head. But then, I decided to write. And after a few days of internal debate, I posted the first chapter of A Sea of Silence.

It's been months since I finished that story, and those months have not been kind to me for many reasons. And maybe that's why, this week, I started thinking about that essay. When I did, I was overcome with a desire to share it with the world—and especially with the people who read my fic. So here it is, hastily translated but just as honest. Please note that it discusses anxiety.

And so, thank you if you take the time to read this, and an even bigger thank you if you read the essay, too!

Nocturne op.72 no.1

When I think back on my childhood, I hear the sound of piano. Various melodies follow me, accompanying me in a waltz between memories. It’s my mother’s interpretation of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata that haunts the quiet moments. My sister and I would play in an adjacent room, glowing with delight as our mother started the first movement. It’s the piece’s somber and melancholic tone that colours my memory, but it’s a good kind of darkness—the kind that feels like the soft touch of night as you walk under the stars. My mother didn’t stop there; she would segue into the second movement, a graceful interlude that almost got swallowed in between the grandiosity of the other movements. And at last, she would tackle the final piece. I remember the anticipation; I remember wanting to watch her fingers fly over the keys. We would sneak in the living room—don’t make so much noise, you’re gonna bother her!—and thus we became the spectators to a private concert. The combination of semiquavers and staccato, everything played presto agitato, was the most fascinating thing. And despite the intensity and the tempestuous rhythm, I would sense my muscles relaxing, my thoughts lightening, the frenetic beat of my heart slowing. When I listen to this piece now, there’s still a glimpse of that long forgotten peace.

I turn six and I learn the piano. It’s a decision that comes from me, but also from my mother. It’s a decision that pleases me, even enchants me. The learning process goes well; I love to learn and I love to play—a rarely seen fervour seizes me. My motivation originates both from a desire to walk into my mother’s footsteps and from a childish inclination to create noise. The teacher likes me, and the sentiment is reciprocal; she speaks with a soft voice, but underneath there is an unyielding tone that I come to respect. She nudges me forward, constantly making sure that I don’t neglect my practice. I try to meet her expectations because I want to succeed, but also to maintain that impression of calm that possesses me when I sit at the piano.

The next step is to play at a recital, so we set off for the musical conservatory. I’m ten the first time I play before an audience. Panic controls me—I worry I won’t be able to perform, and the thought loops in my mind until I believe it. I climb on the stage in spite of my terror, and the room morphs into a cage. At 10 years-old, the size of the concert hall is intimidating, to a point that my heart crawls up my throat. The exit is far—way too far—and all the stares fixed on me feel more like I’m attending a trial than a recital. My hands become damp (how will I play if my hands slip?), but wiping them on my dress of red velvet means showing my fear—and my father always tells me not to show my fear. So I look at the floor and force my legs to move until finally, finally, I stand before the piano. I sit. Even now, I believe it’s impossible for me to play my piece, that piece I yet find so easy. I take my time adjusting the bench; once done, my hands reflexively settle over the keys. One deep breath—and I start to play. That tranquility I’m so desperate for guides me, and the audience fades from my mind. My eyes track my fingers as they find all the notes—not one mistake—and for a moment, it’s like I’m floating over my body, surrendering utter control to instinct and music. Once the piece ends and my hands lift from the piano, it’s the thunderous applause that tugs me back into reality; I walk off the stage, that paralyzing feeling of fright dismissed.

The feeling that possesses me is anxiety. At 6 years-old, as I begin learning the piano, I don’t know what anxiety is; the only thing I understand is that music offers solace. When I turn 10, I can’t find the word to explain that emotion that assaulted me as I stepped on the stage. It’s with time that I discover the word “anxiety”. I see my reflection in the definitions I find in dictionaries and on the web; it’s those definitions that grasp onto me, that glue themselves over me until I cannot dissociate them from my being without ripping out of my skin. The term “anxiety” now belongs to me—or rather, I belong to it. The years pass and my thoughts cede before it. My anxiety takes control of me for a period of my life; I have lost all mastery of myself. I graduate from high school with terrible difficulty; I drop out of college three times. But anxiety doesn’t stop there; she smears her poison throughout all spheres of my life. My relationship with my family degenerates slowly but surely—so do many of my friendships. Working becomes a hurdle because my boss at the store agitates me with her severe attitude—it feels like nothing is never enough and everything is wrong. I cannot stand myself anymore. Anxiety seeps into my body, an army of swarming bugs that infiltrate all I am as an individual. They contaminate me from the inside, and I am nothing but a puppet, subjected to circumstances out of my control. And this lasts and lasts and lasts for eight years—eight long years. I lose my footing and fall into the arms of depression several times. Appointments with doctors tell me what I already knew. We try solutions and then more solutions; there are good times, scarce but cherished. But happiness and peace of mind slip through my fingers like grains of sand; I grab another handful, but it was never meant to last. These feelings end up seeming distant, unreachable, impossible. I mind myself to the fact that I will have to live with the physical and emotional wounds my anxiety inflicts on me. Time and experience allow me to gauge my level of comfort and how to react; sometimes, I cannot step out of my apartment. And so life goes on—and I am swept away by the tides.

Thinking back on this slice of my life, I’ve come to several conclusions. There were many happenings that were completely out of my control—and yet, as I dig deeper and deeper, I realize that this deviation originates from one thing in particular.

The year I turn 15, I experience an acute pain in my right wrist. Holding a pen for longer than a few minutes is impractical; playing piano on a regular basis is impossible. Those news, validated by a medical consultation, are not surprising—but they are heartbreaking. Later, the pain extends to my shoulder. Within weeks, I become an unwilling witness to the collapse of my dream of studying and teaching piano. The problem comes from within me, within my body—my love for the piano is the trigger to this pain. I’m told that a cure is implausible—you can do exercises to lessen the pain, and you have to eliminate repetitive movements since they will worsen it, and yes, miss, that includes the piano. I used to play piano at least one hour a day, something that unconsciously kept my anxiety at bay—but the inability to play for longer than a few minutes opens the door to my anxiety. I discover myself anew when I’m 16: tirelessly worried, always anxious, terribly distrustful. It’s the start of the downward spiral. I am not me anymore, I am someone else. Anxiety is my mother, instability is my father, fear is my sister. I am reborn into an unknown world dubbed Real Life by my family, who firmly believe this is part of being a teenager. But I don’t believe in this Real Life, and I pray to all and nothing for a miracle. I only know one line of prayer so I make up my own. I fill fictive litanies with my fears and my hopes. Amen. I refuse to consider this existence as True because to me, it can only be False. But my convictions are tossed aside, their dismissal hammered into me endlessly. It’s almost as if a huge neon sign hangs on a wall of my bedroom: Welcome to Real Life! But all I see are ridiculous directives that only bring misfortune—don’t forget to register for our latest draw! Discover what setbacks you will endure next! I don’t want this—I refuse, I reject, I refute. It’s the song of my mind, playing on repeat; I want to believe it—I want to believe it more than anything else because I have exhausted all of my solutions and the future beyond is veiled in uncertainty.

But with time, I realize that simply wanting something, no matter how much, doesn’t mean it will slip into the world through the cracks of my resolve. And so, I begin to toil over my own fate. I try to shape it. I fail. I try again. It’s a cycle with no end in sight. I wander aimlessly through life, and thus I discover more of myself and I try to understand. Questions assail me; most of the time, there is no answer; when there are, they are often unpleasant. Still, I accept them—because I have learned that closing my eyes and rejecting a reality will not bring me anything. This crushing problem, this anxiety that manipulates me, I try to be aware of it—and in the end, I accept it. She is part of me, too intrinsic for me to surrender her; she welded her existence in my foundations, and if I break free, I negate myself. But what crystallizes with time is the recognition that I’m living a fight that I believed lost before even entering the arena. It’s an intimidating fight: my adversary is formidable, and there is no end in sight; it’s an everlasting battle that occurs every hour, every minute, every second. And yet, I am not done—I gather my arsenal, I warm up, and I entre the arena. No referees—this isn’t a fair fight; there cannot be a winner, only moments of victory. My adversary steps forward, and in her, I see me—me as I was for eight long years. The signal goes off and we begin. No turning back now.

Strangely, what helps me survive the daily fights is time. Throughout this turbulent journey, my wrist undertakes its never-ending recovery. Nine years later, the dreadful pain I felt at every move has become a memory. I live alone now, and getting access to a piano is not always easy; neither is it regular. But one day—one day, I decide to try again. I make my way to my mother’s house on a day where she and her husband are absent; the fragility of my resolve hangs over me, and I cannot let it waver out of self-consciousness. In the basement are all of my mother’s sheet music—all of my sheet music—and it takes a lot of searching before I finally find the last piece I learned when I was 15. The last piece I ever played. Too eager, I snatch Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 off the floor, grabbing a few more sheet music from that part of my life forever ago. At last, I sit on the piano bench. I open the booklet, flipping through the pages until I find the Nocturne; it’s one of my favourites, whether by coincidence or a design of my own. But it’s with wretched bitterness that I realize I am unable to play the piece. Not only has it been nine years, but my dexterity has vanished, bidding me goodbye with a mocking smile. My fingers each weigh a pound; I hear myself strike the keys with a mortifying clumsiness; the resulting sound is disappointing, closer to chaotic noise than the flowing music of my memories. Nothing happens like I want it to. However, the same passage of time that helped my injury gave me the strength to cross out the word “abandon” from my vocabulary. I sometimes know victory, more often I know defeat, but what has become unfamiliar is capitulation. So I close the booklet, hiding the piece I yearned for, and I pick another one. It’s an easy piece, but in truth, nothing seems easy anymore; the piece is a crutch, a stepping stone towards more. In time, I will get sick of hearing Chopin’s Waltz op.69 no.2, my mind saturated by the melody from months of practice. It’s a challenge, and I start to get obsessed with the notion of learning this piece, because learning it means I can learn more. Nothing will stop me.

There is progress, but it’s slow and it’s tedious. Each week, I ride the bus to my mother’s house so I can practice for one hour, sometimes two. These hours are precious; I try not to squander them and I try even harder to remind myself this is just the beginning. My wrist still hurts at times; whenever I test my limits, a zap of pain echoes through my hand, signalling the end of the practice. It slows me down, frustrates me to no end, but the possibility of not playing for another nice years snaps me out of those low moments. And one day, six months later, I pick up Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 again. I start with the left hand; the constant rhythm of the triplets played legato rips the stitches of a long-buried wound. A ghost rises out of it—it’s Me as I was, and it possesses me, guiding my hand with its cold touch. I play the first line, then the second; soon enough, I jump to the second page. I am not here, not really; rather, I am lost to that old fragment of beloved peace. Now that I recognize the beast in me as anxiety, I finally understand that those moments of solace happen when I hear the twinkling notes of the piano. And so I get on my feet in the arena and I stand ready to continue the eternal fight. There are other ways to keep anxiety away, to rationalize it, and I think back on my first fifteen years, nearly empty of anguish, full of other pains, but also filled with hours of music. I learn Chopin’s Nocturne in three months. It’s not perfect—it will never be—but I can play it. I play it until I can do so with my eyes closed.

The year I decide to sit at the piano again, I return to school. The first semester is trying; I haven’t studied seriously in over five years—good habits are difficult to unearth. I try to keep my demanding job despite the crushing amount of pressure, but there comes a moment where I cannot breathe under that weight, and stress wins once more. Everything appears ready to crumble before it began. Luckily, my mother realizes that my fragile pyramid of cards is about to fall, and she wakes me up with harsh and well-aimed and true words; we don’t always understand each other then, and feelings get bruised, but in time, things will change for the better. I still fail the classes I took; I search for a new job. My anxiety hit me with an uppercut that could have turned the tables in her favour, but I stand again and again—I stand long enough to finish college a year later. I am 24 the day I hand in my final project that allows me to graduate. As I walk out of the building, there is pride accompanying me, but most of all, it’s a soothing sensation of satisfaction that wraps itself around me. It resembles that peace of mind I find from the piano, and that is what makes me smile.

The next fall, I have my own piano. The opportunity to play whenever is still incredible. Not long before the purchase, the pain in my wrist flares once more, stronger than before. But this time, I know what to expect. I adapt instead of running away; I’m not 15 anymore and I have so much more experience in the suitcase I carry through life. I get tests done in hope of a permanent solution; they reveal nothing new, but the professional advice that follows those tests opens the door to new possibilities to rein in the pain. Those possibilities are comforting in their own way; that absolute sense of defeat is now barely discernable.

I still believe that the Me from over ten years ago will not come back to life; she doesn’t exist anymore; her only vestige is her love for music. But that is alright—I am not the same person I was at 6 years-old when all I knew was the music weaving through the house. I am someone else, so I baptize myself anew. I allow myself the sanctity of a second chance, that unreachable notion always evading me. But this time, I chase it. I grasp it close to my heart. I take it—and I live it.

#writing #essay #anxiety

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blissfulbroadway · 3 years

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Alfred Nathaniel Hallam III Headcanons!!!

YES his name is Alfred Nathaniel Hallam yes he is a third no I do not take criticism

Childhood:

- Alfie got pneumonia as an infant. It messed up his lungs A Lot and affected his immune system and stuff as well so as a child he was constantly sick.

- He was in and out of hospital a lot and had a few surgeries so he was always on bed rest and isolated to everyone until he was about four years old.

- All of his medical issues caused his mum, Elizabeth Hallam, to dote on him a lot and suffocate him a bit. His father, Alfred Hallam II was the opposite and became pretty detached from being a father figure to Alfie.

- At a very young age, Alfred was introduced to stories since he couldn’t go anywhere. He was constantly reading in bed and learning often. Also his father made him study German just for funsies.

- His grandfather Wally, or Alfred Hallam I, introduced Alfred to Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland when he was three. Wally re-enacted the story to him in hospital a lot, and it inspired Alfred to fall in love with the story and take on the characters as his own. Wally got him his own copy after an especially difficult surgery, as well as a stuffed rabbit called Baby because he’s a three year old and it’s his little baby bunny :-) (he still ends up traveling with it as an adult and can’t leave without him).

- Around that time, his parents had his little brother, Elias (named after their mum) to be a backup plan or new start because they didn’t think Alfred would be much worth to them in the future. Yes they are shitty I know :/

- His parents have very very very high expectations for him because he’s now the older brother who has to do everything and he’s not their spoiled sick baby boy. They let Eli be a little shit and do anything he wants (like any little sibling but multiplied by like 10) while Alfie was expected to be the perfect child who dressed, acted, looked, and spoke the way they wanted.

- Alfie and his parents are very posh sounding because they live in Bromley, but he has a slight northern twang because of his grandfather. His parents hate it.

- When he’s four years old, after a long period of bedrest, Alfred is allowed to play alone outside, and he meets Alice. They refer to that day as their Golden Afternoon because it was the day they became the best of friends, and Alfred introduced Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland to her. (At first Alice was probably like Who are you and what are you doing in my backyard and Alfred is just SO EXCITED to introduce his favorite storybook in his entire existence so she budges and let’s him share his world with her)

- Alfie is a huge bookworm and while he adores learning and reading, his infatuation for learning mathematics (mostly so he could impress his father and maybe he would love him more if he knew “Big Kid Things” yes I know 🥺🥺🥺) manifested into an obsession with time, as well as the fear of being late or running out of time. He was surrounded by the idea of death from a young age and it influenced the way he thought about himself and what might happen to him if he didn’t listen to his parents. Their pressure brought out his anxiety disorder and depression at a very young age and it sticks with him throughout the rest of his life. His escape from all that death and sadness was Alice’s Adventures because he could always reset the clock at the end of the book and start again.

- When he’s five, Alfie spends some of his rich kid allowance on a copy of Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland for Alice, and in return she buys him a pocket watch a few years later. He adores it and never ever takes it off even as an adult.

- Alfred avoids his own home a lot and spends time with Alice in their conjoined backyard, playing pretend and acting out their story together. Sometimes, they spent the days inside her house (Mama Hallam is good friends with the Spencer parents, so she doesn’t mind them watching Alfie) and Alfred is well acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Spencer enough where he considers them paternal figures...sort of. (Mr. Spencer is lowkey highkey Alfred’s bisexual awakening, and he’s one of Alfred’s first crushes; it doesn’t help that his own father constantly criticizes him and his interests or is absent from his life doing slimy rich man things. Daddy issues.)

- Mr. Spencer is a book lover (possibly librarian? Also sometimes professor :-)) and so he’s constantly discussing stories with Alfred and Alice on an intellectual level fit for the both of them. Most adults treat them like small children, so Alfred loves the attention.

- When Mr. Spencer dies in their early teenagehood, Alice and Alfred get incredibly attached to their storybook, and they find more comfort in it than ever. His death launched Alfred’s struggles with eating and sleeping, as well.

- This is one of the harder periods of time for Alfred, as he and Alice didn’t have any friends aside from each other. They’re incredibly codependent on one another.

- Mamie Van Eysen flirts with Alfred a lot during this time, but only as a joke. Either that, or she makes fun of his body and his personality—both in front of Alice, to make Alfred uncomfortable and Alice jealous. Other students bully him and Alice often.

- A lot of Alfie’s self image issues stem from this time, and his anxiety and depression worsen.

- When Alice’s mum dies when they’re fifteen, the pair runs away together. Alice almost gets assaulted, and Alfred wants to protect her. He gets into a giant fistfight with the older man. It’s bad enough to the point where the man is arrested and Alfred is hospitalized; it’s the hardest period he’s ever spent in hospital, even after all of his childhood issues. The police bring Alice and Alfred home and Alfred is banned from visiting Alice for a while. They communicate by speaking through the windows straight across from one another, or holding up signs from the window seats. While Alfred is healing, Mama Hallam is extra overbearing and critical to the point of being toxic and unhealthy for Alfred. His brother gets really mean around this time, too, as he doesn’t get the attention he once had. His and Alfred’s relationship get really rocky, and it’s never really mended in the future.

