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cotncandyboifics · 3 years

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1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,780

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <none> (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: hook chapter go brr

...

Nice to meet you, where you been?

I can show you incredible things

Magic, madness, heaven, sin

Saw you there, and I thought

"Oh my god, look at that face

You look like my next mistake"

Love's a game, wanna play?

Roman checked his watch discreetly as he walked down the hall toward his first class. 7:58. He was almost late, but not quite. As he walked in, earning a glare from Mr. Berry and a few students, he glanced at the whiteboard. It read: "Tuesday, September 3 / Classwork: OT essay workday / Homework: OT Analysis and Essay due FRIDAY". The word "Friday" was written sloppily large and underlined. Roman just kept his sleepy poker face and walked to his desk, in the second-to-last row in the middle. He'd not noticed the shrunken figure at the desk next to him, whom everyone knew but no one liked. Virgil Black.

New money, suit and tie

I can read you like a magazine

Ain't it funny, rumors fly

And I know you've heard about me

So hey, let's be friends

I'm dying to see, how this one ends

Grab your passport, and my hand

I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.

Virgil shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets as he glared in Roman's general direction from behind bright purple bangs. His scowl deepened as Roman pulled out his notebook but didn't take his single earbud out, proceeding to doodle on the margins of his notebook.

Roman propped his head up on his right palm, tilting his head carelessly as he drew stars around a stick man's head. By this time, the plump red-faced man known as Mr. Berry, teacher of English 12, had taken his respected place at the front of the class for a quick lecture before they began classwork.

So it's gonna be forever,

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over,

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cus you know I love the players,

And you love the game

"Good morning students," He said in a blubbering gritty voice, the sagging skin below his chin bouncing comically as he did so. "I trust you completed reading the rest of the book. Now, as I'm sure you've noticed, the Analysis and quotes along with your essay's final draft are due - both printed - on Friday. If you turn it in on Monday, it'll drop two letter grades, and any time after that is a zero. I should hope this first assignment will get you in the punctual mindset for my class." The large man was walking about the room, between desks checking for cheating or kids working ahead. He was strict, and didn't tolerate out-of-line behavior. As he completed his sentence, his eyes fell on Roman, who was still slouched apathetically, doodling, earbud in. The students watching Mr. Berry saw his face somehow achieve a deeper hue of red and his eyes bulge, as a bull does when it spots it's target. Roman however, didn't notice; a pale-faced Virgil tried to get his attention without the teacher noticing.

'Cus we're young and we're reckless,

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless,

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I've got a blank space baby...

And I'll write your name.

"Psst. Roman." he hissed in vain. Roman's earbud was in his right ear, the same side Virgil was sitting on, so quiet noises from that direction were inaudible to him. Despite the class's uneasiness as Mr. Berry made his way to Roman's seat, and though Roman was fully aware of the fat fuming man advancing on him, he made no change in expression or focus; merely, filled in the dark half of the yin yang he had sketched next to his name as he lightly mouthed the words of the song.

Mr. Berry stopped right in front of Roman's desk, looking down at him furiously. When Roman ignored him, he took further action. Just as Roman had completed the yin yang, a fat red hand came down loudly on his desk and a sudden "MR. PRINCE!!" Erupted from the old man's gullet.

Cherry lips, crystal skies

I can show you incredible things

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

You're the king baby I'm your queen

Find out what you want,

Be that girl for a month

Wait, the worst is yet to come... oh no.

Roman looked up at him slowly, but no trace of fear could be found on his face. Even, a slight smirk hinting at the corners of his mouth. But, not enough for the old man to notice.

"What sort of media is emitting from those... earphones?" Mr. Berry said, bug-eyed.

Roman held up the earbud that wasn't in his ear, looking at it. "You mean these?" He said.

Mr. Berry simply sighed and rolled his eyes frustratedly. "Yes, 'in those', Mr. Prince. You'd better have an adequate response."

Screaming, crying, perfect storms

I can make all the tables turn

Rose garden filled with thorns

Keep you second guessing, like

"Oh my god, who is she?"

I get drunk on jealousy

But you'll come back each time you leave

'Cus darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

Roman held the old man's gaze, as if searching for something within his grey-brown orbs. After a moment, he sighed quietly and said, "Taylor Swift."

His response earned a few snickers from other students, to which Mr. Berry scanned the room to see if he could bust two students in one go.

Most of the students thought he looked like Napoleon from the 1954 animated movie based on Animal Farm, a fair comparison. His balding head and fat body gave him an appearance that was quite comparable to a pig.

After a moment of glaring at a few of the known renegades of the class, he returned his focus to Roman. But, this time, he didn't appear as angry; rather, he was smiling gently, but his eyes still held an angry glow. "Since you see no point in listening to my lecture, I'm sure you wouldn't mind showing the class a sufficient outline for your first draft essay? Along with the requirements, of course," the senile man's smirk curled up into a grin as he spoke, tilting his head a bit. Roman merely smirked himself, and stood.

So it's gonna be forever,

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over,

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cus you know I love the players,

And you love the game

Mr. Berry watched in moderate surprise as Roman walked swiftly past the rows of desks to the whiteboard, uncapped an expo marker, and began writing in neatly printed lettering. "Ok, so the final draft is due on Friday," He began, "So you should have your first draft completed by tonight. The essay must have at least five body paragraphs, a minimum of two quotes each-" Virgil watched, shocked, gripping his pencil so that his knuckles paled. "So I hope you've picked out your quotes already. The thesis needs to answer the prompt, obviously. Conclusion should be at least five sentences. So overall, about two or three pages. I'd recommend using this class time to create an outline in your notebook, and typing up a first draft. Have your second draft done tomorrow, and final details on Thursday. And because Mr. Berry is too... behind the times to use Google Classroom, you'll need to print it out and hand it in physically. I'm sure Mr. Berry isn't partial to the trees we're killing, so if you're in Environmental club, I'd not bother complaining." And with this final sentence, Roman touched up his writing on the board and walked back to his seat, never taking out his earbud.

'Cus we're young and we're reckless,

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless,

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I got a blank space baby...

And I'll write your name.

Mr. Berry was still standing over Roman's desk, now staring down at him with large eyes. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but was interrupted by another student asking a question. From then on, Mr. Berry ignored Roman, which was an easy feat, as Roman did the same.

After a little over half an hour, the bell rang, and Roman slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out. Mr. Berry considered asking him why he'd only doodled for the entirety of the class period and not worked on his essay, but his pride got the best of him, and he watched as the young man walked out of the room confidently.

Virgil had slipped out before Roman, and was now pretending to exchange things in his locker, which was unfortunately right next to Roman's. The tall jock walked up to his own locker, earning a scowl from the darker boy.

"What? Enjoy the show I put on in Mr. Diabetes' class?" Roman said, leaning against the lockers as Virgil shut his own. The dark boy just grunted and walked off, feeling Roman's eyes watching as he turned a corner. Roman smirked for the hundredth time that morning when he was gone and turned to open his own locker. When a few girls from the cheer team started to linger, flipping their hair and puffing out their chests, and Roman actively ignored them until he walked past close enough that a few of them let out squeals. He heard the usual murmurs from behind him, "he's so hot," and "I'd kill to be his date to Homecoming." He smirked to himself again, making his way to his Physics class.

...

Virgil spotted is best friend Patton in his usual seat as he walked into his second period Economics class. The boy smiled at Virgil up on seeing him, and waved happily.

"Hello Virgil!! how are you feeling this morning?" He said cheerily as Virgil took the seat next to him, sliding his backpack under the desk.

"Alright I guess." He thought about telling Patton about Roman, but thought better of it; Patton had enough on his plate to worry about as it was.

As for Patton, he had already taken to pulling out his notebook, preparing for a long class of note-taking. Economics was one of the most note-heavy classes either of the boys had, and usually required all their focus. As the teacher stood from his desk and turned on his projector, Virgil could've sworn he saw Patton staring at someone, but as soon as he looked, Patton focused on the teacher, readying his pencil. But, Virgil being the parano- vigilant person he was, followed what he thought was Patton's line of sight to... Logan Montgomery? What? Upon realizing who he had thought Patton was looking at, he brushed it off. There's no way Patton would be looking at him. is there?

#logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #prinxiety #logicality #slow burn #virgil x roman #logan x patton

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vanchlo · 4 years

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Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here: 2 3 4

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c:

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea.

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom.

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings.

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs.

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust.

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes.

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he.

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this:

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup?

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them.

In the closet.

In a nook in a drawer.

Under the chair.

On the backside of one of his books.

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists.

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored.

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too.

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says.

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along.

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram.

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do.

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off.

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom.

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you.

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note.

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys.

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom.

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so.

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . .

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night!

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again.

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending.

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room.

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does.

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop!

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking.

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink.

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake.

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone.

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist.

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache.

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?”

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator.

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!”

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table.

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome.

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks.

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice.

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh.

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being.

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day.

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware.

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts.

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips.

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore.

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips.

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile.

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal.

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had.

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you.

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.”

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it.

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here.

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks.

That can’t hurt, can it?

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today.

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it.

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk.

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person.

How did I not figure this out sooner?

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books.

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing.

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs.

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room.

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words.

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too.

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you.

“Neither am I . . . . Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle.

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling.

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack.

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon.

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he.

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only.

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice.

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway.

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing.

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be.

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air.

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway.

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud.

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.”

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 4 years

Text

The Ace Part 3

Summary: The ice starts to break after a scolding from Nat and a venting to Tony.

TW/CW: Pietro x Reader, mentions of guns

A/N: This part is a tad bit longer than normal but there was a lot I wanted to fit in. I specifically wanted to showcase the reader’s abilities with guns, tech, and ideas and wanted to chip at the stone walls surrounding the reader. I hope you guys enjoy and as always lmk if you want to be added to the taglist and requests are open!

Your POV

Several days and drills have passed since the first drill. I have ignored and avoided both of the Maximoff twins. I drag myself out of bed and throw on some black leggings and a navy-blue tank top and sports bra. I review my schedule for today in my head as I lace up my running shoes. I am about to go on a run with Nat. Then I have a short sparring session with her followed by weapons training with Bucky. After lunch, Tony wants my opinion on some new gear for the team and has asked that I help him work out the bugs and come up with new ideas.

I lift myself off the bed to start my busy day. I make my way to the ground floor to meet Nat and can’t help but wonder where a certain speedster might make his appearance today. Try as I might to avoid him completely, he still manages to make at least one appearance every day. I take the stairs down to warm up for my run with Nat.

As I approach her, I notice she is joined by Wanda. I ignore her as I step up beside Nat, “How far are we running today?”

She and Wanda both notice the frigid tone of my voice but decide not to push it for now as Nat answers, “Five miles around the perimeter.” I nod and take off at a steady jog. Nat and Wanda catch up to me without a problem and we run in silence for a good while.

Nat is the first to break the piercing quiet, “Okay, time to tackle the elephant in the room- or on the feild. (Y/n), you’ve been ignoring Wanda and Pietro ever since the first drill. What’s up, you know that’s not good for the team, especially considering you work best with Pietro.”

I shoot her a sidelong glare, “What do you mean I work best with Pietro? We came in last.”

Wanda speaks up to answer, “Maybe so but I feel if you would work with him, you’d both do even better than he and I or you and Nat or Bucky. You both think a lot alike and therefore wouldn’t need much communication to flow smoothly through a mission.”

I scoff and Nat scolds me again, “She’s right (Y/n), and you need to get rid of the stick up your butt and the pride in your brain so that we can all work together effectively.”

I push it up a notch and run up ahead of them to avoid finishing the conversation. They let me be and don’t try to say anything again until we are finished. As we all stop to catch our breath at the end of our five miles, Nat places her hand on my shoulder, “You need to seriously consider it. So what if he has a little crush on you. You might find that you like him too. You have the option to stick around after the job is finished.” With that she walks away to prepare for our sparring match in the gym.

I forced my frustrations to the side so as not to beat the living day lights out of Nat during our sparring. Now, I stand beside Bucky in the firing range. He has handed me a simple .45 Ruger pistol and challenged me to unload the clip at the same spot at fifty yards. I take aim and manage to blow a hole right through the targets head. As he calls the target forward and finds that every single bullet went through the same hole.

“Nicely done. Now let’s see if you can do the same at two hundred yards,” he commands.

The target goes out to the two hundred yards. I take aim at the stomach this time and take my time firing. Once my clip is empty, he calls the target back. Again, every single bullet went through the same hole. Now he hands my a sniper rifle and instructs me to set it up. I spend some time with the rifle and before long, it’s lunch time.

After lunch, I report to Tony’s lab as instructed. The therapy experience of shooting at the range has left me relaxed and with a clear mind. Tony has a line of gear set up. On the tables I spot Nat’s electricity bands, Sam’s wings, Bucky’s print guns, and a running outfit. This sours my calm mood.

I glare at Tony, “If you’re going to scold me and tell me that I should give Pietro a chance then I don’t want to hear it and I will walk out that door.”

He chuckles as he messes around with his projections, “I wasn’t going to bother you about it but now that you’ve mentioned it, you should know that this is a safe space. Nothing you say will leave here and you’re free to speak your mind.” I tilt my head in confusion but he begins his instructions, “I need you to help me come up with ways to upgrade these pieces of equipment. Then, we can work on the bugs in Steve’s recall band for his shield, Thor’s cape, and Wanda’s outfit.”

I nod and begin examining the equipment on the table. I begin with Nat’s gear. Her arm bands shoot electric nodes and can work as a stun gun. The material is sturdy and protects her from shocking herself. All in all, the bands really aren’t missing anything. I look at Tony, “The bands for Nat aren’t really missing anything electricity wise, but they could use some other things. You could have them shoot tranquilizer darts as well as the electric nodes.” He nods, impressed, as I move on to Sam’s wings.

I take note of the giant wing span and each small addition of bullets, missiles, and the like. Tony stands across from me and I ask, “How small do these compact?” He presses a button and the wings compact down to the size of a large backpack. I think for a second, “Could they compact any smaller?” I test their weight, “and could they be made lighter?” Tony nods and begins working out the math on his projection as I start looking over Bucky’s guns.

These dual wielded pistols have print readers on them. They only accept Bucky and Tony’s prints. In all honesty, I am lost as to how to upgrade them other than to add a safety voice command for repairs and up keep. I write this down on Tony’s whiteboard as he is busy calculating and designing for the wings and electric bands. Moving on I pick up Pietro's running outfit. The soft material is breathable but probably does not offer much protection. As for the shoes, the soles are burnt through and I can tell he probably does this often. Tony turns away from his work to see how I’m progressing.

“Is there any other materials that won’t burn through and that will offer protection?” I ask still looking over the outfit. Somewhere in my mind, a second track is running and thinking about Pietro.

Tony thinks for a second, “Banner and I have been developing a rubber made with vibrainium.”

“Could you use it on his soles. It wouldn’t be very breathable for his clothes. We need to see if we can install a protective shield that would keep him protected,” I think aloud.

Tony moves up beside me and places a hand over mine, “What’s going on kiddo? You seem distant.”

I plop down in a chair and sigh in frustration, “Tony, are friendships and relationships really all they’re cracked up to be?”