- The day Alice and Alfred can officially reunite, they never separate and they’re stuck at the hip from this point forward.

- When Alfred isn’t hanging out with Alice, he is at his grandfather’s hat shop, helping him stock or sell products. He puts his money towards a secret emergency fund in case he runs away again—this time without Alice. Alfred can never get past the front door, though.

University:

- When they reach uni, Alfie majors in mathematics and education, and minors in literature and statistics. He finds joy and love in his studies again, even if school itself affects his mental health.

- Alfred doesn’t want to be dependent on his parents, so he gets a job at a coffee shop and writes essays on the side for money. His caffeine addiction is dangerous at this point, and he often finds himself not eating or sleeping until it’s physically impossible not to take care of himself.

- Alfred puts all of his money towards renting an apartment with none other than Miss Tabatha Dedwin!!

- He and Tabbie are flatmates. Since Tabbie is best friends with Dodgy Dawkins, he meets him, as well. They’re friends for good after that, and that’s when Alfred starts to wind down, smoking with them, as well as his Alice.

Adulthood:

- After university, Alfred gets official treatment and is able to change his eating habits and caffeine addiction.

- Alfred learns about emotional support animals and gets a Giant Flemish Rabbit named Ollie to be his support animal. He’s giant and blue-eyed and looks like the spitting image of Alfred’s beloved White Rabbit. He’s a cutie.

- Alfred also did a little bit of gardening when he was getting treatment, and once he’s home he gets all sorts of plants and becomes a Plant Dad (with lots of research, of course!)

- In his mid twenties, Alfred finishes his extra schooling and becomes a primary school teacher. He blossoms into a happy, mostly healthy bisexual man with lots of plants and a sweet pet bunny and he wears funky disastrous outfits and has an amazing support system!!! (Alice, Wally, Tabs, and Dodgy :-) also Wally’s lover Denny the carpenter who comes out to Alfred when he’s an adult. He’s super shook but he gets even closer to Wally because they’re more similar than he believed)

- When he’s prob like 30 he goes to more school and becomes a university professor in the end of his years! Depending on who he ends up with he possibly has a few kids and a bunny and life is good!!! He’s teaching and learning constantly and it’s the life he’s always wanted even if his parents never accept his Christmas cards and his brother doesn’t answer his calls. He’s happier than he’s ever been.

- Also don’t tell Sage but when Alfie’s older his health problems catch up to him and he dies a relatively young death due to complications with his lungs :-( rip to my main man Alf

Little Headcanons:

- Alfie is the Biggest animal person besides maybe Tabbie. The ONLY exception is geese because one time he tried to feed a goose was brutally attacked by a goose and is afraid of them. He prob does birdwatching in his free time too

- Alfred’s fashion is HORRENDOUS @dodgefred and I made it up forever ago that he was a fashion disaster and ofc Colton’s costume...moving on. The reasoning for his fashion is he just picks pieces that make him happy that day and he sticks with it it doesn’t matter if he matches he’s just vibing.

- He reads his kids bedtime stories and he’s so devoted to being the father his own dad never ever was - When he becomes a professor it’s probably to teach Calculus and while his class makes people cry Very Often Alfie as a teacher himself is very very empathetic and comforting and yeah math is a bitch but he’ll take time out of his lunch breaks and extends his office hours way past the set time to help a student!!! He’s such a comfort to LGBT+ students and he probably has a few he discusses gay discourse in literature with (Tabbie absolutely introduced him to lesbian literature also also this isn’t a Tabs post but she stans Shakespeare :-)). Professor Alfie is the weird quirky prof. who stresses you out sometimes but also he goes on long tangents about his interests and how much he loves his significant other or children or baby bunny child Ollie!! He has so many plants and books in his classroom too it’s a Lot.

- Wayyyyy into theatre but he didn’t pursue acting onstage because his dad is homophobic :/ but he was in charge of lighting in school productions and fell in love with the stage

- He helps his friends study by acting out their textbooks for them and they always always ace their tests

- MUG COLLECTOR!!! He has so many mugs it’s not even funny his entire cupboard is taken over by them honestly

- Virgin who can’t drive

- Such a cursed and baseless hc I’m So Sorry but his first crush was the tomato from Veggie Tales

- Going off the last point he grew up in a Catholic household and he had one of those mums who was like you are Not allowed to watch tv unless it’s like. Veggie Tales or the Little Einsteins

- Alfie plays piano!!!! Also he did ballet when he was younger but he left because it was super bad for his mental and physical wellbeing and is convinced he’s a bad dancer because of his poor experience with the art

- Alice calls Alfred her Bunnie and he calls her My Alice/Allie/Allie Cakes

The end :-)

#alice by heart #alice by heart musical #ABH #abh musical #alice in wonderland #alfred hallam #alfie hallam #alice spencer #tabatha dedwin #tabbie dedwin #dodgy dawkins #this is the hill im dying on #thank you

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spookypalace · 3 years

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worship the flame - chapter one

Jo peaks a look at him once or twice as he’s ordering a list of drinks, she’s certain he catches her as pink lips curve into a smirk. Brown eyes meet for a final time before he steps away, and she wonders—maybe her dry spell would end.

---

Or the one where Jo meets Alex in a bar, during her final year of med school.

(if you would rather read on ao3, you can do here)

“Are you sure you can’t get the night off?” Lexie Grey pouted as she nursed the vodka soda that her best friend, Jo Wilson, had made her ten minutes earlier. Her expression made Jo wonder if she had already had one or two too many. “You’re a student, you are supposed to be broke.”

Jo raised her eyebrows as she threw a look over her shoulder, hands absently pouring shots of Tequila for another customer. “I’m broke whether I work tonight or not,” she answered, laughing when her friend rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Serious – did Lexie forget her financial situation after a few drinks. “I’m only here until, like, eleven, Lex. I’ll have time for a round.”

Lexie huffed. “You never finish on time, eleven will be two,” she retorted. She then moved to the bar stool that was closer to where Jo currently stood behind the bar, watching her as she served her customer and deposited their money into the register. “You sure you don’t want to trade in the life of an over-worked waitress for a fun-loving college student?”

“I’m sure, Lexie.” Jo told her with a roll of her dark eyes, wiping down the counter of where her messy friend had just moved from. She had been working at this particular bar since her first year of med school, so whilst it had become tiring, she still needed the cash that the job brought in. “It’s our final year of school – I need to make sure I can pay our rent,” Jo added with a laugh, knowing Lexie wasn’t all too happy that Jo had spent most of their college experience working behind her favourite bar. Even if she knew Jo had no choice.

Lexie let out a defeated sigh before pointing at Jo with a drunken gaze. “Just don’t let them bully you into working late again, alright? Your boss treats you like crap – don't let him make your final months of school hell.”

Jo grinned, she couldn’t keep the amusement from her face, Lexie tended to get a little overprotective when she was drunk. “I promise.”

Jo knew some of Lexie’s concerns weren’t unwarranted – her boss and her colleagues, a group of five guys, had some habits of talking down to her where they may or may not work her to the point, she was exhausted and was barely able to complete important schoolwork. It wasn’t too serious of a problem though – come hand in date, her almost perfect work was always on the professor’s desk. But Jo was hoping her shift wouldn’t run over this time. She was looking forward to spending some time with Lexie and some of their other friends once her shift was over.

A couple of hours later Jo was rushed off her feet whilst the bar got busier and busier and her friends occupied one of the booths in the back corner. “When are you gonna’ finish, Jo?” Her friend, Stephanie Edwards, questioned as Jo was whirling past their table.

“Billy is taking over my shift in, like,” she glances down at the watch that graced her wrist, “twenty minutes ago.” Jo answered, a sad smile on her lips as she leaned across the table to grab empty glasses and bottles. It wasn’t unusual for one of the guys to be late, but the place had been so busy that she hadn’t even realised that her shift was over.

“I could just, like, pummel Billy,” Lexie slurred as she gulped down the remnants of another vodka soda, dark brown bangs swooping across her forehead and almost covering her eyes. One look at Lexie and you would never be able to tell she was in her final year of med school, since she skipped a grade or two, she looked noticeably younger than the rest of the girls at the table. “He would deserve it.”

Jo smirked, grabbing the final glass between her thumb and pointer thing when the sound of a familiar voice of her boss calls out her name, she sends a final grin to the girls and promises to join them soon before worming her way back to behind the bar. “Billy’s running late, I need you to stay until he gets here,” her boss mumbles whilst serving customers.

“No problem.” Jo responds just as un-enthusiastically right as two more customers show up on the other side of the bar. The two males greeted Jo with brief smiles before they began to relay their hefty order, gaze following her as she pulled pints and mixed spirits.

Once Jo was finished with the drinks and grabbing the cash from one of the guys hands, they asked if she could help them take the drinks over to their booth, she agreed although not hesitantly, wondering why they couldn’t have just made two trips. Jo follows them across the bar, coming to a stop in front of a booth the men had just joined, it was full, four males and two women. “Just place them anywhere,” the guy who had been at the bar murmurs, quiet enough for only Jo to hear as the rest of the group carried on conversation.

Jo shot him a look, though nodded while smiling as the first guy took the drinks from Jo’s hands and passed them along the table. Jo had seen some of their faces before, some of them were regulars—two of them in particular, but she never learnt any names of the people that came into the bar. She was only here to do her job, collect her pay-check and hopefully get back to her apartment at a reasonable time.

Jo had started working at the bar back in first year, before she met Lexie and was living in a dangerous part of the city unable to afford anywhere a little nicer. It wasn’t until her first couple of months at school that she met Lexie, but then, after saving her money and growing incredibly close she and Lexie decided to move in together, so they were closer to both their campus and the bar. Thankfully, they didn’t disagree all that much as they were in the same classes so unless Jo was in work they were always together, but there were still moments where the two of them would argue about the smallest of things. Sometimes Jo left an empty carton of milk in the fridge and other times, Lexie refused to pick up her dirty washing after getting changed. It was always easily resolved, but it gave her a migraine.

Fortunately, they didn’t let whatever problems they have with living together get in between them remaining great friends. They both wanted to become surgeons and Lexie’s father sometimes visited the pair to share exciting stories about the profession, it made them both extremely happy to know how close they were getting to finally becoming doctors.

“Here,” one of the guys, she had followed from the bar places a twenty-dollar bill in her hand, smiling sincerely before sending her a wink. “Don’t work too hard.”

Jo was hesitant to accept the tip, the smile the man had offered her seemed to have something behind it. Not to mention the wink, he was overtly flirting with her. The guy was attractive, if not a little too old for her; his hair was slightly graving at the edges and his beard framed his face – blue eyes sparkling up at her as she thanked him. “Really, Mark?” A feminine voice chides the man, shooting a pointed look at not just him, but also Jo. “Ignore him.” The dark-haired Latina woman that sat opposite him tells her, glaring at her friend.

“You got it.” Jo grinned, albeit fake, before whirling around and making her way back towards where came from. She couldn’t shake the feeling that a pair of eyes were watching her as she retreated.

With the appearance of Billy and one final order to be served, Jo ’s friends eagerly awaited the arrival of the missing member of their group. She began to see to the customer, pleased to learn he only required one bottle of beer—she made quick work of serving them, hoping her heinous boss wouldn’t pop back in to give her another task. Luckily, she was able to rid herself of her apron and avoid making small talk with Billy without any sighting of the boss.

Jo grabbed for bottles of beer from the fridge, placing the twenty-dollar tip she had earned from her flirty customer on the counter besides Billy—who raised an eyebrow at her quizzically. She shrugged, ignoring his silent questioning and made her way towards her friends who cheered at the sight of her, they were especially louder due to the four beverages she held in her dainty hands. Music, which Jo had ignored whilst working, played throughout the booth as her friends giggled and thanked her.

“So, Leah, you excited to start teaching in the fall?” Jo questioned, leaning back in the booth, bottle tipping against her pink plump lips as she looked at the blue-eyed girl in the seat opposite of her.

Leah grinned at Jo over her own beer. “Oh, yeah, definitely.” Since all of them, would be done with college and med-school within a couple of months, they were going to be taking the next step in adult life. Leah Murphy was doing so by acquiring a teaching job at one of the local high schools. She’s always wanted to be an English literature teacher, and someone who was as much of a know-it-all as Leah was, was the perfect kind of person to work that job, in both Jo and Lexie’s opinion. “Those tenth graders won’t know what’s ‘boutta hit ‘em.”

Lexie and Jo laughed at that, and Jo was glad that Leah was excited about her new job prospect. Whilst the blonde had her moments of insufferable-ness, Jo believed she wasn’t all bad. She had her moments. They had met Leah at this very bar about two years ago, they had all been drunk when exchanging numbers, but the drunken friendship just seemed to stick. Leaning against the seat, Jo tilted her head back and closed her eyes, already she felt relaxed, letting go of the stress that stuck through during work and the school year. Being in med-school consisted her taking so many courses in the field which meant lots of reading material and papers to write, and while Jo loved reading, she was really looking forward to taking a break tonight. Something about reading the boring side of medicine really dampened her mood.

As the song turned into a Blink-182 one, Jo was beginning to think that Stephanie had a hand in the songs which played on the juke box, Stephanie spoke up, “I can’t wait for spring break,” Jo noticed how tired Stephanie looked after non-stop work for the past couple of months, though there was a slight glimmer in her eyes as she spoke of their one week break that was coming up.

Jo let out a small gasp, sitting up while exclaiming, “Me too! I think I have a few days off from here, too.”

Though Jo wasn’t looking at Lexie’s face, she could hear the smile in her voice as she asked, “How many days off are you going to spend studying?”

“None.” Jo frowned; three pairs of raised eyebrows being shot her way. With a huff, Jo shrugs innocently, “one or two, maybe.”

Lexie and Stephanie burst into giggles, whilst Leah just smirked. “Yeah, right.” Stephanie commented through the giggles, sharing glances across the table with Lexie. They loved Jo, but she was ridiculously devoted to studying and working – they just wished she spent more time enjoying her personal life. The pair had only recently brought up the fact that Jo hadn’t even dated since their first year of med school.

There had been guys, but none that Jo let hang around long enough to see what her bedroom looked like in daylight. Which was fine for her, she had been burned badly the last time she let someone close enough for her walls to begin tumbling down, she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Her friends respected that, but they still believed their friend would be a little less wound up if she got laid more often.

Four months, six days, and twelve hours—Lexie had lovingly reminded her just this morning.

Jo sighs, impressively finishing off her still full beer in only a matter of seconds. “I need to catch up, another one?” She asks, not waiting for a response as she climbs out of the booth, walking until she’s now in front of the bar, her elbows leaning against the counter as she presses her front into the wooden bar.

“They let you escape.” A hoarse voice grabs her attention, Jo’s head tilting towards the direction it came from.

She recognises him, at first it takes her a moment to think of where from—but then she remembers the booth she had served not too long ago, the one which tipped her twenty dollars. This guy wasn’t one of the ones which had ordered the drinks or offered her the money, he was one of the guys who was sat at the booth when she got there.

He smirks, holding out his hand in front of her, “Alex.”

For a split second, Jo’s eyes trail up from his hand and to his face.

Alex was dark, his jawline sharp with a five o’clock shadow decorating his face. His hair was short and the smirk that he wore on his lips was charming, if not confident. The dark gray long-sleeved t-shirt he wore highlighted his muscular arms, and his slim yet toned upper body. It was obvious this guy was into his sports, or working-out, but not enough to go crazy. He was attractive, and she felt body reacting to him more than it had when his friend shot her a similar smirk earlier.

“Jo,” she grins at him, placing her hand into his and offering him a small and dainty shake.

When Alex held onto Jo’s hand for a moment too long, she raised her eyebrows slightly, dark brown eyes looking at his from across the bar—his staring her down, as if challenging her. He let go of Jo’s hand, putting his into the air to call for Billy as she wondered if him holding her hand was intentional. Or maybe she was thinking too much into it—she had the tendency to overthink the smallest of things—so she just turned her gaze back to the alcohol that decorated the back wall.

Jo peaks a look at him once or twice as he’s ordering a list of drinks, she’s certain he catches her as the smirk stays etched onto his face. As their eyes meet for a final time before she steps away, she wonders—maybe her dry spell would end.

It didn’t take all too long for Jo to catch up her friends' level of drunk state, and after informing them of the hot stranger at the bar they had spent most of the night slipping in snarky remarks about how Jo was certainly getting laid later. A flush rising to her cheeks when she noticed that Alex had moved closer to their table, playing darts with two of his friends.

Leah was the first to leave, moaning about some test she had on Monday, then Stephanie was grabbing her purse and dramatically yawning at Jo and Lexie—insisting she had to be up early in the morning to help her semi-boyfriend with something or another.

In the end, it was just the two of them, which was something they were used to by now. Although Lexie had been spending an increasingly amount of her time, since the other girls left, exchanging texts with the guy she had been seeing who had just started his internship at Seattle Mercy West hospital. Jo hadn’t met the guy but she had heard him through the thin walls of the apartment.

So, Jo wasn’t all that surprised when Lexie lifted her head from her phone to shoot her an apologetic look, “are you ready to leave?”

“Erm …" Jo begins, her voice drifting off as her eyes scan across the almost empty bar, landing on the guy who had been occupying her thoughts since the moment he introduced himself. She guesses he can feel the weight of her eyes staring him down as he turns in her direction, that stupid smirk back on his face as he offers her a small wave. “You go.” Jo tells Lexie, whose eyebrows furrow in confusion—that is until she follows Jo’s wandering gaze, understanding completely when they settle on the tan male playing darts.

“Are you sure?” Lexie asks, stepping out of the booth slowly, just incase Jo changes her mind. At her friend's nod, Jo looks between the pair who couldn’t seem to keep their eyes off one another, “you’ll call once you’re done, right?”

Jo appreciated the way Lexie cared about her, despite being friends for a couple of years now it still wasn’t something Jo was entirely used to. Growing up completely alone Jo had found that most people were only nice for self-gain, not Lexie, though—it took Jo a long time, but she realised Lexie only wanted what was best for her, and Jo wanted the same for Lexie.

Satisfied with Jo’s promise to call, Lexie firmly nods and begins to make her way to the exit, not leaving before she points at Jo with an I'm-watching-you gesture, something which made Jo giggle.

The flicker of excitement that flashed across Jo’s face wasn’t missed by Lexie as she turned around to face exit the bar. “Come on, Jo,” she whispers through gritted teeth, attempting to find the confidence to approach the guy. A feeling of uneasiness was swimming in her belly as she got up from her seat and stepped towards the guy who had been raking his eyes across her body the entire night, thankful his friends had disappeared off somewhere.

Jo places a small hand onto Alex’s hard shoulder, surprising him. Reaching up onto her tiptoes so her lips could align with his ear, she whispers, “woman’s bathroom.”

Alex’s right eyebrow twitched slightly at her words; the movement so subtle but Jo had caught it as Alex’s throat tightened—the feeling of her warm breath against his neck doing something to him. He knew it probably isn’t the best idea, hooking up with a woman he didn’t know in the bathroom of his local bar, but he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes off her from the moment she served him. Jo’s sultry voice had an effect on him he couldn’t explain, and Alex didn’t have to think twice as his feet began to follow her towards the bathroom.

He watches as she rounds the corner, turning to lean back against the wall as she stared up at him. Jo’s own pouty lips were formed into an innocent smirk, which Alex didn’t think was even a thing until he saw her do it. He suddenly felt his jeans constricting him when he took in the tight black jeans, she wore that hugged her body in all the right ways and tantalizingly showed off her legs, along with her denim jacket. Alex found himself stepping and leaning closer to Jo when his eyes landed on her mouth.

He couldn’t help himself, and Jo made no move to stop him as Alex’s hands shot out of his pockets and cupped her cheeks, giving Jo no time to adjust as his lips pressed against hers without warning. She didn’t care the slightest, head tilted upwards to meet Alex’s searing kiss as her heart did the familiar leap in her chest as Alex’s lips pulled her lower one into a sucking, toe curling kiss.

Her hands gripped and curled around his t-shirt as she pulled him impossibly closer, blindly stepping so her back was flat against the wall and Alex pressed his front against hers. The already muffled music might as well have been non-existent in Alex and Jo’s ears as their kiss deepened, alcohol infused tongues coming together yet neither caring the slightest.

She wasn’t one for PDA most of the time, but Jo found herself throwing caution out the window with Alex’s tongue in her mouth and her fingers threading through his brunette hair, earning a deep groan from Alex that only served to excite her even more. Jo’s heart was pounding wildly, and her skin was on fire as Alex’s hands gripped her hips, using his grasp to dig his own into her as he hastily mumbled against her lips, “we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Jo was practically whimpering when she pulled away from the kiss, lips brushing against Alex’s as she told him, “the bathroom’s two doors down.”

Alex wasted no time in grabbing her hand, a thrilling grin spreading across her mouth as she let Alex drag her in the appropriate direction, trying to press her lips together to keep her from seeming too eager. But with the long, confident strides Alex was taking, she knew he felt exactly the same way as they finally reached the right door, briefly feeling relief at the fact that it was unoccupied.

There wasn’t a single moment lost as soon as the bathroom door closed and locked, Jo being suddenly lifted as a quiet yet startled exclaim escaped her once she was settled on the sink counter. Alex’s tall figure dominated her easily even then as he used his hands to spread her knees so he could stand between her legs, dress riding up excessively, and press his lips against hers once more, the brown eyed girl instantly returning the urgency of the kiss.

Hearts were pounding, hands were roaming, and lips never left the others as Jo and Alex lost themselves in each other. While the setting was not ideal, neither could bring themselves to care as Jo’s hands reached forward and blindly yet expertly began unbuckling Alex’s belt. The clanking of the belt coming undone was mixed in with the sounds of their lips smacking together, sharp breaths and distant music as Jo finally slid it off, tossing it behind Alex as it clattered against the tiled floor.

Lips were still pressed together as Alex shoved his jeans down to pull around his ankles, boxers following soon after and he couldn’t help the relieving groan he released into Jo’s mouth as his dick sprang free after being restrained for far longer than Alex would’ve liked. Jo’s arms were around his neck as she nipped at his lower lip, prompting Alex to quicken his movements as his hands slid up unbuckling her jeans and dragging them down her legs as she rose her hips. His fingertips against her bare legs leaving a fire on her skin in their wake as his fingers hooked on the band of her underwear before pulling them right down her legs.

Goosebumps were rising on Jo’s skin, which she found funny because Alex’s touch was both warming her to her excited core and sending shivers up her spine. But once he slid her panties off her legs she reluctantly pulled away from his lips, breathlessly whispering, “hold on,” before twisting behind her to open the mirror cabinet. Her eyes landed on the box she was looking for, pulling out a condom from the emptying container before shutting the cabinet and turning back around to look at Alex, who was staring at her with a quirked brow.

“How’d you know that was there?” he asked, his chest moving at a quicker pace as he tried to regain his breath, full lips swollen even more and pinker than usual that only increased the wetness gathering between Jo’s legs.

She tried not to squirm to hide just how much she wanted him in this moment, holding up the condom as she deadpanned, “do you really wanna’ get into that right now?”

Alex didn’t miss a beat. “No,” was all he said before plucking it from her fingers and connecting their lips once more, and Jo never would’ve thought that she would be in the bathroom of the bar which she worked at, fucking someone she had never met prior to this evening. She had no damn regrets.

#jolex #jo wilson #alex karev

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gale-dragon-writer · 3 years

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Miraculous Adventure of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Canis (Disabled but Abled AU) Chapter Sneak Peek: Dark Cupid

Max sighed as he waited in Miss Bustier's class for the teachers to return, thinking about how bad this Valentine's Day has been. All of Markov's scanning programs were scheduled for today; the debugging, defragging, anti-spy program, and general program system checks. Markov had to have all his docks present for all those programs to work at the function, so he couldn't accompany Max to school today. His phone was still updating its systems, which began roughly 3 HOURS AGO, so he couldn't use his phone for anything. He couldn't even record today's literature class. And lastly, someone thought it would be funny to steal his pack from his locker when his class had PE. The teachers were currently looking for his missing pack while the principle was making a few calls.

Max sighed again as he wondered why anyone would want to steal anything from him. All his electronics had specific locks on them that only he could unlock, all his notes for all his classes were on his phone (that he always kept on his person) as audio recordings, and his lunch. Either way, this caused the school staff to put a rush on the maintenance work for the school and a rush for the installation of the security cameras, both of which were supposed to be put in place next month but now they are expected to be installed over this weekend. 'At least something good is coming from this bad day,' Max thought with another sigh before he wondered why all these things were happening on a day that was supposed to be all about love.

That was when Max's phone made a ding. The blind teen smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. Finally! The phone was done updating! The first thing to do was to check his alerts.

That was when Max finally became aware of the Akuma attacking Paris.

"Shit! Ladybug and Chat Noire must be wondering where Canis is!" Max said to Barkk, who was hiding in the pocket of his new jacket (that he got just so she and the Miraculous could be hidden easier).

Barrk looked up at Max when she said, "You better transform and find the Akuma! But I'm a little worried about-"

That was when a sound of someone entering got their attention. Barkk quickly went quiet and buried herself into the pocket to hide from whoever entered as Max turned an ear to the sound. "Who's there?" the blind teen asked, hoping it was one of the teachers.

"Just me, Max," said the voice of someone very familiar to the blind teen.

Max immediately relaxed when he smiled and said, "Kim, you scared me. Did you get the Akuma Alert?" He knew he couldn't transform now, he had to wait until Kim was in a safe place before he could.

"Yeah, I did. I'd figure that I'd look for you since the Akuma is shooting people with arrows," Kim said in an oddly calm tone. That was when he asked, "But the Akuma Alert went out a good half hour ago, have you been here the whole time?"

Max sighed when he said, "I just got it since my phone decided that it wanted to take it's time updating its system. I wasn't able to record Miss Bustier's examination of the Sleeping Beauty story. It just finished a minute ago."

Kim was quiet for a bit before he asked, "That long, huh? Well, I guess that's why you haven't been taking my calls."

"You've been calling me?" Max asked in surprised before he added with a small smile, "I guess you were worried because of the Akuma running around. I'm sorry for putting you through that."

That was when Max heard a strange noise that sounded like something straining against a string when Kim said, "Oh, that's nothing compared to that other thing you missed."

Now Max was confused, "What are you talking about? And what was that sound?"

Barkk managed to peak out of the pocket she was hiding in just enough to stay hidden while managing to see what was happening. What she saw made her little heart stop cold. Standing in the same room as her chosen was an Akuma (Dark Cupid Canon appearance), aiming his bow & arrow right at Max with a smirk on his face. 'Oh No! Kim must've gotten Akumatized!' the dog Kwami thought in fear. She had to warn Max, who wasn’t even aware that his friend has been Akumatized, but if she did then the Akuma would see her!

"Oh, I'm just stretching," Kim, the Akuma, stated as a matter-of-fact before he said, "You know Max, playing dumb isn't something I'd expect you to do."

Max's confusion only grew when he said, "Kim, I'm not "playing dumb", whatever that means. I don't know what you're talking about. What else did I miss?"

Dark Cupid frowned angrily when he snapped, "You know damn well what I'm talking about!"

The sudden tone of anger frightened Max when he got out as he took a step back, "No, I really don't know what you're talking about!" Now he was starting to sense something wrong when he asked, "Kim, what do you think I missed?"

Dark Cupid pulled the arrow back on the bow a little more when he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as can be despite his anger, "Our little meet-up at the Eiffel Tower to get cones from Andre during lunch, remember?"

Max tilted his head to the side in confusion when he said, "When did you tell me this?"

Dark Cupid's face contorted into a rage-filled look as the arrow was pulled back as far as it could go on the bow. Barkk was now terrified! She needed to act!

Just as Dark Cupid was about to let the arrow go, Max said as he tried to remember when he last talked to Kim before now, "Wait, did you tell me about this meet before or after my pack was taken?"

Dark Cupid paused his actions completely at this. His face was now confused when he asked, "When was your pack taken?" Now he was waiting and watching for Max's reactions

Max replied, "I'm sure it was sometime during our PE class because it was missing from my locker when I went to get it after PE concluded. Weren't you there when I alerted Mr D'Argencourt that it was missing?" He asked that last part in confusion because as far as he knew, everyone from Miss Bustier's class was in the locker room when he made that discovery. But then again... He wasn't paying attention to anyone but Mr D'Argencourt...

Dark Cupid lowered the bow and relaxed his pull on the arrow when he asked, "So you didn't have the chance to go through it after Mr D'Argencourt's class finished?"

Max shook his head when he said, "No, I haven't. I don't know who took it, but the teachers are looking for it now. They told me to wait here until they came back." That was when Max asked in confusion, "Kim, why are you acting strange?" For some reason, the blind teen wasn't liking what was going on. There was something he was missing in all this, not just this meet-up thing that Kim was talking about.

The seconds ticked by slowly in silence before Max cautiously asked in a soft tone, "Kim? What's wrong?"

That was when Max heard Kim hiss under his breath, "That bitch!"

"Kim?" Max asked again, now having a mixture of confusion and caution vibrating through his system. Who was Kim referring to?

"Stay here, Max. I need to give a certain "expert" a piece of my mind," Dark Cupid stated darkly as he placed the arrow back into the quiver and the bow back on its dock.

"Expert?" Max uttered out in confusion before asking his friend in a worried tone, "Kim, what's going on?"

That was when the sound of wings beating and a sudden gust of wind flew throughout the classroom. Max quickly moved to keep his jacket close to prevent Barkk from flying out. When the wind died down, Max called out, "Kim?" When there was no respond, Max called out to his friend again.

Barkk flew out of her hiding spot when she told Max, "Kim was Akumatized the whole time!"

"What?" Max exclaimed before asking in shock, "But how? And why?"

Barkk replied, "I think he got upset about you missing your date with him, but it seems like something else is going on here. Transform and find the others, maybe they'll know what's going on with Kim."

Max nodded before he called out his transformation phrase.

~}i{~

Until the chaper~.

#Disabled but Abled AU #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous AU #Max kante #le chien kim #alix kubdel #alix malka

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catubarca · 4 years

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Harry Potter Next Generation Headcanons

im bored. im full of emotions, and am rly missing the HP world... i just want to write down my headcannons for the next gen kiddos tbh.

please remember these are just my opinions? its okay if yours are different. im just bored and want to share my thoughts,,

Teddy Lupin

his name is Theodore Remus “Teddy” Lupin. it’s just what it is

I don’t care what JKR says, to me his name will always be Theodore

i can’t do this “Edward” stuff im so sorry,,,

h u f f l e p u f f

proper school uniform? never heard of it

messy hair, messy clothes

punk rock child

we’re talking like,,,at least two (2) lip piercings ok

absolutely terrible in herbology. do not leave this child alone in a greenhouse, bad things happen

fuckin hoards chocolate

its a problem

dating Victorie Weasley

random bursts of dancing

keeps a lock of hair pink for his mother

lives with the Potters, enjoys pretending to be Ginny to ground his siblings

“Lily, why aren’t you coming out of your room? Dinner’s ready?” “You said I’m grounded! You tell me!” “What? Oh, for the- THEODORE REMUS LUPIN-“

s m i r k s

effortlessly cool,,, but so so dorky,,, in a cool way

Victorie Weasley

ravenclaw!

looks a lot like her mother, Fleur, but inherited those Weasley freckles

a little confused a lot of the time

absolute sweet tooth (teddy abuses this fact a lot)

Mom Friend™

will help you with your homework

always got a book on her

super beautiful and like,,,, the absolute nicest person,,, but

cannot dance

like at all

adores Charms class

a softie you don’t want to cross

“I’m the oldest”

Dominique Weasley

inherited the Classic Weasley Red Hair™

idolises her Uncle Charlie

“I wanna save animals and work with cool dragons, just like Uncle Charlie does!”

Bill almost has a heart attack

always bringing stray animals home

(“is that a lizard in your pocket, Dominique?” “Yes! His name is Blob.” “You know how your father’s afraid of reptiles, sweetheart, you can’t bring it inside.”)

Gryffindor child

favourite class is definitely Care of Magical Creatures, she and Hagrid like to talk about proper care methods for rare creatures

perpetual dirt stains

BIG middle child vibes

doesn’t really label her sexuality… just kinda does what she wants rly

all the pets in Hogwarts love her

rumours are she’s got an innate, natural magical ability to make them all love her

(she feeds them under the table)

it’s a mystery

big advocate for animal rights

f e m i n i s t

willing to throw hands at all times

usually all smiles though

one of those people who use their whole bodies to laugh

kind of an accidental heartthrob

romcoms

Louis Weasley

looks the most like his mother

ravenclaw

absolutely filled with curiosity. always reading or talking or learning

random facts

(how do you even find that sort of information?

you don’t want to know)

coffee boy

sort of musically talented?

he and James Sirius preach the importance of skincare to all who will listen

secretly full of sass and dry wit

vry graceful and fluid

e y e r o l l

awkward smiles? can never smile properly in photos

on the ravenclaw quidditch team

Ravenclaw Prefect

(“You might be older, but I’m taller.” “Fuck off!”)

only watches High Quality™ tv shows/media

kind of a disaster, despite the gracefulness

Molly Weasley

Classic red hair

comes across as a bit uptight, like her father

I don’t care what you think. (She really cares what you think.)

E y e b r o w s

death glares

drinks like 5 cups of coffee in the morning

studies,,, like a lot

definitely a Gryffindor though

mom jeans

always ready to debate a topic. will destroy opponents.

has been trying to start a successful Debate Club for like 4 years now

naturally falls into the position of a group leader

would be a teacher’s pet, if she wasn’t ready At All Times™ to debate the relevancy of the course syllabus or outdated teaching methods

got into a fight with Severus Snape’s portrait in Headmistress McGonagall’s office.

(Dumbledore’s portrait was laughing, until she turned and ragged on him for a bit. Minerva thought it was absolutely hilarious, so she just let Molly go at it for a while).

full of rage towards everything, but wears a very careful mask of aloofness

to calm down, she likes painting her nails

she’s very good at it

she’s also very good at painting and art in general, weirdly enough

Lucy Weasley

G R Y F F I N D O R

adores shitty puns and has a terrible sense of humour

brown hair, not red

loves to prank people, which makes her Uncle George very proud

Percy complains about her behaviour, but makes sure he knows he’s proud too

(charming all the cauldrons in the potions classroom to scream whenever they’re stirred takes a more complex understanding of spell work than one would expect).

a pit of a punk streak

rly loves hip hop

high key drama queen

does she ever stop yelling? we’re yet to find out

average grades in terms of theory, but she’s the best in terms of applying information

especially for her pranks

has allies throughout the castle, from the portraits to the students

the bigger the prank, the better

but is a firm believer in “confuse, don’t abuse”

all her pranks are mostly harmless

is a surprising lover of older literature, like Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, an influence of her sister

a bit rebellious

Fred Weasley II

name isn’t officially “the second”, but it sounds cooler

James Potter, Lucy Weasley, Molly Weasley and Fred Weasley are like the Marauders 2.0

says “squad” and “lit” unironically

niche humour

hipster vibes

avid music lover

smiley sunshine child

takes after his mother the most in looks, just like his sister

a chill type of gryffindor

plays quidditch, and is an excellent chaser, just like his mother

the absolute undisputed King™ of puppy-dog eyes

just,,,, beautiful

the True teacher’s pet

hands in his work on time,, asks lots of questions,,, likes helping students understand their work,, what a boy

can hella nyoom

runs so fast

look at him go

as you might expect, loves a good prank. always down for a laugh

Roxanne Weasley

Gryffindor and pROUD

absolute Queen tbh

was definitely Head Prefect or Gryffindor Prefect at some point

loved by the school

absolute legend

G I R L P O W E R

infectious laughter

has a soft spot for Louis Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy

these poor disaster children,,,, they need a Mother

M O M

big mom vibes

mothers the hell out of all the first years

a feminist through and through

can be found nodding aggressively to Molly Weasley’s semi-deranged, furious ranting

YAAAASS

loves slang. uses so much slang. always up to date with trends and memes

has all the gossip

becomes a mess around pretty girls

absolute blushing, stuttering disaster around cute girls oh my god

her eye make-up game is killer

sparkly

Distinguished Lesbian

Rosie Weasley

did someone say Weasley™?

red hair and freckles and curls oh my

on the autism spectrum, has trouble socialising sometimes

hella passionate about stuff

hangs out with Scorpius and Albus, the Golden Trio 2.0

f em ini st

her jokes are the best. high quality sense of humour.