He busts out laughing, “I’ve never thought of that but I suppose they can be. Why do you ask?”

I hesitate for a minute, wondering if I should voice my thoughts, I choose to anyway because what’s the worst that could happen, “I’m wondering if it might be worth it to actually let you guys in and get close and stick around after the job is done, but I’m scared because the last time I did that, it almost costed me my life.”

He sits down across from me and looks me in the eye, “Kid, I can’t tell you what to do about that. That is well and truly up to you. However, I can tell you that this team is my family. I’ve nearly died several times but I trust them with my life. If anything ever happened to me, I would trust them to take care of Pep and Morgan. Having people you can rely on is so much better than being alone your whole life.”

I drop my mask just the slightest bit and let him see a small fraction of the sorrow I feel, “What if I get hurt and abandoned again?”

He smiles gently, “You won’t, not with this team. They’ll have your back. Once you join this team, you are one of us. We protect our family.”

I smile, “Thank you, Tony. I hadn’t planned to drop this bomb on you.”

He chuckles, “Anytime, Kiddo.”

Taglist: @morsmordrethings @silentcoyotesong @bisexual----mermaid @minamisulemisa

#pietro x reader #pietro maximoff series #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff imagines #avengers imagine #avengers #avengers imagines #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel series #avengers series #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #tony stark #the ace

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yallreddieforthis · 6 years

Text

Believer

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language and Richie being Richie)

Words: 7k

Soulmate AU. Takes place in 2004. Humor, banter, first meeting, first date, first kiss.

And wow. Wow and a half. Richie couldn’t have even dreamed up a guy this cute, although admittedly he’d been picturing some dude in baggy jeans and a beanie with a hacky sack this whole time. Which couldn’t be further from this...absolute snack of startled, prep-school perfection.

Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.

Y’know, Richie has seen worse. Some girl in his English class has damn, how you fit all that in them jeans? so really, anything after that is an improvement.

And it’s not like the soul mark is constantly on his mind or anything. It’s on his back—literally, he can’t see it without two mirrors and he had to have Bill read it out to him when it first showed up—but every once in awhile he remembers that someday he’s going to hear oh my fucking god, I hate that song and he’ll just know. Well, maybe more than every once in awhile. It’s kind of like a recurring daydream. That, and what he’d do if he suddenly became Cyclops from the X-Men.

Fifteen year old Richie was positive it was going to be like some punk-ass rocker chick standing outside Hot Topic and reacting to 98 Degrees over the loudspeaker. At least, that was his first thought. And it’s not like it’s going to be a problem if that’s what ends up happening—because no matter what or who else he’s into, Richie is positive he’ll always have a deep-down internal hard-on for punk-ass rocker chicks—but lately he’s had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that… Well, it could just be like, a memory of a dream or some shit. And Richie certainly does not believe in dreams coming true, but it wasn’t until well after he got a soul mark that he admitted to himself that his secret thing for Chad Michael Murray is not going anywhere anytime soon.

Richie thinks it would’ve been easier to admit to being The Bi-est if it hadn’t been goddamn Chad that forced him to realize it. Like if it had been Orlando Bloom in Pirates or something when he’d been like alright, time to fuckin’ fess up . But he explained away his crush on Orlando as like, well, Orlando is cool as fuck. Duh. Who doesn’t want to blow him?

Same with like, David Boreanaz. Richie is convinced that even the straightest of straight guys fell desperately in love with Angel when they watched Buffy. He could stick his stake in anyone and they’d thank him.

But Chad...mm. Richie is the only guy he knows who watches One Tree Hill. He’s sure about that because every joke he’s ever made about Lucas Scott has been met by blank stares by Bill and Bev and even Ben, who, though ostensibly straight, would totally love One Tree Hill if Richie ever got the balls to ask him to watch it with him. The only people in the whole world he has to discuss it with are the group of girls who sit next to him in Physics. So actually, Richie blames One Tree Hill for his D in Physics. If he hadn’t started talking to those girls—and he probably wouldn’t have if they hadn’t been discussing the show—he might’ve been able to learn about science instead of playing Fuck Marry Kill every period. So even though it truly is the worst show he has ever watched on purpose, once a week, like clockwork, Richie sits his ass down in front of the computer to jerk it to Blondie McKenDoll because...what are you gonna do.

It ended up being a blessing in disguise because he decided to let his friends know he’s bi and a One Tree Hill fan in one fell swoop. He only got shit on about the One Tree Hill thing, especially because he was the one who used to give Ben shit about Dawson’s Creek. So really, that was only fair.

Still, that was nothing compared to the shit he got for having a soul mark that’s like...inches from being a tramp stamp. Secretly (and also not-so-secretly), Richie loves it. It’s deliciously tacky, the handwriting is almost as bad as his; really, he couldn’t have asked for something trashier. He might’ve died of shame if he’d gotten delicate, loopy cursive around his forearm like Bill it’s lovely to meet you, finally Denbrough. Anyway, anybody who writes that nicely would never be compatible with Richie. And god help whatever poor guy has a soul mark in Richie’s handwriting somewhere on his body. Richie can only pray it’s somewhere unobtrusive.

The messy printing is only a small part of what has convinced Richie his soulmate is a boy. It’s mostly just a gut feeling, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge because he can’t explain it. It feels stupid to bank on something like that.

Richie is low-key disappointed by the fact that he's never seen the handwriting from his soul mark crop up in any of the school graffiti. He's even gone and tagged the bathroom stalls a couple of times, in the hopes that whatever guy it is will see it. And deep down, Richie knows he probably wouldn't have done that if he'd thought his soulmate was a girl.

They're all reasonably convinced that Bill's soulmate is British, based on the whole lovely thing, and Richie has taken to mimicking the kind of accent he thinks she might have. Bill keeps being like I'm not gonna match with the qu-qu-queen, Richie, but if she's the kind of girl who goes around telling people it's lovely to meet you... Richie's not saying she will be like some kind of aristocratic socialite, just that she might be. He thinks Bill should probably be taking steps to prepare for that sort of scenario, although he's not sure what those steps might be. Cotillion? Cigar smoking? Tea making?

Either way, Bill has time. There aren’t any British girls in Derry. No way is he going to meet her until at least college.

In any case, thinking about what song he and his soulmate can hate together to be a lot better pastime than whatever the fuck Mr. Shulman is writing about on the whiteboard. Richie feels like he can't take a hundred percent of the blame for failing to pay attention. The green marker Mr. Shulman is using is frayed, fading, and praying for the sweet release of the trash can, and it's not like Richie can really see the board from the back of the room on the best of days. His parents have suggested, well, more like insisted he sit up front but like...Bev sits in the back, and sitting up front would put a damper on the bubble gum blowing contests they have when Mr. Shulman isn't looking. Tragically, his parents probably wouldn't agree with his reasoning. But whatever.

Richie has a list in the back of his notebook, which he relies on his inscrutable handwriting to protect from prying eyes, of every song he's ever heard that he immediately disliked. He started it on his fifteenth birthday with a list of past horrors and adds on every time Creed releases a new single.

Titanic song—My Heart Will Go On

I Hope You Dance

Hero—Enrique Iglesias (although Richie has admittedly crossed out and rewritten this one several times because, you know, Enrique)

Soak Up the Sun—that chick that’s dating Lance Armstrong

Summer Girls

I Knew I Loved You

Your Body Is a Wonderland

I’m Like a Bird

Anything that has ever been on American Idol

And so on. He's got 37 entries so far, and it's been two and a half years in the making. He's just in the process of deciding whether A Thousand Miles deserves a spot on the list when Bev nudges his shoulder and hands him a note under the desk, written in Ben's even, exacting printing.