Ravenclaw

likes to read. it’s quiet in the school library, which is nice.

abysmal at herbology

surprisingly good at Care of Magical Creatures though? Animals are just,,, so much easier to deal with

overall, really good grades though

bit of a silent type, but she’s actually a riot to hang out with

actually pretty good at quidditch? She’s not on the team, and she’s not super interested in playing, but?? She’s not bad??

She can land a solid hit with a beater’s bat

(eyes you judgementally over the top of a book)

dry wit humour

will throw hands over chess

Hugo Weasley

hufflepuff

unbeatable at chess, like his dad

a lost puppy

someone please help this child

softie

kind of low-key emotional

so supportive!! and loyal!! high-key best friend material

foodie. loves food. please feed him.

takes a bit more after his dad appearance wise

loves to cook. spends lots of time with grandma Molly and his dad in the kitchen

Professor Longbottom is his favourite professor, because he’s more chilled and laidback.

other professors and classes fill him with Distress™

loves astronomy too

maths whizz, so good at arithmancy

(“uh, actually-“)

a little bossy, like his mother

is trying so hard

maybe a little too hard

a bit insecure and nervous, but so soft

please treat this child carefully and with love

James Sirius Potter

Gryffindor

L O U D

a fucking disaster child

what’d you expect, putting “James” and “Sirius” together?

DRAMATIC GASPING

flails his hands around when he talks

s t r u t s

bisexual mess, had a crush on both the Longbottom children at some point

is better than you at everything

including being a different gender

fuck you that’s why

so pretty

he’s so pretty

is thIS CHILD EVER NOT LAUGHING AT SOMETHING OH My god

laughs at everything

all the time

always

high-key emotional

badly timed finger guns

looks like a model in photos? wtf?

gets invited to Girls Nights™

wears nail polish and makeup

loves to yell at people about gender roles and defying stereotypes

TEA SIS

not on the quidditch team surprisingly enough, even though he’s pretty good

prefers to be in the stands, doing A+ commentary on the games

if he can get Fred to stop mid-air due to unbearable, suffocating laughter at least once a game it’s a win in his books

has it OUT for the hufflepuff quidditch team and no one knows why??

definitely makes puns on his name

it drives everyone insane

harry always replies he’s just making his namesake proud

that also drives everyone insane

smug lil shit

Albus Severus Potter

“It’s just Al.”

S L Y T H E R I N

will always find a way to get what he wants, eventually

“dad, why did you name me this way?”

unimpressed

sigh

hella smart. is topping at least five classes

Aunt Hermione is his favourite. She’s the fucking Mistress of Magic! All that power, the ability to make change and improve the Magical World as a whole-

sass master

the reason headmistress mcgonagall keeps a bottle of scotch under her desk at all times

the only potter child to inherit The Eyes™

absolute insomniac

kind of emo, but turns into a fucking softie around Scorpius Malfoy it’s hilarious

adverse to violence. prefers a verbal beatdown method

really tall? despite having shorties for parents??? no one saw it coming

(especially not Teddy. He’s always scared of losing his last few inches of height)

Functional Gay

he’s on the slytherin quidditch team, as a seeker

Lily Luna Potter

Gryffindor

FEMINIST

do not mess with lily luna potter

she may seem cute and sweet, but she will destroy you

inherited her father’s black hair

disaster lesbian

transfiguration is her favourite subject, by far

has no idea what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

Existential Crisis Father-Daughter Bonding Time™

do you ever sleep?

takes after Ginny the most in personality

also, kind of the most like James Fleamont Potter in personality, too?

Loves to help her brother out with pranks, laughs at him when he gets caught and she gets away with it

The only one of the Potter Children who hasn’t got into a fight with Severus Snape’s portrait

because she just ignores him instead

loves talking to the portraits around the castle

Super good at Quidditch, is on the team as a Chaser

Quidditch Captain at some point

adores Hagrid, but who out of the Potter children doesn’t?

Idolises Minerva McGonagall

just as oblivious as her father

Scorpius Malfoy

Actually in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, much to many people’s surprise

abSOLUTE DADDY’S BOY

super close with his dad

Draco is just so supportive of like everything he does (unlike his father)

classic blonde malfoy looks

actually really funny?

a cuddler. loves hugs. always leeching warmth off of someone

he and Rosie sometimes finger-tip-touch which is their version of a hug, because he know’s she’s not super comfortable with touch

was basically adopted by the Weasley’s and Potter’s

James Sirius will murder for this child

booknerd, always rambling to Al and Rosie about new books coming out he’s interested in reading.

has had a crush on Albus Potter since like 1st year

always worried about making his dad proud, and keeping up the Malfoy name

sweet tooth

he’s just,, soft. just a warm, happy child. he wants love, and affection. someone tell him he’s doing okay, please.

needs,,, validation,,,

he’ll tell you out loud that he has no favourite aunts or uncles, but he secretly really likes spending time with his Uncle Ron

they had a talk, once, in like the middle of the night at a sleepover with Rosie and Al, about feeling insecure in comparison to others, and learning to be proud of yourself for your achievements

there were a few tears, but it was nice

Ron was actually the third person he told, besides his dad and Rosie, about having a crush on Al

openly a disaster romantic. trash taste in romance novels.

always welcome in the Potter-Weasley households

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years

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I was tagged by the amazing @nefelimalfoy, thank you for the tag! I hope I’m doing this right, I’m still pretty new to the mechanics of Tumblr so we’re just gonna roll with it and hope this is how it works 😂. I made this on a new one to save space but I decided to do this tag because I figured it’d be a good way for you guys to get to know me since I don’t have an About Me page. Either way, thanks again, and here are my answers!

Named after someone? Yes actually! My name is Morgan and I was named after my mother’s maiden name because they wanted to give me a unisex name so I could be whoever I wanted to be, and that name just happened to work really well. It’s still my grandmother’s name so we always have fun calling each other by my name for fun. My mom also just really loved that name, even when she was a teenager, and wanted to call her child that in the future anyway, so here I am!

Last time you cried? The last time I cried was about three weeks ago. We recently moved several states away from my friends and family and I’m having a hard time adjusting since I didn’t really want to live in this particular state in the first place, coupled with leaving everyone, it’s been a little tough for me. Nothing significant, sometimes I just miss my friends 😊.

Do you have any kids? Nope, I’m only 18 so not quite there yet, but I’m hoping to have some in the future! I’d love to have between 2 and 3 but that all depends on what country I live in and the state of the world at the time I’m ready for them. Raising kids is expensive and really hard so I wanna be ready for them. But hopefully they are in my future somewhere!

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I guess I’d say I use it moderately. I love to use it all the time for humor purposes, but in terms of using it for when I’m annoyed, I guess it just depends on how long I am in an annoying situation and who I’m with. It’s my favorite thing to use for jokes but I’d say I use it moderately in terms of genuine use.

Eye color? I have blue eyes! Although they tend to change based on the seasons. In the winter and spring they are more blue and in the spring and summer they are more green, so I guess it kinda depends on the season and temperature.

Favorite book genre? Definitely fantasy but I will honestly read almost anything just so long as the story is interesting. I don’t really have a “least favorite” genre or anything because I tend to judge a book based on it’s story rather than it’s genre. But most of my favorite books of all time come from fantasy, so I’d say that’s my favorite aside from horror and psychological thrillers which are also top tier genres in my book (can’t watch horror movies but could read horror novels any day).

Any special talent? Okay so actually, I do have one talent that would be considered special. I have no idea where it came from or how I learned it, but ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been able to perfectly replicate certain animal sounds (and a few extra ones that aren’t animals too). I can do a dog, cat (both meow and purr), horse, goat, zebra, pig, dove, Golum (from LOTR), Stitch, trumpet, engine from Cruella Devil’s car (I know this is really fucking specific but trust me on this one), dragon growl/purr (think from HTTYD), and Homer Simpson. Again, I have literally no idea how I started, I just know that when I was a kid, I used to bark like a dog and eventually got good at it (according to my mom). Now, I just practice different sounds I want to make until I can completely replicate them. I know it sounds far fetched, but that’s what it is. It’s really fun to shock people with tbh 😂. But I always have to be careful dogs aren’t around when I bark, because I have set off a barking frenzy before 😅.

What country were you born in? I was born in America but I hope to move to Europe shortly after college. I’m looking at somewhere like Scotland or New Zealand but honestly getting to explore Europe will be amazing in itself and I know I’ll find where I want to live as I go along.

What are your hobbies? Well, writing is the obvious one but I don’t just write fanfics. I also write original short stories and I am working on a fantasy novel currently. Aside from writing, I have been riding horses ever since I was 2 years old, riding my first pony on my grandma’s farm. Now I ride and show competitively, showing in the jumper ring with my 17 hand dark bay Thoroughbred, Moose! We jump about a meter 20 (if any of you know equestrian terms/measurements) but we are aiming for the Grand Prix at some point in my life. I also like to wake surf behind a boat on lakes, draw, read books, and listen to music. I also absolutely love classic cars more than anything. It’s my dream to have one one day and fix her up, so while it’s not technically a hobby since I haven’t done it yet and I don’t know much about the mechanics, I do a lot of research and reading up on them, which will hopefully lead to my dream coming true at some point!

Do you have any pets? Oh god, here comes the word vomit. I could talk about my pets for days 😂 but I’ll keep it short. I actually have three dogs currently, two french bulldogs and a street chihuahua (she does not look like a normal chihuahua at all. She is quite a bit larger and has the funkiest ears of any dog ever. She looks like if a weasel, a chihuahua, and a pine marten had a baby) we found abandoned and neglected when I was 9. I also have a horse and my mother has one as well so as a family we have two because both my mom and I ride competitively. My two frenchies are called Herschel and Humphrey, and then the chihuahua is called Ginger. My horse, as mentioned earlier, is named Moose and my mom’s horse (a 17.2 hand Warmblood) is called Rexy. Despite having all little dogs, we used to have two labs whom I loved with all of my heart, so I’m hoping to get big dogs again in the future when I get out of college. My dream dogs are German Shepherds, Pitt Bulls, and Labs, Collies, or Dobermans. Honestly, just any rescue dog will work, but those are the dogs I envision myself having in the future.

What sports do you play/have played? Like I said earlier, I am an equestrian and have been riding for 16 years but when I was younger I went through a bunch of other sports to see which one I liked the most. Obviously horseback riding ended up winning, but I did try soccer, gymnastics, dance, taekwondo, track, cross country, and wake surfing. Aside from horseback riding, wake surfing was a favorite of mine, and I only stopped when we sold the lake house and boat we had that we would use to surf. But I still love it and hope to try it again sometime! Other than that, I kinda just like exercising in general, so while I don’t do any of this competitively, I like to run occasionally and I ride my bike as much as I can when I have the time.

How tall are you? I am 5’4” or about 163 cm give or take. I am definitely the shortest aside from my mom in both my family in my friend group but I actually like being smaller sometimes. I can officially say I can fit in both a vacation suitcase and a medium sized dog kennel (like for corgis, beagles, etc.).

Favorite subject in school? In high school, my favorite class by far was Vet Med, but I also loved AP Literature. My teacher was the best and reading has always been my strength (rip math). As for my college classes, my favorites are Abnormal Psychology and Creative Writing.

Dream job? Okay realistically, my dream job is Forensic Psychology. Basically a detective with a psychology degree so that you can not only solve cases but also study the criminals behind them. That’s what I am currently going to uni for and what I hope will continue throughout the duration of my college years! I originally wanted to be a Veterinarian more than anything (hence why I took Vet Med in high school), but for a whole magnitude of reasons, I decided against it. I actually worked at a vet clinic for three years during high school and I fucking loved it, but there were just a lot of things that bothered me about the industry (it didn’t have anything to do with the vets themselves, those people are fucking awesome) so I decided it would be for the best if I changed my major. I still fucking love it and I even have an old textbook from when I was going to major in it that I read when I want so I can still stay refreshed on the major injuries and diseases and their cures. I also get some experience with Vet Med since with horses, the owner kinda has to do most of the healing unless it’s something specific like acupuncture, so I take care of all of Moose’s injuries and illnesses in the same way a vet would. If we are talking unrealistic, my dream job would be to train horses in Europe, writing short stories and novels as I travel around the world to train and compete. While I could never support myself with a job like this, horseback riding will always be in my life and I am hoping that my novel will be successful enough to allow me to be an author on the side of my Forensic Psych job!

Thanks again for tagging me, and thank you for reading through my word vomit about my life! In turn, I’m going to tag @mysteriousmagicx for this. Have a nice day!

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (born Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim.

She became a poet and writer after a series of occupations as a young adult, including fry cook, sex worker, nightclub dancer and performer, cast member of the opera Porgy and Bess, coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and journalist in Egypt and Ghana during the decolonization of Africa. She was an actress, writer, director, and producer of plays, movies, and public television programs. In 1982, she was named the first Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. She was active in the Civil Rights Movement and worked with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Beginning in the 1990s, she made around 80 appearances a year on the lecture circuit, something she continued into her eighties. In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" (1993) at the first inauguration of Bill Clinton, making her the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961.

With the publication of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou publicly discussed aspects of her personal life. She was respected as a spokesperson for black people and women, and her works have been considered a defense of black culture. Her works are widely used in schools and universities worldwide, although attempts have been made to ban her books from some U.S. libraries. Angelou's most celebrated works have been labeled as autobiographical fiction, but many critics consider them to be autobiographies. She made a deliberate attempt to challenge the common structure of the autobiography by critiquing, changing and expanding the genre. Her books center on themes such as racism, identity, family and travel.

Early life

Marguerite Annie Johnson was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928, the second child of Bailey Johnson, a doorman and navy dietitian, and Vivian (Baxter) Johnson, a nurse and card dealer. Angelou's older brother, Bailey Jr., nicknamed Marguerite "Maya", derived from "My" or "Mya Sister". When Angelou was three and her brother four, their parents' "calamitous marriage" ended, and their father sent them to Stamps, Arkansas, alone by train, to live with their paternal grandmother, Annie Henderson. In "an astonishing exception" to the harsh economics of African Americans of the time, Angelou's grandmother prospered financially during the Great Depression and World War II because the general store she owned sold needed basic commodities and because "she made wise and honest investments".

Four years later, the children's father "came to Stamps without warning" and returned them to their mother's care in St. Louis. At the age of eight, while living with her mother, Angelou was sexually abused and raped by her mother's boyfriend, a man named Freeman. She told her brother, who told the rest of their family. Freeman was found guilty but was jailed for only one day. Four days after his release, he was murdered, probably by Angelou's uncles. Angelou became mute for almost five years, believing, as she stated, "I thought, my voice killed him; I killed that man, because I told his name. And then I thought I would never speak again, because my voice would kill anyone." According to Marcia Ann Gillespie and her colleagues, who wrote a biography about Angelou, it was during this period of silence when Angelou developed her extraordinary memory, her love for books and literature, and her ability to listen and observe the world around her.

Shortly after Freeman's murder, Angelou and her brother were sent back to their grandmother. Angelou credits a teacher and friend of her family, Mrs. Bertha Flowers, with helping her speak again. Flowers introduced her to authors such as Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Douglas Johnson, and James Weldon Johnson, authors who would affect her life and career, as well as black female artists like Frances Harper, Anne Spencer, and Jessie Fauset.

When Angelou was 14, she and her brother moved in with their mother once again, who had since moved to Oakland, California. During World War II, Angelou attended the California Labor School. At the age of 16, she became the first black female cable car conductor in San Francisco. She wanted the job badly, admiring the uniforms of the operators—so much so that her mother referred to it as her "dream job." Her mother encouraged her to pursue the position, but warned her that she would need to arrive early and work harder than others. In 2014, Angelou received a lifetime achievement award from the Conference of Minority Transportation Officials as part of a session billed “Women Who Move the Nation.”

Three weeks after completing school, at the age of 17, she gave birth to her son, Clyde (who later changed his name to Guy Johnson).

Career

Adulthood and early career: 1951–61

In 1951, Angelou married Tosh Angelos, a Greek electrician, former sailor, and aspiring musician, despite the condemnation of interracial relationships at the time and the disapproval of her mother. She took modern dance classes during this time, and met dancers and choreographers Alvin Ailey and Ruth Beckford. Ailey and Angelou formed a dance team, calling themselves "Al and Rita", and performed modern dance at fraternal black organizations throughout San Francisco but never became successful. Angelou, her new husband, and her son moved to New York City so she could study African dance with Trinidadian dancer Pearl Primus, but they returned to San Francisco a year later.

After Angelou's marriage ended in 1954, she danced professionally in clubs around San Francisco, including the nightclub the Purple Onion, where she sang and danced to calypso music. Up to that point she went by the name of "Marguerite Johnson", or "Rita", but at the strong suggestion of her managers and supporters at the Purple Onion, she changed her professional name to "Maya Angelou" (her nickname and former married surname). It was a "distinctive name" that set her apart and captured the feel of her calypso dance performances. During 1954 and 1955, Angelou toured Europe with a production of the opera Porgy and Bess. She began her practice of learning the language of every country she visited, and in a few years she gained proficiency in several languages. In 1957, riding on the popularity of calypso, Angelou recorded her first album, Miss Calypso, which was reissued as a CD in 1996. She appeared in an off-Broadway review that inspired the 1957 film Calypso Heat Wave, in which Angelou sang and performed her own compositions.