Tuesday: Circle one

- National Treasure

- Mean Girls

- The Passion? (probably not, I know)

- Saw

- Troy

Richie truly sees no point in reading further because Bev has only circled National Treasure and Mean Girls and there is a zero percent chance Ben won't side with her , but he'll be damned if he's not going to give his opinion anyway. He scribbles a big fat line through The Passion, because although he knows Ben's AP history class will give him extra credit for seeing it, but he's not sure he loves Ben (or rather, Ben's history teacher) enough to sit through three hours of Jim Caviezel getting whumped.

Apropos of nothing, a song begins playing in Richie’s head; a good one, thankfully. Richie has very little control over his internal radio and sometimes it gets stuck on Radio Disney, so some Weird Al is a welcome reprieve.

And the guide... Richie mutters while tapping on his desk.

Said not to stand

But that’s a demand

That I couldn’t meet

I got on my feet

And stood up instead

And knocked of my head, you see

Tell meeee…

From Richie’s other side, Bill’s elbow collides with his ribs.

“You’re doing the th-thing again,” he mutters under his breath. Richie rolls his eyes. He doesn’t understand why anyone— his math teacher included—would not be delighted by a surprise rendition of a Weird Al song, regardless of where in the song he happens to start singing.

Back to the movie list. Everything else...hmm. Troy looks badass—and stars Richie's one true love, Orlando Bloom. There's a good chance he's gonna be naked in it too. Richie draws a dick next to Troy as part of the decision-making process. He knows Ben only put Saw on the list because he thought Richie would like it. There's no way Ben actually wants to watch Wesley from Princess Bride get chopped up. Richie scratches Saw out and writes you're not fooling me next to it.

He's heard good things about Mean Girls, but still... Bev probably only circled it because she knows it's Ben's first choice. Sometimes being best friends with a couple makes Richie want to spray them with projectile vomit. But, you know, in the best way. He has no particular objections to Mean Girls himself, except that National Treasure promises to be amazingly, spectacularly adventure-y and ridiculous, and Richie is always down for that kind of action. In fact, he would just as soon use the advantage of a half day where his parents are at work to watch Jumanji on the big TV in the living room, but...

Fuck it. He's feeling generous today, and he kind of wants to witness Ben vibrating with excitement when he sees the note so...he circles Mean Girls and passes it back.

Ben's gasp upon receiving it is worth it.

Apparently, Derry High isn't the only school having a minimum day because the mall is fucking packed with teenagers. The concession stand line is super long, but where else is Richie supposed to find a nauseating selection of overpriced candy and a bucket of popcorn that could feed a small village? After dousing the popcorn with butter to the point where Ben almost gags, they make their way into the theater to find seats. Which are shitty almost-front-row ones because it took them so goddamn long to get snacks that those are the only four seats together by the time they get in there. Lucky the guy sitting in front of Richie is super short. Bev and Ben aren't so lucky—the curls of the guy to his left are almost as impressive as Richie's, and the guy in front of Bev is just obviously really tall.

The previews haven't even started yet—it's just the shitty like don't talk in the theater ads and dumb TV trivia questions.

Richie feels incumbent to entertain his friends at all times, but especially in moments like this, where nothing else entertaining is forthcoming.

Uh huh, he whispers, starting up a beat on his thigh. Uh huh. Extra Cheese.

Bill sighs in a long-suffering sort of way beside him.

Uh huh. Uh huh. Save a piece for meeeee…

He turns to Bev and starts whispering the rest of the lyrics directly into her ear because he can’t not.

Pizza party at your house

I went just to check it out

Nineteen extra-larges, what a shame

No one came

We sat eatin’ all alone

You said, take the pizza—

“Shh!” Bev puts a finger over his mouth. “You’re going to get us kicked out again.”

That’s fair. Although, in Richie’s defense, it’s not like they missed out on much last time. The Village was supposed to be shitty anyway.

Mean Girls is, as it turns out, almost as interesting as the antics of the people in the row in front of them. Curly and the tall one are a couple, clearly, and Richie feels for Shorty The Third Wheel, whose face he has yet to get a good look at. His hair is as neat as Richie’s is messy though—the kind of perfect where Richie can’t tell if he tried to make it look like that or if that’s just how it is. It’s just long enough to sweep over the tips of his ears and to almost touch the back collar of the polo shirt he’s wearing. He sits with his legs crossed in front of him, which Richie hasn’t been able to do since eighth grade.

The couple is cute, like stupid cute. The tall one is black and like, easily a ten no matter what your taste is; Curly is white with defined cheekbones and a cardigan. Tall has his arm around Curly, who has leaned into his neck. It makes Richie at least ten times gayer than he was before he walked into this theater.

Halfway through the movie, Richie has finished his monster popcorn and started in on the Milk Duds. He’s getting intense gay vibes from Aaron, who is supposed to be hot but is a little too Mister Muscles for Richie’s taste. Of course, Richie also likes Chad Michael Murray so… Even Richie’s taste doesn’t match with Richie’s taste. Whatever. At least his mouth and brain are in agreement on the subject of Sour Patch Kids, which is what really matters in the end.

But anyway, Richie prepares to come away from this movie a changed man with a new appreciation for Jingle Bell Rock by the time the credits roll. He’s definitely going to have to see this at least four to sixteen more times—or however many he can get away with before his friends threaten to kill him—because he missed a lot of the jokes being distracted by the way Shorty was craning his neck to look up at the screen. Richie pops the last of his Starburst into his mouth without unwrapping it. If there was an Olympics category for unwrapping a starburst with your tongue, Richie would be a gold medalist.

“Did you finish all that?” Ben gasps, leaning over and gaping at the graveyard of candy wrappers across Richie’s lap. Richie nods, burps, and rubs his belly like a proud expectant mother. He spits out the Starburst wrapper and hands it to Ben with a wink because he knows Ben’s too polite to drop that shit on the floor for the ushers to clean up.

“Well,” says Beverly, taking a final, bubbly sip of her Icee, “when you give birth to that thing later tonight, don’t call me to cry about it.”

And because she gave him such a perfect opportunity—and because he absolutely will be calling her from the bathroom later tonight—Richie decides to finally finish his song.

Why’d you have to go and make me so constipated?

This really is a—

He doesn’t get any further because a sharp voice cuts in from directly in front of him.

“Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.”

And then Richie’s back is attacked by a thousand mosquitos at once—or at least that’s what it feels like. He overheard a guy on the quad once say that the sensation from his mark when he met his soulmate gave him a boner, but apparently it’s different for everyone because all this does is make Richie want to light himself on fire.

Which is why when Shorty in the J. Crew polo wheels around to look at him, Richie is awkwardly shifting, trying to find a way to itch his back on the seat. Maybe not the first impression he was going for, but just then, Shorty’s eyes lock on to Richie’s as he locates the source of the song, so yeah. There it is.

Before either of them can say anything else, Shorty yelps and grabs at one of his legs. That’s when he seems to regain the power of speech.

“It’s you?” he says, glaring sharply at Richie. “You’re the reason I haven’t been able to wear shorts for three fucking years?”

People are starting to leave the theater, which Richie hardly registers because he is having a full-on, swear to god Disney moment. This guy is like a...a bear cub. Not like hairy— he’s actually noticeably not hairy—but in the sense that he’s small and huggable-looking and Richie wants to pick him up and squeeze him but would probably get mauled if he tried to do so.

“Do you even—oh, sorry,” Shorty says, apologizing to the person who is trying to scoot past him. Then he turns back to Richie and flicks his eyes over him; just like a quick once-over. It’s impossible to tell if he likes what he sees. Richie notices he is still rubbing his calf.