Angelou met novelist John Oliver Killens in 1959 and, at his urging, moved to New York to concentrate on her writing career. She joined the Harlem Writers Guild, where she met several major African-American authors, including John Henrik Clarke, Rosa Guy, Paule Marshall, and Julian Mayfield, and was published for the first time. In 1960, after meeting civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. and hearing him speak, she and Killens organized "the legendary" Cabaret for Freedom to benefit the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), and she was named SCLC's Northern Coordinator. According to scholar Lyman B. Hagen, her contributions to civil rights as a fundraiser and SCLC organizer were successful and "eminently effective". Angelou also began her pro-Castro and anti-apartheid activism during this time.

Africa to Caged Bird: 1961–69

In 1961, Angelou performed in Jean Genet's play The Blacks, along with Abbey Lincoln, Roscoe Lee Brown, James Earl Jones, Louis Gossett, Godfrey Cambridge, and Cicely Tyson. Also in 1961, she met South African freedom fighter Vusumzi Make; they never officially married. She and her son Guy moved with Make to Cairo, where Angelou worked as an associate editor at the weekly English-language newspaper The Arab Observer. In 1962, her relationship with Make ended, and she and Guy moved to Accra, Ghana so he could attend college, but he was seriously injured in an automobile accident. Angelou remained in Accra for his recovery and ended up staying there until 1965. She became an administrator at the University of Ghana, and was active in the African-American expatriate community. She was a feature editor for The African Review, a freelance writer for the Ghanaian Times, wrote and broadcast for Radio Ghana, and worked and performed for Ghana's National Theatre. She performed in a revival of The Blacks in Geneva and Berlin.

In Accra, she became close friends with Malcolm X during his visit in the early 1960s. Angelou returned to the U.S. in 1965 to help him build a new civil rights organization, the Organization of Afro-American Unity; he was assassinated shortly afterward. Devastated and adrift, she joined her brother in Hawaii, where she resumed her singing career. She moved back to Los Angeles to focus on her writing career. Working as a market researcher in Watts, Angelou witnessed the riots in the summer of 1965. She acted in and wrote plays, and returned to New York in 1967. She met her lifelong friend Rosa Guy and renewed her friendship with James Baldwin, whom she had met in Paris in the 1950s and called "my brother", during this time. Her friend Jerry Purcell provided Angelou with a stipend to support her writing.

In 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. asked Angelou to organize a march. She agreed, but "postpones again", and in what Gillespie calls "a macabre twist of fate", he was assassinated on her 40th birthday (April 4). Devastated again, she was encouraged out of her depression by her friend James Baldwin. As Gillespie states, "If 1968 was a year of great pain, loss, and sadness, it was also the year when America first witnessed the breadth and depth of Maya Angelou's spirit and creative genius". Despite having almost no experience, she wrote, produced, and narrated Blacks, Blues, Black!, a ten-part series of documentaries about the connection between blues music and black Americans' African heritage, and what Angelou called the "Africanisms still current in the U.S." for National Educational Television, the precursor of PBS. Also in 1968, inspired at a dinner party she attended with Baldwin, cartoonist Jules Feiffer, and his wife Judy, and challenged by Random House editor Robert Loomis, she wrote her first autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, published in 1969. This brought her international recognition and acclaim.

Later career

Released in 1972, Angelou's Georgia, Georgia, produced by a Swedish film company and filmed in Sweden, was the first screenplay written by a black woman. She also wrote the film's soundtrack, despite having very little additional input in the filming of the movie. Angelou married Paul du Feu, a Welsh carpenter and ex-husband of writer Germaine Greer, in San Francisco in 1973. Over the next ten years, as Gillespie has stated, "She [Angelou] had accomplished more than many artists hope to achieve in a lifetime." Angelou worked as a composer, writing for singer Roberta Flack, and composing movie scores. She wrote articles, short stories, TV scripts, documentaries, autobiographies, and poetry. She produced plays and was named visiting professor at several colleges and universities. She was "a reluctant actor", and was nominated for a Tony Award in 1973 for her role in Look Away. As a theater director, in 1988 she undertook a revival of Errol John's play Moon on a Rainbow Shawl at the Almeida Theatre in London.

In 1977, Angelou appeared in a supporting role in the television mini-series Roots. She was given a multitude of awards during this period, including over thirty honorary degrees from colleges and universities from all over the world. In the late 1970s, Angelou met Oprah Winfrey when Winfrey was a TV anchor in Baltimore, Maryland; Angelou would later become Winfrey's close friend and mentor. In 1981, Angelou and du Feu divorced.

She returned to the southern United States in 1981 because she felt she had to come to terms with her past there and, despite having no bachelor's degree, accepted the lifetime Reynolds Professorship of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where she was one of a few full-time African-American professors. From that point on, she considered herself "a teacher who writes". Angelou taught a variety of subjects that reflected her interests, including philosophy, ethics, theology, science, theater, and writing. The Winston-Salem Journal reported that even though she made many friends on campus, "she never quite lived down all of the criticism from people who thought she was more of a celebrity than an intellect...[and] an overpaid figurehead". The last course she taught at Wake Forest was in 2011, but she was planning to teach another course in late 2014. Her final speaking engagement at the university was in late 2013. Beginning in the 1990s, Angelou actively participated in the lecture circuit in a customized tour bus, something she continued into her eighties.

In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" at the presidential inauguration of Bill Clinton, becoming the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at John F. Kennedy's inauguration in 1961. Her recitation resulted in more fame and recognition for her previous works, and broadened her appeal "across racial, economic, and educational boundaries". The recording of the poem won a Grammy Award. In June 1995, she delivered what Richard Long called her "second 'public' poem", titled "A Brave and Startling Truth", which commemorated the 50th anniversary of the United Nations.

Angelou achieved her goal of directing a feature film in 1996, Down in the Delta, which featured actors such as Alfre Woodard and Wesley Snipes. Also in 1996, she collaborated with R&B artists Ashford & Simpson on seven of the eleven tracks of their album Been Found. The album was responsible for three of Angelou's only Billboard chart appearances. In 2000, she created a successful collection of products for Hallmark, including greeting cards and decorative household items. She responded to critics who charged her with being too commercial by stating that "the enterprise was perfectly in keeping with her role as 'the people's poet'". More than thirty years after Angelou began writing her life story, she completed her sixth autobiography A Song Flung Up to Heaven, in 2002.

Angelou campaigned for the Democratic Party in the 2008 presidential primaries, giving her public support to Hillary Clinton. In the run-up to the January Democratic primary in South Carolina, the Clinton campaign ran ads featuring Angelou's endorsement. The ads were part of the campaign's efforts to rally support in the Black community; but Barack Obama won the South Carolina primary, finishing 29 points ahead of Clinton and taking 80% of the Black vote. When Clinton's campaign ended, Angelou put her support behind Obama, who went on to win the presidential election and became the first African-American president of the United States. After Obama's inauguration, she stated, "We are growing up beyond the idiocies of racism and sexism."

In late 2010, Angelou donated her personal papers and career memorabilia to the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem. They consisted of more than 340 boxes of documents that featured her handwritten notes on yellow legal pads for I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, a 1982 telegram from Coretta Scott King, fan mail, and personal and professional correspondence from colleagues such as her editor Robert Loomis. In 2011, Angelou served as a consultant for the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C. She spoke out in opposition to a paraphrase of a quotation by King that appeared on the memorial, saying, "The quote makes Dr. Martin Luther King look like an arrogant twit", and demanded that it be changed. Eventually, the paraphrase was removed.

In 2013, at the age of 85, Angelou published the seventh volume of autobiography in her series, titled Mom & Me & Mom, which focuses on her relationship with her mother.

Personal life

Evidence suggests that Angelou was partially descended from the Mende people of West Africa. In 2008, a DNA test revealed that among all of her African ancestors, 45 percent were from the Congo-Angola region and 55 percent were from West Africa. A 2008 PBS documentary found that Angelou's maternal great-grandmother Mary Lee, who had been emancipated after the Civil War, became pregnant by her white former owner, John Savin. Savin forced Lee to sign a false statement accusing another man of being the father of her child. After Savin was indicted for forcing Lee to commit perjury, and despite the discovery that Savin was the father, a jury found him not guilty. Lee was sent to the Clinton County poorhouse in Missouri with her daughter, Marguerite Baxter, who became Angelou's grandmother. Angelou described Lee as "that poor little Black girl, physically and mentally bruised".

The details of Angelou's life described in her seven autobiographies and in numerous interviews, speeches, and articles tended to be inconsistent. Critic Mary Jane Lupton has explained that when Angelou spoke about her life, she did so eloquently but informally and "with no time chart in front of her". For example, she was married at least twice, but never clarified the number of times she had been married, "for fear of sounding frivolous"; according to her autobiographies and to Gillespie, she married Tosh Angelos in 1951 and Paul du Feu in 1974, and began her relationship with Vusumzi Make in 1961, but never formally married him. Angelou held many jobs, including some in the sex trade, working as a prostitute and madame for lesbians, as she described in her second autobiography, Gather Together in My Name. In a 1995 interview, Angelou said,

"I wrote about my experiences because I thought too many people tell young folks, 'I never did anything wrong. Who, Moi? – never I. I have no skeletons in my closet. In fact, I have no closet.' They lie like that and then young people find themselves in situations and they think, 'Damn I must be a pretty bad guy. My mom or dad never did anything wrong.' They can't forgive themselves and go on with their lives."

Angelou had one son, Guy, whose birth she described in her first autobiography; one grandson, two great-grandchildren, and, according to Gillespie, a large group of friends and extended family. Angelou's mother Vivian Baxter died in 1991 and her brother Bailey Johnson Jr., died in 2000 after a series of strokes; both were important figures in her life and her books. In 1981, the mother of her grandson disappeared with him; finding him took four years.

In 2009, the gossip website TMZ erroneously reported that Angelou had been hospitalized in Los Angeles when she was alive and well in St. Louis, which resulted in rumors of her death and, according to Angelou, concern among her friends and family worldwide. In 2013, Angelou told her friend Oprah Winfrey that she had studied courses offered by the Unity Church, which were spiritually significant to her. She did not earn a university degree, but according to Gillespie it was Angelou's preference to be called "Dr. Angelou" by people outside of her family and close friends. She owned two homes in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and a "lordly brownstone" in Harlem, which was purchased in 2004 and was full of her "growing library" of books she collected throughout her life, artwork collected over the span of many decades, and well-stocked kitchens. Guardian writer Gary Younge reported that in Angelou's Harlem home were several African wall hangings and her collection of paintings, including ones of several jazz trumpeters, a watercolor of Rosa Parks, and a Faith Ringgold work titled "Maya's Quilt Of Life".

According to Gillespie, she hosted several celebrations per year at her main residence in Winston-Salem; "her skill in the kitchen is the stuff of legend—from haute cuisine to down-home comfort food". The Winston-Salem Journal stated: "Securing an invitation to one of Angelou's Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas tree decorating parties or birthday parties was among the most coveted invitations in town." The New York Times, describing Angelou's residence history in New York City, stated that she regularly hosted elaborate New Year's Day parties. She combined her cooking and writing skills in her 2004 book Hallelujah! The Welcome Table, which featured 73 recipes, many of which she learned from her grandmother and mother, accompanied by 28 vignettes. She followed up in 2010 with her second cookbook, Great Food, All Day Long: Cook Splendidly, Eat Smart, which focused on weight loss and portion control.

Beginning with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou used the same "writing ritual" for many years. She would wake early in the morning and check into a hotel room, where the staff was instructed to remove any pictures from the walls. She would write on legal pads while lying on the bed, with only a bottle of sherry, a deck of cards to play solitaire, Roget's Thesaurus, and the Bible, and would leave by the early afternoon. She would average 10–12 pages of written material a day, which she edited down to three or four pages in the evening. She went through this process to "enchant" herself, and as she said in a 1989 interview with the British Broadcasting Corporation, "relive the agony, the anguish, the Sturm und Drang". She placed herself back in the time she wrote about, even traumatic experiences such as her rape in Caged Bird, in order to "tell the human truth" about her life. Angelou stated that she played cards in order to get to that place of enchantment and in order to access her memories more effectively. She said, "It may take an hour to get into it, but once I'm in it—ha! It's so delicious!" She did not find the process cathartic; rather, she found relief in "telling the truth".

Death

Angelou died on the morning of May 28, 2014 at the age 86. She was found by her nurse. Although Angelou had reportedly been in poor health and had canceled recent scheduled appearances, she was working on another book, an autobiography about her experiences with national and world leaders. During her memorial service at Wake Forest University, her son Guy Johnson stated that despite being in constant pain due to her dancing career and respiratory failure, she wrote four books during the last ten years of her life. He said, "She left this mortal plane with no loss of acuity and no loss in comprehension."

Tributes to Angelou and condolences were paid by artists, entertainers, and world leaders, including Obama, whose sister was named after Angelou, and Bill Clinton. Harold Augenbraum, from the National Book Foundation, said that Angelou's "legacy is one that all writers and readers across the world can admire and aspire to." The week after Angelou's death, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings rose to number 1 on Amazon.com's bestseller list.

On May 29, 2014, Mount Zion Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, of which Angelou was a member for 30 years, held a public memorial service to honor her. On June 7, a private memorial service was held at Wait Chapel on the campus of Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem. The memorial was shown live on local stations in the Winston-Salem/Triad area and streamed live on the university web site with speeches from her son, Oprah Winfrey, Michelle Obama, and Bill Clinton. On June 15, a memorial was held at Glide Memorial Church in San Francisco, where Angelou was a member for many years. Rev. Cecil Williams, Mayor Ed Lee, and former mayor Willie Brown spoke.

Works

Angelou wrote a total of seven autobiographies. According to scholar Mary Jane Lupton, Angelou's third autobiography Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas marked the first time a well-known African-American autobiographer had written a third volume about her life. Her books "stretch over time and place", from Arkansas to Africa and back to the U.S., and take place from the beginnings of World War II to the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. In her fifth autobiography “All God’s Children Need Travelling Shoes” (1986) Angelou tells about her return to Ghana searching for the past of her tribe. She published her seventh autobiography Mom & Me & Mom in 2013, at the age of 85. Critics have tended to judge Angelou's subsequent autobiographies "in light of the first", with Caged Bird receiving the highest praise. Angelou wrote five collections of essays, which writer Hilton Als called her "wisdom books" and "homilies strung together with autobiographical texts". Angelou used the same editor throughout her writing career, Robert Loomis, an executive editor at Random House; he retired in 2011 and has been called "one of publishing's hall of fame editors." Angelou said regarding Loomis: "We have a relationship that's kind of famous among publishers."

Angelou's long and extensive career also included poetry, plays, screenplays for television and film, directing, acting, and public speaking. She was a prolific writer of poetry; her volume Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie (1971) was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize, and she was chosen by US President Bill Clinton to recite her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" during his inauguration in 1993.

Angelou's successful acting career included roles in numerous plays, films, and television programs, including her appearance in the television mini-series Roots in 1977. Her screenplay, Georgia, Georgia (1972), was the first original script by a black woman to be produced, and she was the first African-American woman to direct a major motion picture, Down in the Delta, in 1998.

Chronology of autobiographies

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969): Up to 1944 (age 17)

Gather Together in My Name (1974): 1944–48

Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (1976): 1949–55

The Heart of a Woman (1981): 1957–62

All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986): 1962–65

A Song Flung Up to Heaven (2002): 1965–68

Mom & Me & Mom (2013): overview

#04/04 #05/28

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froppy-the-frog · 4 years

Text

Electric Love- Kaminari Denki x Jiro Kyoka

So, I have never written fanfiction before. But then I read this beautiful fic by shikastemari and honestly I was so inspired by it that I wanted to take a crack at writing my own. Please go read their writing because it’s so good ahhhh. So, my fic shares a similar premise/situation to their fic- Kaminari asking Jiro for help playing guitar for the school festival.

Note: Listen, we all love Kaminari for the flirtatious, hilarious, friendly loser that he is. The boy does not excel at school, but he does actually possess knowledge regarding the arts (literature, art, etc) and I think we all need to remember that. So, I personally headcannon that while he sucks a school in a traditional classroom environment, he actually really enjoys reading classic literature, has quite a broad vocabulary, and writes down his favorite quotes in the notes app on his phone. I also think he really would enjoy indie rock and pop. Idk he gives off those vibes imo. Jiro prefers rock music I think, but she is listens to a lot of different songs and constantly is recommending songs to people that she thinks they would like. She is very shy but also really enjoys calling Kaminari different nicknames.

Anyways.

This story takes place sometime before the school festival where they throw that concert. Also, idk if you’re supposed to use character’s last names or their first names, so I did a mix. Also, there may be some spelling errors and grammar errors. Please forgive me if that’s the case. Fic title inspired by this song.

Word count: 4,948

Part: 1/? Idk I might write a sequel if I feel like it and/or have time

Warnings: fluff, maybe some angst?