“Itches like a motherfucker, doesn’t it?” he says, giving up on his seat-wiggling and reaching behind himself to scratch at his soul mark. Unfortunately, it turns out to be one of those itches that hurts when you scratch it, so he pulls his fingers back with an, “ow, son of a bitch!”

Shorty hisses.

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Tall leans over Curly to ask Shorty—Eddie. Eddie.

“Fuck,” says Eddie, then he takes in a deep breath, rubbing his leg like he’s dying to scratch it. “This asshole—” he points an accusing finger in Richie’s direction, “—is the reason I’ve had those Weird Al lyrics about being—sorry, excuse us—about being constipated on my leg since before the goddamn song even came out.”

Tall and Curly both swivel around to stare at Richie. That gets Bev’s attention.

“Wait, Richie,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Is this—”

“The love of my life,” Richie announces proudly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “Eddie.”

There is silence for a second during which Richie can almost see smoke coming out of Eddie’s ears.

“Fuck,” he says again. For all his preppy khakis and neatly combed hair and pristine white sneakers, he sure has a potty mouth. Richie couldn’t imagine anything better.

Bev gapes too, tapping Ben rapidly on the knee to get his attention. Curly’s eyes narrow as he examines Richie critically.

“Eddie, are you sure this is him?” he asks, still staring.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, pulling up his pant leg and peering at his leg. “Yeah, cause—you know what? You can’t really see it in—”

“Excuse me,” calls an usher from the end of the aisle. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Richie calls back cheerfully. “This is my soulmate! Isn’t he—”

“Right,” says the usher, blank faced in spite of this being the greatest of all possible happenings. “You think maybe you can move this party out to the lobby? I need to get the floor cleaned before the next showing.”

Eddie practically disappears into his friends during the awkward group shuffle out of the theater, but Richie walks backwards, keeping his eyes on all five feet and...four inches? three? of the gorgeousness that is Eddie.

Out in the light of the lobby he’s even better. Soft-looking brown hair, lightly freckled cheeks and arms, and—once he pulls up his pant leg—a soul mark that looks like the logo for someone’s z-list death metal band. The skin around it is pink and blotchy, but Richie can see the lines already fading. The only word that’s really fully legible is constipated. Which is hilarious, so Richie can’t understand why Eddie seems so ticked off.

Not that it fazes him in the slightest. It is actually written in the stars or the Book of Fate or whatever that he and Eddie are meant for each other. They’re destined to fall in love. If Eddie is mad at him now, he won’t be later.

“Whoa,” says Curly, tracing his fingers over Eddie’s soul mark. “Yeah. There it goes.”

“I’m Mike,” says Tall, who, now that they’re all standing, is actually the same height as Richie. He extends a hand, which Richie takes and then uses to yank him in for a hug. He smells amazing.

“Richie,” he says into Mike’s shoulder, before next trying to plaster himself to Curly. He hears Ben start to make introductions with Mike before Eddie’s voice cuts in.

“Stop,” he orders, running both hands through his hair, which bounces immediately back into its immaculate style. “Okay? Just—this is not happening right now.”

“Tell that to my heart, cutie,” says Richie. “And by my heart I mean my—”

“My mom?” Eddie says, like he’s name-dropping—like that should mean anything to Richie.

“God, if she’s half as cute as you, then hell yes.”

“No,” says Eddie. “I mean like, my mom. Does not know. That I’m gay. Fuck. Like, she has no fucking idea. And she’s gonna have a shit fit when she finds out. I keep telling her I don’t even have a soul mark yet—she never would’ve let me out of the house again if she’d seen it.”

“So?” says Richie. “Now it’s going away; now she doesn’t have to see it.” Seems more like a solution than a problem if you ask him.

“Honestly I was hoping not to even have to deal with any of this shit until like after college,” Eddie says. He looks like he’s considering just making a fucking break for the door. Like, don’t want to deal with this now, bye! Which, fair.

It’s a lot to roll with, especially just out of fucking nowhere like that. Richie probably should be freaking out way more than he is right now.

The idea of not seeing Eddie again until after college sounds terrible, but he doesn’t want to admit that. Going around like, yeah, I met my soulmate but he had a meltdown and ran away so… Like, he could do it if it’s what Eddie wanted. But he really hopes Eddie changes his mind.

“Do you want me to just like...fuck off?” he asks Eddie, quietly enough that the others won’t hear him.

Eddie frowns. “I don’t—”

“I mean...I guess we don’t have to like, you know, go for it now. Like. If you’re not into it, it’s cool. No offense taken. Maybe I’ll… I dunno, find you on Friendster in a few years? When things are easier? Or you can look for me. It’s Richie T-O-Z-”

Eddie cringes, checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. My mom left me three messages; she’s probably already in the parking lot.”

And before Richie can even get upset about the idea that his soulmate is about to walk off into the sunset without so much as a dramatic monologue about how he’ll never give up on their eventual theoretical love, Eddie bites his lip and looks up into Richie’s face. His eyes are big and brown and make Richie feel like his ribcage is liquefying.

“Gimme your phone,” he says. Richie’s heart leaps into his throat as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Eddie takes it from him. “You should really get a case for this thing,” he says, clicking away on the number pad.

Their fingers brush as Eddie hands back his phone, with one last long look back as he scampers away.

Richie starts typing before he’s even left the lobby.

From: Richie

hi its richie, the actual love of ur life

From: Eddie

jesus i havent even reached the parking lot

dont text me too much its 15c a text, my mom will catch on

From: Richie

can i see u again

i miss u already

From: Eddie

i can probably get out again saturday

From: Richie

saturday? what about tmrw?

From: Eddie

im lucky if i get saturday

saturday, yes or no

From: Richie

YES OF COURSE

meet me in front of the arcade 1st and Adams

…

ok?

From: Eddie

Yeah 2pm stop texting me

Eddie—god even thinking his name brings up a rush of butterflies—is standing outside the arcade looking about as comfortable as if it were a strip club. He’s wearing shorts, apparently for the first time in years. Something tells Richie that Eddie’s not going to be one of those people who gets their soul mark tattooed on after meeting their soulmate. The jury is still out on Richie—he kinda misses his already.

In the five days since they met, Richie has outlined itineraries for at least three different honeymoons and started a shortlist of names their adoptive children. He hopes Eddie also dreams of naming his sons after the kids from South Park.

“So,” says Richie, leaning down and looking Eddie in the eye, “yes or no to kissing on the first date?”

“Who said this was a date?” Eddie scoffs, opening the door to the arcade and rolling his eyes.

Richie has as much of a plan as he’s ever made in his life for this afternoon. First it’s the arcade where he can show off his bitchin’ Dance Dance Revolution skills, then to Johnny Rockets next door for a burger to remember, then hopefully back to Richie’s car to make out if they really hit it off.

Richie honestly cannot wait to show Eddie his car. It’s super impressive, even though it’s missing a bumper and the back passenger side door is held on with duct tape. Is a handjob too much to hope for on the first date? He doesn’t want to pressure Eddie or anything, but Richie is ready to give Eddie a handjob yesterday. So as soon as Eddie’s ready to rumble, they can get down.

Richie brought both his windshield covers just in case—the blue one and the Ren and Stimpy.

Turns out there’s a long line for DDR, which Richie probably should have counted on since it’s Saturday. Perfect opportunity for getting to know each other though. If Eddie would just like, you know, talk. He’s silently chewing on his lip instead, brow furrowed.

“Come here often?” Richie asks him.

Eddie shakes his head. “More like never. My mom won’t let me. Says the arcade is full of germs. She thinks I’m at Stan’s house watching High Society again . ”

“What’s High Society?”

“Really?” Eddie looks up at him. “You haven’t seen—like, with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra? Bing Crosby? No?”

“So it’s like...a super old movie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. “What—I’m just curious—what’s your favorite movie?”

“Definitely The Big Lebowski,” says Richie right away. “That’s easy. Best movie of all time. Oh, except maybe White Chicks. Pulp Fiction. Scary Movie 3.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers, apparently to his shoes.

“Please don’t tell me you preferred Scary Movie 2. That might be a dealbreaker. Soulmate or not.”

“But you do like scary movies?” Eddie perks up a little. “Have you seen Wait Until Dark with Audrey Hepburn? It’s super scary.”

“Audrey Hepburn? Ohhhh, that chick in The Philadelphia Story? My grandma makes us watch that every year when we come over for Thanksgiving.”

Eddie purses his lips. “That’s Katharine Hepburn.”

“Are they sisters?” Richie asks.

“No.”

Richie isn’t worried. Eddie probably just hasn’t seen, like, Dude Where’s My Car yet. Easily fixed. His parents will be out of town next weekend; Eddie can stay over and they can watch it. That and definitely Catch Me If You Can.

He pitches the idea to Eddie, whose eyes light up at the mention of Catch Me If You Can.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, “Leonardo DiCaprio was like, my sexual awakening.”

“For sure,” says Richie. “He was such a badass in Gangs of New York. Which one did it for you? Was it The Man In the Iron Mask?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s being an idiot. “Uh, you’re guessing The Man In the Iron Mask before Titanic?”

“Really?” Richie winces, super disappointed and unable to hide it. “Titanic, Eddie?”

Eddie smirks. “No. Romeo and Juliet. You’re up.”

Richie tries to decide whether Romeo and Juliet is a better or worse sexual awakening than Titanic as he chooses a song. Richie practices DDR every weekend the way some people faithfully go to church, so he’s pretty confident he’ll blow Eddie away no matter what.

Still, just to be safe, he picks easy mode when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. Eddie’s never been here. He doesn’t need to know that it took Richie six months of practice before he finished a song without failing out. It’s gonna look cool either way.

And, okay, in hindsight...these brand-new Dickies are still kind of stiff. They might not have been the best choice for DDR. He just figured they’d make a better impression than the old ripped ones he was wearing when they met. Eddie strikes Richie as the kind of guy who doesn’t wear the same pants two days in a row; he doesn’t need to know that Richie (up until the day before yesterday) only had the one pair. Richie has decided he might even be convinced to break his strict rule of not throwing out pants until they’ve worn through in the crotch. All for love.

Eddie smiles brightly at his abysmal score. “Wow, that was pretty good. Can I try?”

Damn, that smile. Whipped already and they haven’t even kissed yet. Richie steps down with a bow.

Eddie stands tentatively on the DDR platform.

“Um…” He looks at the screen. “This one?”

And before Richie can stop him, he’s picked a crazy song on hard mode. If it were Bill, Richie would settle in and prepare laugh his ass off. Maybe even try to grab his camera from the car.

“So you just like, step on the arrows when they show up on the screen?” Eddie asks while the game loads.

“Uh, yeah,” says Richie. “But you know—don’t worry if you fail out. Took me awhile to get the hang of it.” He winks.

“Okay,” says Eddie. He rolls his neck and shakes out his arms and… Whoa, why does Richie suddenly feel like he’s about to pop a boner?

And then, uh. And then Eddie is nothing but a flurry of legs, jumping, twirling, hopping back and forth. He claps and snaps with the beat—god, he knows how to use his fucking body. Thank god for Richie’s stiff new pants. He bends a little at the knee, letting his sweater drape down over his lap. Other people in the arcade are stopping what they’re doing to watch—he’s that good.

After what could have been either ten seconds or ten years—but nothing in between—the song ends and Eddie bounces lightly off the mat. Richie’s throat goes dry.

“How’d I do?” Eddie’s little smirk is positively edible.

“Marry me,” Richie croaks. “I was gonna offer to teach you to play but, uh…”

Eddie laughs. “Mike has that game,” he says, still smiling. “We play it all the time at his house. It’s even harder with the shitty fold-out mat.”

“Well there go my plans,” Richie says, throwing his arms in the air. “It was gonna be a DDR lesson. A sexy one. And you’ve gone and totally schooled me, so now I’m just gonna have to try to impress you with Halo.”

Mercifully, Eddie turns out to be absolute shit at first-person shooters, so Richie isn’t totally humiliated on his home turf. But Eddie creams him at the driving games almost as bad as he did at DDR.

“Jesus, dude,” Richie says, watching Eddie punch his initials into the hi score list. EFK. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Pffft,” Eddie shakes his head. “My mom won’t even let my get my permit yet.”

“Wait,” says Richie. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Eddie tells him. Shut the fuck up. No way.

“You’re older than me?! But you’re so short! I thought you were like sixteen.”

Eddie shoots him a baffled glare. “You know that’s not how it works, right?”

“Well, how old did you think I was?” Richie asks.

“I guess I thought you were eighteen too?” says Eddie, shrugging. “I mean…” he gestures vaguely upward.

Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Alright, touche,” Eddie admits. “But seriously, how old are you? I’m gonna feel really weird if you’re just like, the world’s tallest freshman and you’re hitting on me.”

“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen next month. So we’re practically the same age.”

Eddie nods. “But as far as driving, yeah. I don’t like, have my own car. So yeah, technically I could get a license but I don’t have anything to actually drive yet.”

“My dad gave me his old car and basically let me destroy it while I was practicing,” says Richie. “Your parents don’t trust you with their cars?”

Eddie hesitates for a second before looking away. “It’s just me and my mom,” he says quickly.

“Oh,” says Richie stupidly, feeling like an absolute tool. “Oh yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie tells him, and it sounds like he mostly means it. “I was so young when he died, I don’t even remember him. It’s just that my mom…”

“She sounds like a hardass,” says Richie, drumming on the Whack-a-Mole console while Eddie grabs the mallet.

“It’s not— wham— that,” he says, eyes darting between the moles. “It’s like… My mom acts like she wishes she’d never even —wham— given birth to me.”

“Ow,” Richie grimaces. “Harsh.”

“No,” Eddie corrects. “I don’t mean it like— wham —that. Just that like I think she would rather they’d never— wham —cut the umbilical cord. Like she wishes we were still— wham wham wham —attached.”

“Yikes,” says Richie, because that’s all he can think of to say.

“Big yikes,” Eddie agrees.

“I’m guessing you don’t go to Derry High, then,” says Richie, resting his head against the machine while Eddie continues to annihilate moles. “Makes sense that I never saw you around, cause I totally would’ve remembered seeing that ass before.”

He hesitates before adding, “I even wrote some graffiti in the bathroom stalls so you’d recognize my handwriting.”

Eddie’s nose crinkles adorably at that. “First of all—no. I’m homeschooled. Maybe because my mom doesn’t want me making too many friends, or maybe even just to keep me from using public bathrooms.”

“How do you know Mike and Curly then?” Richie asks.

“Cur—Stanley? Shit,” Eddie says as he misses a mole. “Mike and Stan are homeschooled too. We go to the same testing center in Bangor. And—ha!—I dunno? I sensed their gayness?”

“Yeah I sensed their gayness too,” Richie says. “By the way they were all over each other.”

“No, actually. It wasn’t like that. I knew both of them before they knew each other,” says Eddie. “I was there when they met.”

“Wow.” Richie uses his fist to hit a mole he thinks Eddie’s about to miss. “soul mark surprise?”

“Not really,” says Eddie. “Stan had a thing on his wrist that said, hi, I’m Mike , in Mike’s handwriting, so I kind of connected the dots and introduced them.”

“I’m the third wheel with Bev and Ben all the time,” Richie tells him, leaning over to collect tickets from the Whack-a-Mole.