Pairings: Jiro Kyoka x Kaminari Denki

Outside sources referenced/used: Practice; The Learn’d Astronomer, Prometheus Unbound, Electric Love

Kaminari Denki had had enough of today. His last class had ended for the day, and honestly it wasn’t a second too soon. Everything today had been an absolute train wreck- between the ungodly amount of homework the teachers has assigned for over the weekend, the absolute bs that had gone down in third period between Bakugou and Midoriya that resulted in a singed classroom and a broken door, and the thunderstorm that had been booming on and off throughout the day, Kaminari was ready to scream into a pillow. Walking out of the main campus building, Kaminari pushed his headphones over his ears, pressing shuffle on his Spotify playlist adequately named ‘jams for when ur ready to lose ur goddamn mind xD’. This was the beginning of the short walk from the main campus building to the dorm building where he lived during the school year. It was overcast. A gust of wind pushing his honeyed blonde hair back, bringing with it the smell of impending. Great, Kaminari thought to himself, another thing ruin today. Kaminari absolutely loathed the rain, or really, any sort of water-electricity and water don’t exactly mix well. His foul mood festered as he quickened his pace, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and he felt a few drops of water hit his forehead. Yep, definitely is gonna rain tonight, Kaminari thought to himself. He was so looking forward to bursting into his dorm and falling face first on his bed. Unfortunately, this dream would be a nearly impossible task, at least without being interrupted, as he lived in a dorm building with all of the other students that attended UA. UA, despite being the most prestigious hero-training high school in all of Japan, still had its fair share of the typical shenanigans that teens get into-drama, gossip, flirting, Mariokart tournaments, pranks, impromptu dance-offs, etc. Kaminari normally was totally ready to get insert himself into whatever social situation was going on in the common spaces. He considered himself to be a pretty gregarious, easy-going guy. He really liked hanging out with the other heroes in training. They were great to banter with, and he especially loved playfully flirting with the girls. But tonight, he wanted none of that, only hoping to slip unnoticed into his dorm so he could scream into his pillow. After a few minutes of walking, Kaminari reached the entrance of the dorm buildings. He scanned his ID and the door buzzed, signally it was unlocked so he could enter. Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepared himself for whatever was going on in the common areas that laid between him and his final destination, before he entering the common room. Luckily for him, the common areas were actually pretty empty for once, and Kaminari sighed a breath of relief. Everybody must have just gotten back and were probably in their rooms. Elevator or stairs? He quietly asked himself. Hm, less chance of running into anybody else in the stairwell. So with his book bag over his shoulder, he made a beeline through the common room to the stairwell door, opening it, and started his ascent to the third floor. He cast his gaze down at the steps as he climbed so as to avoid eye contact with any other soul he might encounter in that stairwell. He was lost deep in his ruminations, so it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t register hearing footsteps from another person who was descending the stairs.

“Hey!” A waving hand appeared in his face suddenly, catching Kaminari off-guard. He accidentally took a step back in surprise, missing the stair beneath him, and falling on his ass on the stair landing.

“Kamimari! Holy shit! are you okay?!” The sound of boots pounded down the steps then Kaminari felt warmth next to his shoulder where somebody was kneeling next to him.

“Ughhh” Lucky for him, he had landed on his ass and hadn’t hit is head.

“Holy shit Kaminari, I knew you looked out of it today, but Jesus, this is a lot, even for you.”

Regaining a bit of his senses, Kaminari sharply snapped back “What the hell do you mean by that?! And what are you doing here in the stairwell leading to the men’s wing, Jiro?” Normally, he wasn’t the type to get super angry, but he had just fell on his ass in front of Jiro, one of his closest friends. His face flushed red, a stark contrast against his honey-colored hair.

“Whoa, chill Denki. This isn’t like you. Listen, I didn’t mean for you fall backwards, I just wanted get your attention, Megawatt. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine” he said, getting up and brushing himself off. Well, so much for avoiding people.

Jiro stood up from kneeling and took a step back from Kaminari. “Well, anyways, I was in the male’s wing ‘cause I was actually looking for you. You said earlier this week that you needed help with the guitar, right?” she asked earnestly.

“Well, yeah... but right now really isn’t a good time. I’ve had the shittiest day and I don’t think I can handle any more failure...”

Jiro stopped and blinked, looking upset. “Denki... what happened today? Was it about third period? Really, you didn’t incite that incident, I was only kidding-” She asked earnestly.

“It’s nothing!” He snapped, his face turning a darked\r shade of vermillion. Jiro looked surprised and hurt by his reaction, and Denki immediately felt bad. He stiffened, and looked down, softening his tone. “I just...need some time to let off some steam. You know, get into a better headspace, recharge. I want to be left alone right now.”

“Oh, okay... well, if there’s anything I can do to help or you change your mind, you know where I live.” Then she reached out to gently touch his arm, startling him. He looked up, caught off guard by this. His felt his heartbeat quicken, and he prayed that she couldn’t hear it. Jiro added “Stop by. I mean it.” Denki mumbled a quick thanks to her, and not looking up, made his way up another flight of stairs to the third floor.

He flung open the door to the hallway in the men’s wing. He trudged down the hallway, finally arriving at his dorm. His hand went to his pocket to get his key only to hit fabric. SHIT he thought. I must’ve dropped it in the stairwell when I fell. He swiftly spun around to retrace his steps only to turn and bump right into Jiro, knocking both her and himself to the ground.

“Watch it, Sparky! I mean, Shit... sorry.” Jiro quickly scrambled to her feet, red faced and stammered “Look, I didn’t mean to- listen, so you, uh, dropped your keys and- I uh- just- here” She tossed Denki’s keys onto his lap and quickly ran down the hallways towards the door to the female wing.

Denki sat there, blinking, just trying to comprehend what had just happened. Shit, that had really just happened. Jiro looked really embarrassed. All she was trying to do was help him out. Denki felt awful for not only having snapped at her in the stairwell but then having knocked her to the floor. His thoughts shifted from anger from the day’s events to determination to fix things with Jiro. Rising to his feet, he unlocked his door, and quickly changed into some more casual clothes. He grabbed the guitar that was propped against the wall and slung it over his shoulder, taking note to also bring the sheet music for the song he was learning. With that, Kaminari headed out of his room and toward the female wing. When he got to Jiro’s room, he hesitated a brief moment before knocking. Does she even want to see me after having been so rude? Only one way to find out.

Kaminari knocked on the door and waited. “Yeah? Who is it?” An icy, familiar voice from rang out from behind the closed door. “Um, uh, it’s me, you know, Denki Kaminari, your friend.” He heard footsteps, then the door unlatch.

Jiro opened her door enough to stand in the doorframe. “Yeah?”

“Hey Kyoka, I am here to for some practice. I wanna be ready to impress everybody for the school festival!” He flashed a bright smile at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Alright Sparky. C’mon in”.

Denki walked in, looking around at her décor. Band posters plastered the walls and tons of different music equipment peeking out from every available nook and cranny. “You know Kyoka, I still can’t get over how cool your room is. It really looks like a music store or somethin’”

Jiro scoffed “Well, it’s just some stuff to help set the vibe. Gotta keep it rockin’” Jiro sat on the edge of her bed, and gestured for kaminari to come over. He plopped himself down on the floor in front of Jiro and took off his jacket. “Alright Mr. Jammingway, let’s start off with some warm-ups”

“Awww, Kyoka, do I have to? I wanna get jamming!”

“Dude, you wrists and fingers are gonna get so sore if you don’t warm up. Besides, even the legends like Jimmie Hendrix and Eric Clapton would warm up before playing. You’re not any better than them, so shut up and get started”

“Aww okay. I wouldn’t want tendinitis or anything.”

“Let’s start off with getting you tuned. Your guitar I mean.” Jiro got up and went over to her electric keyboard, and started off with a low E. Kaminari tuned his guitar string to match, and followed suit with the remaining strings. After getting his guitar tuned, he cracked his knuckles and stretched out his digits and rolled his wrists around to loosen them up. He then started on some warm up exercises, practicing picking and strumming.

Jiro smirked as she sat back down on her bed. “Wow Sparky, you actually listened to me. You have been warming up before you practice”

Denki stopped and looked up at her, grinning. “’Course, why wouldn’t a listen to a talented rocker such as yourself? I’m not completely obtuse.”

“You are though most of the time. I swear, there’s lots of cobwebs in the brain of yours” Jiro said followed by a laugh.

Kaminari frowned. “I’m really not that dumb. I swear. I’m just not so much a math-science-logic sort of guy. I’m more of a Whitman sort of guy”.

Jiro looked at him, puzzled. “A what?”

“You know, Walt Whitman, the poet? Here, lemme look up a poem real quick-” Kaminari reached over to his jacket and took his smartphone out of the pocket. He tapped quickly and scooted closer to Jiro and began reading aloud:

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, we ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I was sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist air, and from time to time,

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars

They sat in silence for a moment before Denki spoke. “That’s probably my favorite poem by him. I really just, I don’t know, I feel like it was almost written about me in a way. But I guess that’s the great thing about poetry-it reminds you that you aren’t alone in your human experience”.

Jiro was quiet. She hadn’t expected such a deep philosophical sentiment from the same guy who regularly and non-ironically used the word ‘yeet’.

“Um-“ Jiro started, but Denki interrupted her “Heh, sorry. Let’s get back to practicing. I am having problem with the barre chords. I just can’t seem to get my fingers to do that.”

Jiro snapped back to reality “Oh, yeah, barre chords are hard. If the song only had barre chords, you could use a capo, but since it has other non-barre chords, unfortunately ya gotta learn them the hard way. So,” She reached over to the wall and unhooked the electric guitar, bringing it down to her lap. “what you’re gonna do is take your pointer finger like this” She put it across all six strings “and then roll it to the side so the bony part is up against the strings. You’ll get a cleaner sound and it won’t hurt as much.”

She turned to look at Kaminari, who was staring at her, his eyes glistening under the fluorescent light. “Um, so, uh, why don’t you give it a try Denki?” She watched as Denki tried to copy her hand position but it was clear he was struggling.

“Nah, more like this” she showed him again on her guitar, and watched as he hopelessly tried to copy her hand position. She scooted off the bed and knelt in front of him. She took his hand and moved each of his fingers to the correct placement. She looked up from the neck of his guitar, close enough where he could feel her exhales on his face. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he prayed she could not hear him. Jiro continued, “…See, like this. Try strumming now.” Blushing, Kaminari strummed downward, and a clean sounding chord rang out.”

Jiro sat back and smiled. “See? You got it! Try it again, upward stroke this time.” Denki repeated, and let the chord ring out fully. He grinned at Jiro.

“Thanks Kyoka! You’re a really good teacher.” “Jiro began an attempted at denying it, but Denki cut her off “Jiro, accept a compliment! You’re good at teaching and you’re even better at playing. You really are talented.”

Jiro stayed quiet for a few moments, then stood up. “Well,” she exhaled. “You seem to be progressing really well. I think that if you keep up with the practicing, you should be ready for the school festival by the time it rolls around. I say let’s call it quits for the evening. She looked out the window over her balcony. Attempting to change the subject to distract herself from blushing, she said “Looks like it stopped raining.”

Denki put down the guitar and stood up. “Yeah. Hey Kyoka?” She looked at him, and he continued “Wanna go for a walk in the courtyard? I know it’s probably a bit wet out still from the rain, but it’s always really refreshing to be outside after a rainstorm.”

Jiro thought about saying no, until an idea struck her. “Yeah, sure thing. Lemme grab my jacket and shoes real quick.” She grabbed her jacket and slid on her boots, then they both headed for the door. They both reached for the door handle at the same time, accidently touching hands for a split second before yanking their hands back.

“Oh! Um, sorry” Denki stammered, turning slightly red as he tensed up.

“It’s all good; don’t worry ‘bout it, Sparky.” She smiled reassuringly at him, and his shoulder relaxed. They walked next to each other, heading towards the stairwell. Descending the stairs then walking through the common area, they headed towards the exit.

Unlike earlier, there were students from 1-A now sitting on the couches surrounding the TV, watching some sort of rom-com. Ochaco, Tsuyu, Tokoyami, Mina, Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, and Momo were spread out over the couches. Uraraka turned around when she heard their footsteps and called out to them.

“Hey Kyoka! Hi Denki!” She grabbed the TV remote and hit pause. “You guys want to watch “A Cinderella Story” with us?”

Mina chimed in “Tokoyami, Iida, and Todoroki haven’t seen it before, which an absolute crime. Can you believe it?! it’s an absolutely iconic movie that defined a generation”.

Todoroki’s eyes widened “Its a crime?!”

Momo laughed. “No Todoroki, figure of speech. And well mina, maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement, but seriously, Jiro, Kaminari, it’s a good movie. We started it only a few minutes ago, so you haven’t missed much. Bakugo, Sero, and Kirishima are in the kitchen working on dinner for everybody.”

Iida added “We extended the invitation to the other students to join us for this screening, but most of them either went home for the weekend or are studying.”

Tsuyu added “We stopped by Jiro’s room to ask you to join us, but it sounded like you guys were practicing for the festival, so we decided not to interrupt, ribbet.”

Denki responded “That was real cool of you guys. Jiro and me are gonna go for a quick walk, but we’ll join you afterwards. Its one of my favorite movies”.

Mina laughed from the couch. “That’s a surprise, Kaminari. I wouldn’t peg you as the rom-com type”.

Denki shook his head and grinned “A movie with hot girls, humor, and happy endings? What’s not to love? Anyways, we’ll be back.”

Uraraka waved and said “Alright, have fun! We’ll see you guys soon!” Denki waved back then he and Jiro headed outside.

When they got outside, they walked for a few minutes, saying nothing. The air was still, and the streetlights softly illuminated the sidewalk, slick with water. Jirou and Kaminari walked closely side by side, unconsciously syncing their strides, only a few inches between their hands that swung loosely at their sides. Kaminari finally broke the silence. “Isn’t it nice out? I don’t like thunderstorms much, but I love the air afterwards. It has a weird feel to it, you know? Its… I don’t know how to describe it. I guess it almost feels like it’s a liminal space of sorts, like between good and bad weather.”

Jiro looked at him confused. “You don’t like thunderstorms? You literally have an electric quirk. I would’ve thought that you would love them.”

Denki laughed, and put his hand on the back of his neck. “Aha, yeah, not so much. Water and I don’t exactly mix…”

“Ah, that makes sense. Well, every time there’s a thunderstorm, it reminds me of you ” Jiro replied. Kaminari felt a hot blush spread across his face and he was grateful for the dim lighting to disguise his embarrassment. Jiro looked away from him quickly as to also disguise the blush that was creeping across her face. Silence once again befell them and the continued walking.

Is now the time to bring this up, Jiro thought to herself. Well, she thought, might as well give it a try. Jiro broke the silence to say “Hey, so I, uh, well, so I came across this song the other day and I think you might like. You like indie rock and that kind of music, right, Jammingway?”

Kaminari was surprised. “How did you kn-”

Jiro laughed. “Dude, your Spotify playlists are public. I’m always looking for new songs so I sometimes randomly listen to other people’s playlists. Plus, you give off that sort of vibes. Anyways, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Denki smiled sheepishly as she continued “so I came across this song that I think you would like. You got your phone on you?”

“Of course. What kind of teen would I be if I didn’t?” He laughed as he pulled his smartphone out of his jacket pocket, unlocked it, then handed it over to Jiro. She walked over to a nearby bench, brushed off the water, and tapped the bench, inviting Kaminari to come sit next to her. She pulled a pair of earbuds from her pocket, plugged them into his phone’s headphone jack, and then handed Kaminari one earbud. She put the other one in her own ear, then hit play. She closed her eyes, and Kaminari followed suit, listening to the beginning of the song.

“Candy… She’s sweet like candy in my veins…”

He was very aware of how close they were sitting together, how her arm was resting against his, her warm breath on his skin, his knee touching hers.

“Baby, I’m dying for another taste. And every night my mind is running round her, Thunder’s getting louder and louder”

He blushed hearing the lyrics, wondering if she thought this way about him or if it was just the style of music that reminded her of him. If it was the first of the two, would that mean…?

“Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle! I I can't let you go now that I got it! And all I need is to be struck by your electric love”

The chorus hit, and he got it: it was because it was about electricity. I mean, he thought, that’s kinda a shallow connection to me, but a connection nevertheless. At least she thought about me…

The song ended, and Jiro turned to look at him expectedly. “So… what do you think? You like it?”

“Yeah, “he laughed. “That is a great example of the kind of music I like. Guess I have a pretty predictable music taste.” He ran his hand through his hair.

Jiro frowned “Nah, I just know you, dude. What did you think of the lyrics?” She hoped that he had picked up on the general message so she wouldn’t have to explain it…

“Yeah, I see why you thought of me. ‘Cause of the thunderstorm metaphor used. I have an electricity quirk. You said earlier thunderstorms remind you of me. It’s a superficial level metaphoric comparison.” He saw her face change under the dim streetlight, and he quickly clarified “Superficial in the sense of like not like ‘uh you’re soooo superficial’ but more like it just being a surface level observation, like not skin deep, you know? Sorry. I do like the song though, and” he took a deep breath and touched her arm gently. “I’m glad that you think of me. You’re a good friend, Kyoka”.

Jiro’s heart sank. Dammit, she thought to herself, I really am gonna have to explain it. “So, um, I guess like I saw the lyrics as a sort of way to describe how I feel about you. Like how earlier you read that poem to me and said you said you thought it described you. I feel like this song really captures how I feel about… well, how I feel about you.”

Denki took a moment to process what she had just said. Please oh please oh please I hope he picks up on what I’m trying to say she prayed.

Kaminari’s face broke out into a grin. “So, I think I catch your drift.” He paused, then said “Are you familiar with the work of Percy Bysshe Shelley?”

Jiro shook her head “I don’t see how this connects Den-“

“Shh, lemme continue, Earbuds. Percy B Shelley, English poet, husband of Mary Shelley who authored ‘Frankenstein’, real cool guy. Anyways, he wrote a play called ‘Prometheus Unbound’ which was like his response to the story ‘Prometheus Bound’ which is like an ancient Greek play… sorry, tangent. Yeah, so there was this one line I read that I wrote down in my notes…somewhere…” He bit his bottom lip as he scrolled through all of his notes on his phone. “Ah, here it is. It reminded me of how you make me feel” He read out loud:

As in the soft and sweet eclipse,

When soul meets soul on lovers' lips,

High hearts are calm, and brightest eyes are dull;

So when thy shadow falls on me,

Then am I mute and still, by thee

He leaned forward and softly placed his lips against hers for a few seconds. Then, they broke away, saying nothing. Kaminari leaned back and looked up at the sky, smiling to himself. I finally did it, he thought.

Jiro’s thoughts were racing 100 kilos an hour. THAT JUST HAPPENED OMG what do I do now ahhhhhh. Okay, get it together, Kyoka. She reached out and took his hand. She gave it a light squeeze, and joined Kaminari in looking up at the sky. A few softly glowing specks of light glimmered amongst the dark clouds that filled the void. Jiro leaned her head on Kaminari’s shoulder, and he leaned his towards her in response. Their gazes directed towards the sky, thoughts intertwined, sharing warmth from each other’s touch, they stayed in this seemingly infinite, gentle moment.

A few tiny drops of water descended from the sky, bringing them both crashing back to earth from the sky. Kaminari turned his head and kissed the top of Jiro’s head. “I think it’s time to head back, Kyoka.” he whispered, making no attempt to get up.

Jiro rotated her body to face Kaminari, delicately placed her hand on his cheek and pulled him close, meeting her lips with his. “Okay” she softly responded.

Both of them reluctantly broke apart and stood up, and began leisurely strolling towards the UA dorm building. Suddenly, lightning bolts instantly zagged across the sky above, followed by a deafening boom that echoed through the air. The clouds above broke open, and hard droplets raced to the earth below, aggressively soaking the world in a layer of water. Kaminari grabbed Jiro’s hand and pulled her forward as he ran towards the entrance of the dorm building. He fumbled for his ID, only then realizing he must have dropped it somewhere.

“Jiro… I can’t find my ID. Do you have yours?” Jiro’s hand instantly went to her pocket and pulled out her ID. She quickly pressed it against the scanner on the wall, the door buzzed, and they were able to quickly enter into the dry, brightly-lit common room. They were dripping wet, but grateful to be out of the storm.

Everyone was still watching the movie in the common room. Tsuyu was the first to notice their return; she picked up the remote that was laid on the coffee table to pause the movie. “Looks like you guys got rained on, ribbet.”

Jiro didn’t know how to respond, so she was relieved when Kaminari answered for them. “Yeah!” He smirked. “It really just started downpouring out of nowhere, no warning or anything! Guess good ol’ Zeus decided one rainshower today wasn’t enough” He caused a few of the other students to chuckle.

“Oh, Kaminari” Iida tossed a lanyard at Kaminari. “You dropped your keys and ID here in the lobby. Try to be more responsible next time.”

“Thanks Iida” Kaminari mumbled, turning a shade of crimson.

“Well…” Jiro began “I am going to go change into some dry clothes. Be right back.”

“Oh, Jiro!” Uraraka called out. “Dinner should be done by the time you are back! So don’t forget to bring your appetite! Also, this is a pajama party so wear your pjs!” Jiro smiled and left for her room.

Kaminari watched her as she left the room, smiling to himself. He heard somebody clear their throat, and he snapped back to reality. “Well, I will probs go change too. Don’t want to catch a cold or anything. That would be pretty tragic. Also, I’ll bring some M&Ms for everybody. Be right back!”. Kaminari smirked as he left the common room and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He couldn’t have asked for that to have gone any better, except minus getting rained on. But Kyoka… she really kissed him, huh. He wanted to talk to her about what had happened outside, but he didn’t want to complicate anything yet.

Kaminari got to his dorm room and unlocked it, quickly changing into some comfy pj bottoms and a t-shirt, then he grabbed the bag of M&Ms, the lanyard with his ID and keys, and walked towards the female wing. He got to Jiro’s door and knocked, and waited for a response.

“Yeah?” Her voice rang out from behind the door.

“It’s me”.

A minute later, the door opened, and Jiro stood once again in the doorframe, this time, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms with a tank top. “Hey Megawatt, you ready to head back down?” She spied the bag of M&Ms in Kaminari’s hands. “Bruh. M&Ms are actually my favorite candy in the world.”

Kaminari smiled. “I know. That’s what I was thinking when I got them. You gotta share them with everybody else though too”.

Jiro pouted “Aww, alright Sparky, I will. I’m not gonna be happy about it but I guess sharing is caring. Let’s go.”

They walked together towards the stairwell door, and before going through, Jiro stopped suddenly.

“So, before we go join the rest of the gang, Sparky, um, can we quickly maybe talk about what happened out there? You know, before it started raining...”

Kaminari responded “I would love to, but I really really want to watch the movie with you and the others, so maybe let’s put a pin in that for now. Don’t worry” he paused, and gently placed a kiss on her check, causing her to cheeks to flush pink. “We’ll talk about it. Tomorrow maybe?”

Jiro smirked, threw her arms around his neck, and smashed her lips against his before saying. “Alright, whatever you say, Mr. Short-Circuit. Let’s grab some tea or something when we do. You know, make it a date.”

Kaminari’s brain whirled, but he managed to respond “Yeah. Tomorrow at 1?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Stop by beforehand though so you can practice guitar more. Ya gotta be able to shred for the festival.”

“Course.” Kaminari said. “I gotta keep up so I don’t look idiotic next to a hardcore rocker such as yourself”.

Jiro smirked, opening the door to the stairwell and bounded down the stairs to the floor with the common areas. Kaminari smiled, following her into the common area to join the other students.

#kaminari denki #jiro kyoka #kaminari x jiro #kaminari denki x jiro kyoka #my hero academia #mha #mha fanfiction #kamijirou #kamijiro #jirou kyoka

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you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus · 5 years

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Prep School AU - Tyrus

Cyrus has been going to Riverview Academy Board School for all of his life

TJ has been going to Grant High School for a while, and when his mom gets a new job opportunity on the other side of Utah, he transfers over to RABS

TJ is actually pretty excited to transfer schools, because he did some research and RABS has a really good basketball program

He takes one Saturday to get all his books in the library, and he ends up checking out a bunch of other books

He is a Fitzgerald stan, so he check out Tender is the Night because The Great Gatsby has been checked out, or so he’s told

He checks it out in the catalogue, and it says that it should still be on that same shelf, but it’s not

He goes to find it again, and sees a boy going in that same direction, with that blue book in his hand

TJ: Hey, I’ve been looking for that book? Are you checking it out?

Cyrus: No, I’m done with it, so I’m putting it back.

TJ: You didn’t check it out?

Cyrus, rolling his eyes: You’re clearly new here. Just take it.

TJ: You’re kind of rude, you know that?

Cyrus: I’m not rude, I just prefer when I don’t have to interact with nerds like you.

TJ: So you pinned me down as the nerd because I have a few books in my hand?

Cyrus: I’d hardly call seven a few.

TJ: Most of them are for my classes, but some of them are for just reading for fun.

Cyrus: Reading for fun? Yeah, I think I pinned you down pretty well. I have to go. Chess tournament.

After he leaves, TJ stands there for a little while and watches as the boy leaves

He takes the copy of The Great Gatsby, and finds that it’s stuffed with notes and things in the margins, so he takes it back to his dorm to read later.

Good news for TJ, he’s room neighbors with the library kid, who he still doesn’t know the name of

However on the doors, the names are on small plaques, so TJ finds that the kid’s name is Cyrus

Later that day, while TJ is catching up on some reading, there’s noise coming from Cyrus’ room and then there’s a door slam, followed by loud footsteps

So being the curious, and caring kid that he is, he goes and knocks on the door.

Cyrus, opening the door: I swear, Reed, if you fuc-

He stops when he sees it’s the boy from the library, and he feels his cheeks go hot from embarrassment

Cyrus: Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else.

TJ: Yeah, I kind of heard some noise. Everything okay?

Cyrus: Why should you care? You don’t even know me.

TJ, holding up The Great Gatsby: I know that you really love this book.

Cyrus: And how do you get that?

TJ: All the notes you left throughout it. I was going to reread it, but I found your notes way more interesting. You sure had a lot to say about the ending.

Cyrus: I just did that for my class. I don’t read for fun.

TJ: Right. Well sorry for bothering you.

TJ goes back to his room and the rest of the weekend is uneventful.

A few weeks later, he finds out that Cyrus is in one of his literature classes, but that he sits near the back.

Throughout the next few weeks, TJ finds himself moving in chairs towards the back to try and get closer to Cyrus, because it always looks like he’s scribbling something in the books he has.

At some point he gets a desk behind him and slightly to the left so he can see what he’s writing.

Cyrus has a copy of A Streetcar Named Desire, which just so happens to be one of TJ’s favorite plays.

Cyrus is scribbling things in the margins, and TJ makes a point to talk to him about it.

So later that day, he knocks on Cyrus’ door, and holds his own copy of A Streetcar Named Desire

TJ: I can't stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.

Cyrus:...what? I mean, I know that’s a quote but...

TJ: It’s one of my favorite plays. And probably yours too.

Cyrus: Why are you so insistent on talking to me about literature?

TJ: I’m sure you like it, even if you don’t want to admit it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your chess buddies.

Cyrus doesn’t know what comes over him, but he lets TJ come into his room, and the posters on his wall that you can’t see when you walk in are covered in little tidbits of writing and literature.

TJ: And you called me a nerd.

Cyrus: I’m not a nerd, I just have passions.

TJ: I’m teasing, I think it’s nice. Haven’t met someone who likes literature as much as I do.

They make it an unofficial official thing to meet up on Saturdays in Cyrus’ room to talk about either the book that they’re reading in their literature class or one that they read for fun.

Cyrus discovers that TJ is a theatre person like himself, considering he reads a lot of plays

TJ learns that Cyrus never reads without a pencil in his hand to underline things that he liked, or to make notes in the margins of the pages

One day Cyrus repaints part of his room (the accent wall, if you will) so they hang out in TJ’s room while it dries

And that’s when he sees that TJ’s really into basketball as well

Cyrus: So, you’re a sports guy?

TJ: More like a sport guy. Singular.

Cyrus: I can’t play to save my life.

Cyrus isn’t sure why he’s suddenly opening up to this new person, considering he hasn’t known him that long, but every time he tries to say something snarky, it comes out as more teasing and flirty rather than rude

Winter comes along, which means basketball season, and Cyrus finds himself watching one of TJ’s games.

It is in this moment, looking at him seem almost effortless on the court, while parts of his hair fall over his forehead, that he realizes he has a small crush on TJ

Well, not that small. It was probably small a little while ago, but now that he’s admitted it to himself, it seems to be the only thing his mind can focus on

One time during a history lecture, he was staring at the back of TJ’s head, and when the teacher asked for the name of a battle, his response was “cute”

TJ did not let go of that for a whole week, but he didn’t know it was because of him

As Cyrus’ crush becomes more of a problem, as hanging out with TJ makes him more flustered, he starts to push him a way a little

It’s not a major thing at first, just little excuses to miss a literature chat every now and again

And maybe he doesn’t show up to many of his games anymore

TJ starts to worry that he did something wrong, and so he tries to find Cyrus, but the boy is really good at avoiding him

One day, he finds him curled up in his room under a blanket, looking severely distressed, so he comes in without even asking

TJ: Are you okay?

Cyrus, snapping: Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t need help.

TJ: You look like you’re about to cry.

Cyrus, voice breaking: I’m not! Everything’s fine, just leave me alone!

TJ, taking a step back: Okay. Sorry, I guess.

When he leaves and closes the door, Cyrus cries quietly, because he’s lost his only true friend

See, what had happened was that he was talking to a few of his friends about TJ, and they were teasing him about his obvious crush on the boy

But not in a playful way. They were making him feel bad about liking another boy, so they had pretty much cut ties that day

In short, Cyrus had nobody

A few days go by without TJ walking with him to class, or asking him if he’d finished a certain book

TJ ends up in the library one day when he’s supposed to talk to Cyrus, but he already knows he’ll say know, so he flicks through the library’s copy of The Glass Menagerie

Cyrus ends up going to the library as well, unbeknownst to TJ, and approaches him

Cyrus: Time is the longest distance between two places.

TJ, jumping a little: Oh, hey. Nice quote.

Cyrus: Good choice of a play.

There’s a bit of silence before they speak again.

Cyrus: I’m sorry I yelled at you that day. I’ve just. . .had a lot going on.

TJ: It’s fine. Everything okay?

Cyrus, shaking his head: My friends cut ties with me.

TJ: What, why? You’re so great to be around.

Cyrus, blushing lightly: Thanks that. . .means a lot. They, uh, they kind of found out that. . .that I’m gay.

TJ: Cyrus, they’re assholes for cutting ties because of that. You’re still the same literature nerd you’ve always been.

Cyrus: I’m glad I told you.

TJ: Me too.

They hug in reconciliation, and in that moment, TJ realizes that he doesn’t really want to let go for a while, but that would be weird, so he does

They spend the rest of the day talking about the books they read while they weren’t together

So things have gone mostly back to the way they were. Every now and again TJ and Cyrus try and sit with more people during lunch, but they end up having their own conversation

So they start having lunch in the courtyard by the big oak tree when it’s nice outside

One time it starts raining, and neither of them expected it, but TJ had a jacket, which he gave to Cyrus to cover himself

When they get inside, TJ’s hair is a damp mess, and Cyrus decides he likes it best this way

Also TJ never gets his jacket back

The next few weeks go great, and the two of them are hanging out so much that other people wonder if they’re dating or not

One day, after reading the Great Gatsby for the millionth time, Cyrus decides to just suck it up and ask TJ on a date

Except he doesn’t know how

So, he does what any logical literature nerd would do: he copies down all the best love lines from TJ’s favorite books

He picks a day when they talk about books to do it, so it doesn’t seem to out of the ordinary

TJ: Okay, so I just finished reading Huck Finn, and I already-

Cyrus: Actually, is it okay if I go first today?

TJ: Yeah, sure.

Cyrus: I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

TJ: You read Gatsby again?

Cyrus, shaking his head: No, just listen.

Cyrus: A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains.

TJ: Streetcar Named Desire, right? I love that quote.

Cyrus, sighing: Dammit, TJ, I like you.

TJ, taken aback: Wait, what?

Cyrus: I thought that maybe if I dropped a few romantic literary lines you’d pick up on it. Guess I was wrong.

And Cyrus is pretty discouraged at this point, but TJ just places his hand on top of Cyrus’

TJ: That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

They smile at each other like dorks, and spend the rest of the afternoon sitting there together, hands intertwined

Cyrus asks TJ to go on a date the next day, and of course he says yes

Where do they go, you might ask?

They go to the local library (not the one in the school) and pick out books for each other. Then they go back to their dorms and one reads while the other sits there

They take turns, and after a little while, none of them can concentrate on the book because oh my gosh they’re on a date.

Cyrus: Hey TJ?

TJ: Mhm?

Cyrus: Can I kiss you?

TJ, flustered: I don’t know, can you?

And he can, Cyrus can and does kiss him

Cyrus: Yeah, I think so

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus au #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #my au

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whitecrossgirl · 5 years

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High School Teachers AU

AN: So I’m struggling with the third part of the Who Framed Roger Rabbit AU but I have come up with a load of AUs that I want to write for Brienne and Jaime. I did a rough outline of one yesterday but I want to expand it and make it into a proper little fic. Also if anyone has any ideas for AUs they want to see, just send me an ask and I’ll give it a go.

“It’s so obvious, everyone can see how much they like each other.” Arya said as they sat in their usual hangout space under the stairwell that led to the Humanities department. This was their usual hangout spot after lunch, especially on days like today when the rain was lashing heavily against the windows. All other sources of gossip and conversation had already been exhausted, so they had fallen back to the easiest and most prevalent topic of gossip in Winterfell Academy.

The fact that Mr Lannister, the History teacher, and Miss Tarth, the Literature teacher, were obviously in love with each other.

It was the worst kept secret in school. All of the students, especially those in their form classes and who were taught by them, could tell that there was something between them. They were always hanging out in each other’s classrooms, walking halfway across the school to pass on a message or to tease the other, playing silly pranks on one another. The most infamous one being last October when Miss Tarth stole Mr Lannister’s prosthetic hand, holding it to ransom for the reported cost of 5lbs of peanut butter cups. Mr Lannister and Miss Tarth seemed to have a natural repertoire with each other and had dozens of in-jokes between themselves that no one, not even the other teachers could understand. If they could have openly flirted with one another, they probably would have.

“I think it’s sweet. They clearly have feelings for one another, maybe there’s a rule against members of staff dating each other so they can’t be together but they also can’t sacrifice their career?” Sansa suggested romantically. It would be such a beautiful love story; destined to be together but forced apart by circumstances beyond their control. Like a knight and his lady, forced to marry another.

“But Mr Martell and Ms Sand are engaged so it can’t be against some staff rule. Besides, Mr Seaworth is strict, but he’s not that strict,” Podrick reasoned. “Maybe they’re already dating but trying to keep it secret.”

“You call making cow eyes at each other ‘keeping it secret’?” Gendry asked sceptically. Even if their other behaviour could be dismissed as weird grown up best friends stuff, the literal heart-eyes they made at one another in the corridors, in the classrooms, all over the damn school, couldn’t.

“They’re not together,” Myrcella said, draping her blazer over her knees. “Uncle Jaime’s never mentioned anything about being in a relationship, especially not with Miss Tarth. If they were and it was serious, he would have said.”

“Yeah but we never see him out of school thanks to your headcase of a mum.” Gendry reminded his half-sister who pulled a face. That was true. Headcase was the kindest way of describing her mum. Full on deranged drunken psychotic lunatic was more like it.

“I wish they could do something, it’s driving us all mad. I get it’s their own lives but they have to know that everyone in school is talking about them. Wouldn’t they hate it if they knew? I mean, I’d actually die if the whole school was gossiping about me.” Sansa said as the bell to mark the end of lunch rang. The five of them scrambled to their feet, grabbing blazers, bags and folders before going their separate ways to their first lesson of the afternoon; Podrick to Music, Gendry to Construction, Arya and Mrycella to Dornish and Sansa to History, with the man himself. As they split off, Gendry taking Arya’s hand to walk her to class whilst teasing Myrcella, Podrick dashing back for his violin and Sansa climbing the stairs, looking at her phone; none of them noticed the figure who had been hanging over the staircase, eagerly listening in to their conversation. It had made for some interesting lunchtime listening.