“They’re not usually too—wait, what’s that?” Eddie asks, snatching something out of Richie’s back pocket. He unfolds the piece of paper.

“Oh, well, uh,” Richie says, thinking for the first time that it’s kind of embarrassing that he kept the list in the first place, “I just… Well, my soul mark said oh my fucking god, I hate that song, so I kind of like kept a list of songs I thought he—they might be talking about.”

Eddie snorts. “I have every single one of these on my iPod,” he says. “And that’s like, my all-time favorite song.” He points at I Knew I Loved You by Savage Garden. Oh god.

“Do you really hate Weird Al?” Richie asks him on their way to the air hockey table. “Cause I gotta say, I don’t know if this,” he gestures between them, “is gonna work out if you don’t want to hear the Angry White Boy Polka at least three times a day.”

“No,” says Eddie quickly. “Weird Al is great. It’s just, you know, the soul mark thing. Like I got it and I was like, what the fuck is this shit? And I guess it was kind of a relief when the song came out because I really hadn’t figured out like...what context I might hear that in. But then I just got sick of associating the song with like...true love. Cause it’s like, ridiculous and gross, you know?”

“I guess,” says Richie. “I dunno. I thought that was pretty fuckin’ romantic.”

“Yeah, I bet you did,” says Eddie. “That’s the kind of romance I’d expect from anyone who hasn’t watched Bing Crosby serenade Grace Kelly.”

“Damn, Eddie. You’re a pretentious little dick, you know that?” Richie says, picking up the puck.

“And you’re a goddamn mess,” Eddie shoots back without pausing. “Your serve.”

Richie is already balls deep in love by the the game ends. To be fair, he’s not sure how he was supposed to concentrate on the game with Eddie giggling and doing a little dance every time he scored. Eddie may have kicked his ass, but Richie walks out the door of the arcade feeling like he’s the one who came out on top.

“What’s next?” Eddie asks, backing out the door of the arcade, catching his new sticky hand toy on Richie’s glasses on purpose.

“Road head?” Richie asks hopefully, jutting his chin in the direction of his car and grabbing onto his glasses to keep them from being pulled right off his face.

“You wish,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I haven’t even decided if I want a second date yet.”

“Ah ha!” Richie points at him. “So you admit this is a first date?”

Eddie laughs and raises his eyebrows. “I dunno. Is it?”

“Let’s ask Johnny Rocket,” says Richie, cocking his head to the right. “Got time for a burger? We can split a milkshake.”

Eddie gives him a considering sort of look. “I could probably squeeze it into my schedule.”

Ohhhhhh the things Richie wants to squeeze… With great mental fortitude, he refrains from commenting. Instead Eddie opens the door for him and they grab two menus and a booth.

“What are you gonna get?” Richie asks.

Eddie peers at him from over the menu. “Depends who’s paying. But we’re definitely not sharing a milkshake. I can already tell you’re a dessert hog. I’d end up getting like one sip.”

Richie laughs, running a hand through his hair. “God.”

“What?” asks Eddie, eyes already fixed back on the menu.

“Honestly? You.”

“Me what?”

Richie hesitates because it’s something he’s never talked to anyone about before. And for good reason—it’s fucking stupid. But right now, sitting in this Johnny Rockets…

“You know…” he starts, drumming his knuckles on the table, “I’m like, super bisexual. But I knew my soulmate was going to be a guy.”

Eddie puts the menu down. “Huh. Really? How?”

Richie shakes his head. “I dunno. It sounds really stupid but like… I don’t know if it was a dream I had or… you just. Like when I heard your voice and then you turned around in the theater…”

It’s so corny. He can’t say it. He’s playing with the straw dispenser on the table like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. How do you say you make me feel like, gooey inside and it’s fuckin’ nasty but also I don’t ever want it to end? Without sounding like a pussy, of course.

“Thanks? I guess?” says Eddie. “I mean, I still have no idea what you’re talking about but—”

“I’m really glad you’re my soulmate,” Richie blurts out. “Not just to have one, I mean. I’m glad it’s you. You’re awesome. Like...you’re totally knocking me off my fuckin’ feet here. And I hope you—”

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by Eddie leaning over the table and kissing him. Not like, full-on tongue kissing or anything. Just kind of a peck. But longer. Something in between. Soft, but definitely real.

And afterwards Eddie draws back, a little pinker than he was a second ago and then digs into his pocket, fishing out some quarters. He puts two in the little jukebox at their table, punches in a number and letter combo, and then sits back in his seat, shredding a straw wrapper between his fingers.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales

Meant for someone else, but not for me

Eddie looks like he’s trying as hard as he can not to grin, going even redder. Richie leans in and offers his hand. Eddie drops his straw wrapper.

Love was out to get me, that’s the way it seemed

Disappointment haunted all my dreams

But then I saw her face—

“You know,” Richie says, looking Eddie in the eye, “I like the Smash Mouth version better.”

Now I’m a believer

Eddie laughs and takes his outstretched hand. “I think I can live with that.”

#Stephen King's IT #It (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #so says sam

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amandabct · 5 years

Text

ITS - WEEK ELEVEN

Today we shared out PITCH ideas with the whole class.

UPLIFT - “raise the bar”

ITS?

I’ve looked into the general definition of ITS a lot through the semester so what does it mean for my PITCH idea? Let’s break it down into the three parts of ITS

Interactivity - The incorporation and influence of digital technologies with exercise (Wikipedia, 2019).

Technology - The technological advancement that allows and encourages improvements (Men’s Journal, 2018).

Systems - The evolution of technology through a form of interaction (Wikipedia, 2019).The overall definition interaction between a person, digital technologies and exercise; step into the future.

So how and why does my idea relate to ITS? Why is it important?

It is digital virtual assistance, meaning it helps make daily tasks easier for the user.

It is an accurate progress tracker, meaning it reduces the bias, and room for error.

It is an improvement tool, meaning it is designed to benefit the user and their needs.

It calculates statistics, meaning it creates less work for the user with everything they need in front of them, even more accurate. (real time and post workout).

It creates less third-party involvement, no longer do you have to calculate rep maxes, percentages, weights - it does it all for you.

It is an educational advancement, it is a teaching tool more intelligent than anyone.

It incorporates the technology of the future, self-lacing shoes, wearable technology, this sort of technology is only starting out.

“Step into a shoe, designed to raise your lifting up.”

INSPIRATION

My inspiration initially came from my passion and love for the gym, sport, and fitness. I wanted my idea to reflect my character and I think a lot of who I am is based on my involvement in sport and exercise. Fitness is such a large avenue which is always being improved and new technologies added so where could I fit in.

I originally looked into new technologies arising in the fitness industry and then looked at technology advancements that I personally used and this was the outcome. Then from there thought about what was missing to me personally in the fitness industry.

Picture Number Three & Nine: Under Armour Hovr

Uses an embedded chip and the MapMyRun app to give runners real-time data on their fitness performance as well as post-workout statistics. (Under Armour, 2019).

Picture Number Four & Eight: Nike HyperAdapt

Built around the concept of an adaptive fit which basically means the shoe senses the contours of the foot and tightens the laces just enough to wrap it up snugly. It changes with the athletes changing needs. A cable tights the shoes when movement is detected. (Nike, 2019).

Picture Number Five: Map my Run

Is an accurate distance tracker that uses smartphones GPS. the app reports statistics in real time and can deliver statistics via voice prompts, letting the user know when they have hit predetermined kilometer markers without stopping to check a screen. (Map My Run, 2019).

Picture Number Six: Wodify

Is a CrossFit digital whiteboard system that registers athletes for classes, records workouts, results and remembers the past performance, all in the athlete's personalized profile. (Wodify, 2019).