“I hate assembly,” Podrick complained the next morning as he, Sansa and Arya joined the crush of Year 10 and Year 11 students making their way into the hall. Their bus had been delayed again and it meant that Gendry and Myrcella hadn’t been able to save any seats around them; instead the trio sat together towards the back; waiting for the weekly torture to be over. After Mr Seaworth made the usual announcements and gave the same pointless notices, Mr Lannister stepped forwards, away from the other teachers on the stage.

“Before you go to class, there is one more thing we need to discuss,” Mr Lannister said, smiling to himself at the groans of 400 teenagers. “Now, now, I won’t bore you too much. As I am sure you are aware, there has been a lot of gossip going around the school concerning myself and Miss Tarth. Just yesterday I heard some of you talking about it under the Humanities staircase at lunchtime.”

Myrcella and Gendry turned to shoot Sansa, Arya and Podrick a panicked look as the rest of the students burst into an excited flurry of mutters and whispers. There had to be a reason for Mr Lannister to talk to them about it. The rumours had been circulating for years, ever since they had started working at Winterfell Academy. Why talk about it now? Mr Lannister gestured for Miss Tarth to step forward, and with a mild blush on her cheeks, she did. The students gasping and whispering more intently as she took his hand.

“We want you all to know, that the rumours are true. Myself and Miss Tarth are in a relationship. We’re dating, we’re together, whatever you kids call it. We thought we had done a good job of hiding it, but apparently not.” Jaime said, grinning at Brienne who smiled back at him.

“I think they knew even before we did.” Brienne offered, thinking to how she and Jaime had built their friendship throughout their time at school. Beginning as two terrified Newly Qualified Teachers and supporting one another through the first difficult year had led to a strong friendship which over time had developed into a deep and loving relationship.

“Probably but they probably didn’t know this,” Jaime said as all of the students watched in curious awe. What didn’t they know? Were they already married? Was Miss Tarth pregnant? Were they quitting their jobs and running away into the sunset together like Miss Narth and Mr Greyson did?

“Know what?” Brienne asked as Jaime grinned at her; that same grin he had given her the first time she agreed to go on a date with him. That cheeky carefree grin that highlighted his dimples and lit up his whole face.

“They don’t know that you’re the love of my life; that you have the most beautiful smile, that you make everything better; that you’re a clever and devoted teacher who never gives up on a student; they don’t know how happy you make me, how lucky I am to have you in my life and how I wish you can be in it forever. I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Jaime said as he suddenly dropped down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box out of his pocket to the delighted shrieks and cheers from the students and teachers. Brienne’s hand shot to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. She had suspected it might happen but she didn’t think it actually would; and in front of the pupils they adored working with and teaching.

“Miss Brienne Tarth; will you marry me?”

#game of thrones #fic #braime #jaimexbrienne #Jaime Lannister #brienne of tarth #Podrick Payne #Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #gendry baratheon #myrcella baratheon #high school teachers au

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wastedstudies · 5 years

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how i survived ib

hello, kalice here! it’s been a really long time since i used my studyblr, and i was going to do this awhile back, but it completely slipped my mind as i was busy applying for universities and such so here it is~

i took ib from 2017 to 2018, and i sat for the 2018 november paper and got 41 points in total the subjects i took were hl language and literature (6), hl chinese b (6), sl biology (7), sl math studies (7), sl social and cultural anthropology (6) and hl theatre (6)

everyone has their own method of studying and learning, which is why my method may not necessarily be very useful to every person, but i hope it somewhat helps you guys!

1. don’t lie to yourself

everyone at the start of ib was like “i’m going to delete all my social media! i’ll be at the library and be super productive!”, and sure, you were able to keep that up for a couple of weeks before slipping into “i’ll just download and delete afterwards- i deserve a break” and going back to square one for me, i did delete majority of my social media- i was off instagram and twitter and snapchat, but the two things i never deleted were tumblr and youtube. the reason as to why i kept it was because if i got rid of one thing, i would jump to another, and it would get worse over time, but also because i love everything on tumblr and it’s practically my life instead, i would use selfcontrol whenever i studied or went for classes (except for math studies- i won’t lie i went ham on tumblr during that class). the smart way to use selfcontrol is to set it for a couple hours and use those markers as time for studying. so let’s say i have biology class for an hour, and chinese for another hour before my lunch break, i would set two hours to selfcontrol and it wouldn’t allow me to go on tumblr or buzzfeed or anything until lunch. when i’m studying, i would set it for an hour and a half, and during that time i would study. only after that timer is up would i take a break and do whatever i want to do. so don’t completely cut off social media, but rather restrain yourself from using it during certain periods of time

2. class discussions

for classes like chinese, langlit, anthro and tok, it is super important to participate in class discussions. even if no one starts a discussion, you should start one! your teachers are willing to take on any sort of discussion with relation to the topic, and you’ll realise that you’re more likely to remember things in that class through the things that you’ve discussed in chinese, our teacher would always relate the topics back to what’s happening in our country and our society, and it was because of the heated discussions and bad jokes that we had which helped me to remember the class more

3. questions and consultations

to be very honest, i hate asking questions and emailing my teachers for consultations because i always fear that they’ll find me stupid or annoying, but once you realise that your teachers technically can’t reject your questions or need for consultations, you’ll have no worry about booking consultations even though they beg you to stop seeing them in 2018, i saw my langlit teacher a LOT, so many times that she asked me to stop booking consultations with her so that she can consult other students, but i continued to consult her anyway :^) anyway, when you go for consultations, make sure you have prepared a bunch of questions and material for your teacher so your consultations actually help you instead of just wasting both you and your teacher’s time. for langlit, i always made sure that i wrote at least my introduction and first paragraph as well as a brief outline for the rest of my essay to let my teacher review. i would also show her how i did my annotations for paper 1 and 2 so i would know what i need to look out for and how i should annotate my texts better for biology, i would do a bunch of exam papers, mark them and circle the questions that i didn’t understand what i got wrong, as well as do the essay questions!! so during our consultation sessions, i would pass her all the questions i didn’t understand and she’d explain them to me

4. don’t do notes for the aesthetic

literally don’t. i wasted a year and a half doing my biology notes and it was a complete waste of time as i barely remembered anything. in fact, i was overly reliant on my bio notes to the point where i pushed it aside and just did papers during the last few months before ib notes are good to consolidate and summarise, but don’t spend too much time making notes if it’s not going to help you better understand and memorise content. instead, keep practicing papers and questions and let your teacher look at them

5. cry

it’s okay to cry when you’re stressed- in fact, it releases a lot of the stress and tension building up in you. cry to yourself, cry to a friend, cry to a family member. usually i cry to my friends because they understand what’s up, and if everyone is crying, everyone will get better together and you guys will continue to study as if nothing happened

6. enjoy

you might be thinking “how tf do i enjoy ib” but i really enjoyed it because when i think about ib i think about staying back in school till 10.30pm and cooking food in school and going for karaoke and while it was stressful, i also played hard which made it enjoyable

so that’s all i have to say! do note that throughout my ib journey i was not as wild as my friends- i didn’t go clubbing or drinking or get a boyfriend or anything (partially because i didn’t want to get scolded by my parents for doing so) and while i have nothing against anyone who wants to have a good time, please don’t dedicate a chunk of your time on those things. some of my friends had problems with their s/o which affected their studying and i personally believe that they could’ve done so much better if it weren’t for such circumstances, and yes, i did miss out on the “youth experience”, but now i’m 19 and i’m trying new things to make up for the lack of fun in the past two years and while i do regret not being able to experience so much back then and having to cram it all in now, i also don’t regret being one step closer to my dream- besides, you can always take a gap year to do all the things you’ve always wanted to try before going to university! either way, i hope that what you do makes you happy, and you’ll have friends and classmates who are willing to support you along the way!!

#studyblr #studyspo #ib tips #studying #studies #study

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amykingpoet · 5 years

Photo

“There comes a point in everyone’s lives where we start to recognize that we are making choices, that we are determining who we are by the actions that we make,” poet, educator and activist Amy King stated in a 2015 speech at SUNY Nassau Community College, where she is a professor of English and creative writing. “What we do says a lot about who we are, not just what we say.”

As a young child growing up in the Bible Belt, King remembers going to the grocery store with her grandfather—her one source of stability, love and unconditional support at that time who, “everyday,” made comments that she was learning to understand were racist. She recalls watching her grandfather flirt with a Black woman who was checking out their groceries. “I was very young,” she told students about that day. “I didn’t even have the vocabulary at that point to recognize this feeling or to articulate what this feeling was, but it was the feeling that something hypocritical was going on.”

That was when King, who identifies as queer, began trying to figure out how to address those moments in her family. “A story begins when a protagonist recognizes a conflict and begins to address how to correct that conflict,” she shared, “and some of us choose not to address that conflict—and that is a story too.”

After growing up in Stone Mountain, Georgia, King lived with her father in Baltimore, Maryland. As a teenager, she worked for the National Security Agency after testing high for analytical skills, but says she felt “uncomfortable” there, even just at 17, and “didn’t like the way the institution was run.”

Two consistent themes throughout King’s life are “social justice and story.” Her latest book, The Missing Museum, is described as “a kind of directory of the world as it rushes into extinction, in order to preserve and transform it at once.” Publishing it won her the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize and vaulted her to the ranks of legends like Ann Patchett, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rachel Carson and Pearl Buck when she received the 2015 Women’s National Book Association Award. (Named one of “40 Under 40: The Future of Feminism” awardees by the Feminist Press, King also received the 2012 SUNY Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Scholarship and Creative Activities.)

King is co-editor of the anthology Big Energy Poets: Ecopoetry Thinks Climate Change and the anthology series Bettering American Poetry; her other books include I Want to Make You Safe, one of Boston Globe’s Best Poetry Books of 2011. Much of her prose, activism and other projects focus on exploring and supporting the work of other women writers, especially writers of color. King is a founding member of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts and former Editor-in-Chief of VIDA Review.

During a 2014 interview King gave for Houston’s Public Poetry Reading Series, she spoke on the subject of trying to understand poetry by asking a pivotal question: “What is ‘understanding’ and what is an ‘experience’ with a piece of art?” She went on to say poetry should “jostle” us out of our regular ways of thinking—it should “undo” us in ways that are both good and uncomfortable.

For this installment of Ms. Muse, King opens up about learning to speak up and step up—and shares three new poems with Ms. readers. Here’s to hoping that they “undo” you.

THE POEMS

Selling Short

I cannot afford to live in the city I teach in, & the number of people sleeping in cars has grown, indivisibly. This is not a dream of guarantees but the pursuit of handwritten freedoms that night the sting away. Demons of clinics devise distribution mechanics based on who you were born to & who you might know. The 2 a.m. quiet promises no solace or silence when days are hobbled & taken. Soon, light will be privately owned.

I’m Building a Body to Burn My Effigy In

I will not mention stars Today. They have been used for purposes not their own. Listen to them. Give them space. Observe but leave them distant. If you think you know everything about them now, you have outgrown yourself. In the south we say bigger than your britches burns, but I do not wish to confuse. I want to learn.

Joy Even

The denim and calico patchwork of my childhood. Mothballs in a little black box, felt lining each crevice. Michael Jackson on a hobbled turntable someone left at the apartment complex curb. Costwald Village. Regal. British. Anything but.

The dislocation of Backwoods, Georgia. The first time a man touched me, his semen glistening my inner thighs.

“Thriller” and the plywood coffee table. The hoarder grocery bag maze and Childcraft Encyclopedias flayed across the shag. My 12-year-old amazement. My 12-year-old embryo. The fact of a body electric, searing for days. Turning that birthed another world with a song and dance.

So many ways to joy. Some to death. My anything. Me, anything. Joy even.

THE INTERVIEW

Can you tell me about your process of writing “I’m Building a Body to Burn My Effigy In,” “Joy Even” and “Selling Short”?

I don’t have one process. Sometimes compiled notes take shape. Or a poem just falls out of me as if, gored, the liver drops from my body. The heart seeping sounds more fitting, but a liver plop fits better.

“I’m Building a Body…” comes from an interest in physics and mortality.

“Joy Even” is part of the slow-burn of outlining a memoir.

“Selling Short” emerges as predictive dream, touching on issues that have recently led me to Rosi Braidotti’s “The Posthuman.”

What childhood experiences with language informed your relationship with poetry?

When I first moved to live with my father in Baltimore at 15, I spoke slowly and heard the same. I often said “What?” in a deep southern drawl, uncertain of my own ears, which was probably also testament to a deeper uncertainty too. My father was my only safety line in a house full of strangers and with a stepmother who, quite quickly, began to play her own uncertainties out on me.

One day, as usual, I asked “What?” and my dad, no longer riding the romance of his daughter’s betrayal of her mother to be with him, the winner, suddenly shouted at me, “DO YOU REALLY NOT KNOW WHAT WE’RE SAYING?” It shocked the shit out of me. I made adjustments over time to alter the way I spoke, how I heard, to absorb unknown word usages and infer what I could. And to recover from what that moment meant.

You might prefer the story of how I used to read Gertrude Stein to friends over the phone to annoy them until I realized I had tricked myself as I was enjoying sounding her poetry aloud. Or how I grew up reading Nancy Drew and science fiction late into the wee hours and then woke up and watched Saturday morning cartoons in black and white. But this moment with my father shattered something. Luckily, the cracks are often where we make things and the broken pieces what we make things with.

I’m stunned by that moment with your father and your struggle to understand what people around you were saying. I’m also struck by the notion of the poet as a young girl not trusting her own ears, as you say. How did you learn to make out the words all around you–and to trust yourself?

I don’t think I ever have really. I just embrace the temporality of life a bit more than usual and go with what comes across. It’s why I am not embarrassed to ask someone to pass the “lotion” for the salad or to verb nouns for decades now. I think subconsciously I suppressed my accent as a response to my father, but that shock taught me that not only is my mother unreliable, but so is the alternative, my father. I had already been disabused of the notion of unconditional love; I was holding out hope in him for at least a lasting, warm embrace. I’ve grown since that bottoming out: DNA is not all, and one can find family—and become family—elsewhere.

This is all linked to the notion that people speak to signal group intimacy; language is shaped by mutual alliances and allegiances. When family rejects your language needs, believe the message it sends and seek anew.

Do you seek out poetry by women and non-binary writers? If so, since when and why? More specifically, how has the work of feminist poets mattered in your childhood and/or your life as an adult?

I won a city-wide fiction contest for Baltimore ArtScape during my senior year of high school. It was judged by Lucille Clifton, which made a lasting impression on me. I was not a writer, but my high school English teacher, Carolyn Benfer, encouraged me tremendously. I was attending a vocational school in the city and, up to that point, was destined to become a CPA.

From there, I attended the University of Maryland at Towson State and had the good fortune to enroll as a double major in English and Women’s Studies. The latter program is especially noteworthy as the program served as the model for many other Women’s Studies programs across the country, as envisioned and spearheaded by Elaine Hedges, who was also an active feminist, affiliated with the Feminist Press. This program led me to numerous marginalized writers back in the early nineties that I likely would not have encountered so early on independently or simply from core English classes.

I cannot speak highly enough about the work that Women’s Studies program did. The short answer is that the program taught me to seek work by marginalized writers as I would be missing out on so much otherwise. I do not seek literature simply to reflect my own experiences—I seek to learn beyond them.

What groundbreaking (or ancient) works, forms, ideas and issues in poetry today interest and concern you?

There is no one work, and as such, I continue to read widely. There are so many books I have not read yet, which is thrilling. Some of my touchstones range from Cesar Vallejo to Leonora Carrington to Audre Lorde to James Baldwin to Lucille Clifton to Gertrude Stein to John Ashbery. There are numerous younger poets I look to for energy, shifts in consciousness and awareness of current cultural concerns and who also signal structural and formal changes. A handful include Billy-Rae Belcourt, Chen Chen, Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, Vievee Francis, Airea D. Matthews, Raquel Salas Rivera, TC Tolbert, Ocean Vuong and Phillip B. Williams—but this by no means is an exhaustive list. Check out the poets anthologized in the Bettering American Poetry series I am lucky enough to be a part of.

As a woman, and as a woman who writes, what do you need to support your work? What opportunities, support, policies and actions can/could make a direct difference for you—and for other women writers you know?

Besides the room, money and time Virginia Woolf called for, I’m beginning to find that a support network is vital. I don’t think this needs to be formal or a writing collaboration. I simply mean that it is encouraging to have regular check-ins with a small group of writers, as few as two even, where you discuss what you’re each working on, maybe share a small piece/excerpt, get feedback and discuss ideas.

It is often the idea exchange, even with just a friend on the phone, that I find generative. I find myself articulating ideas and vision in a way that is as revealing to myself as to my friend. I leave those conversations with ideas of where to head next with a poem or on what to research to build foundational ideas for a concept.

What’s next? What upcoming plans and projects excite you?

I’m outlining a memoir—fingers crossed—and writing poems. I may birth an essay down the road, but that is gestating for now. And volunteering time and support to a program called La Maison Baldwin Manuscript Mentors, a nonprofit arts and culture association that remembers and celebrates James Baldwin in Saint-Paul de Vence, to save James Baldwin’s house and turn it into a vital residency in France.

How has the current political climate in the U.S. affected you as a woman writer?

I am not so much shocked as often startled. I think we all knew white supremacy, colonialism and toxic masculinity were at the helm, but the built-in invisibilities kept them shrouded in respectability politics and notions of civility, and of course, that begs the question: Whose civility? I also don’t think we are in some unique moment of history where shocking things have taken hold and the end is nigh, but that is how it feels at times. Power and paradigm shifts are often premised on tectonic shifts, and folks have to finally step up, choose sides.

That seems key at the moment: one can no longer pretend to be above the fray. And that may be most painful for those of us with privilege. No one is outside anything after all.

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