Picture Number Seven: Reebok Lifters

Designed for weightlifting with a raised heel. They have a massive advantage, as it allowed you to squat deeper, a position through increased ankle range of motion. They are more stable than typically barefoot or minimalist shoes. (Reebok, 2019).

MY CONCEPT

An ‘intelligent gym shoe’ combined with data-driven coaching.

The ultimate gym shoe.

Designed for athletes, to track accurate progress and statistics around pressure, weight, agility and vital signs in real time and post workout. (Keller Sport, 2019).

It enables users to establish personal goal and share results in a 10km radius based on GPS.

FEATURES

Electric adaptable reaction lacing and a built-in sensor. These shoes can self lace themselves once the heel hits the sensor in the inside of the shoe. The lace engine is located in the cavity of the shoe. It electronically adjusts the lacing, pressure and fit the contours of the foot, using a lace cable to make such adjustments. (Nike, 2019).

Embedded chip. These shoes have a nano-sized chip. This sensor technology tracks movement, pressure through the heel, weight through the heel, blood pressure, overload and agility the body is under. It analyses and stores the information in the user’s profile inside the LIFT app.

USB - C charger. Technology needs charging in order to perform. They use and come with a common USB - C charger making it easy for the user to adapt. This follows the usability heuristics around technology which mean it sticks to normality and simplicity for the user. (Sullivan, & Lachman, 2017).

Battery percentage of shoes. The shoes have a small 15 x 25mm screen on the inner side of the right foot which with a double tap turn on. Connect to the shoes then display digitally the battery percentage of the shoes.

Ventilated upper. Keeps the foot cool and allows for breathability.

CMEVA molded sock liner. Adds compression within the ankle to stop the movement. Adds stability and control. (Keller Sport, 2019).

3D printed reinforcement. This enhances traction and durability of the foot.

Firm rubber heel and sole. Minimizes drag during lateral movements and adds support.

High abrasion rubber grips. Offers excellent traction and support.

Thin rubber outsole. Helps abrasion during activities. Lightweight yet covers high impact zones. (Reebok, 2019).

Drop in the midsole. This offers a stable heel with flexibility in the forefoot. (Reebok, 2019).

Company logo. 360 degrees reflectivity for increased visibility on low light nights.

Canvas material. Easy to clean and maintain while also being flexible, cushioning and versatile.

Couple other things Available in wolf grey, black or white. Weigh 290 grams. Women or men. 64 gigabytes

HOW IT WORKS

Firstly download the LIFT app - available for Apple and Android devices.

Bluetooth connects the shoes to the app. This takes a couple moments and all you do is open the app, turn-shoes on, keep them close together and wait for them to sync. Every time you turn the shoes on it will automatically connect with and open the app and start real-time collecting data.

In this, you can name the shoes, personalize your account with features like height, weight, previous results and statistics, add location and connect with friends nearby and see their results.

Next time you use the shoes, skip step two. Just double tap the 15 x 25 mm screen, located on the inner side of the right foot. For the duration of the workout, the screen will remain blue within white the battery percentage.

Put feet in shoes, once the heel hits the sensor they will automatically lace and increase and decrease pressure with movements throughout the workout. While the workout is taking place real-time data will be sent to the app which can be accessed.

Once the workout is complete, take shoes off. Double tap the screen to turn off.

Post workout statistics will be analyzed within a few seconds and will pop up in the app. In the app you can also see the statistics of other users in a 10km radius, using GPS.

APP

Here is a mockup of the app. It was created using https://app.moqups.com/

The default screen is the dashboard/home screen. This will have general information about gym related news/headlines/workouts for the user.

The profile screen is the personalized screen for the user to add with their details, goals, and achievements.

The statistics screen will display real-life data and post workout statistics from the most recent workout for 24 hours.

The location screen is like a discover screen, it will use GPS mapping to connect and share information with others nearby.

The saved screen will be store all post workout statistics for two months.

REFERENCES

Sources

Keller Sport. (2019). Under Armour Smart Shoes. Retrieved from https://www.keller-sports.com

Lunney, A., Cunningham, N., & Eastin, M. (2016). Wearable fitness technology: A structural investigation into acceptance and perceived fitness outcomes. Computers in Human Behaviour, 65(3) 114—120. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2016.08.007

Marshall, G. (2016). The Story of Fitbit. How a wooden box became a $4 billion company. Retrieved March 24, 2019, from https://www.wareable.com

Men’s Journal. (2018). The Beginner’s Guide to Weight Training. Retrieved from https://www.mensjournal.com/health-fitness/beginners-guide-weight-training/

Nike. (2019). Metcon 4. Retrieved from https://www.nike.com/nz/t/metcon-4-xd-patch-training-shoe-lfrB42

Nike. (20th April 2019). Nike HyperAdapt. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZJ2bq12JSI

Reebok. (2019). Lifters. Retrieved from https://www.reebok.co.nz/search?q=lifters

Sullivan, A, N., & Lachman, M, E. (2017). Behavior Change with Fitness Technology in Sedentary Adults. Front Public Health, 4(2) 82—105. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2016.00289

Under Armour. (20th April 2019). HOVR. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnTrjU-4Ang

Under Armour. (2019). HOVR, Lifts you up. Retrieved from https://www.underarmour.co.nz/en-nz/HOVR-Collection.html

Wikipedia. (2019). Interactivity. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interactivity

Images

Campbell, A. (2014). 12 Reasons you Should Start Lifting Weights Today. Retrieved from https://www.womenshealthmag.com/fitness/a19983537/weight-exercises-women/

Turco, L, D. (2016). Why Heavy Weights Aren’t the Only Way to build Size and Strength. Retrieved from https://www.menshealth.com/fitness/a19531297/light-weights-build-muscle-0/

Under Armour. (2019). HOVR, Lifts you up. Retrieved from https://www.underarmour.co.nz/en-nz/HOVR-Collection.html

Nike. (2019). Nike HyperAdapt. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZJ2bq12JSI

Mapmyrun. (2019). Own Every Miles. Retrieved from https://www.mapmyrun.com/

Wodify. (2019). Wodify Core: Gym management platform. Retrieved from https://www.wodify.com

Reebok. (2019). Lifters. Retrieved from https://www.reebok.co.nz/search?q=lifters

Nike. (20th April 2019). Nike HyperAdapt. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZJ2bq12JSI

Keller Sport. (2019). Under Armour Smart Shoes. Retrieved from https://www.keller-sports.com

Why The Weights. (2018). The diary of an all-embracing oldie. Retrieved from https://whytheweights.com/

#ITS

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psychologyhermione · 6 years

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How to be Organised {week of masterposts}

Hi everyone, welcome to day one of my week of masterposts to celebrate my 4000+ follower milestone. Today I will be sharing some ways that I have stayed organised, especially during my first semester of university. A lot of these tips I also used in high school however, I didn’t have to be as organised due to the nature of my high school. Anyways lets get into it and I hope these tips help you!

When the semester starts make a table with all the weeks and put in all your assessment dates.

Print out the table and stick it on your wall so you are always reminded of when your assessment is due and not caught off guard by due dates.

One note is a god sent

I have a ‘book’ for each of my classes and one for organisation for the semester

In my semester book I have

A table with each of the weeks that contains the textbook readings for the weeks and any homework or assessment due

A copy of my timetable that changes week to week

A table to put my grades into

In my individual classes book

My syllabus for that class

List of assessment for the class with exact details

A ‘topics’ tab which lists all the topics I do week to week with my readings for that week and lecture notes indented under the page

Use a planner for everything! You can bullet journal, make your own planner (post on this coming soon) or just a regular store planner; whatever works best for you.

Make sure you put in where you have to be each week – classes, appointments, hang out sessions, ect

Put in all your assessment that is due

Of course, use it to make your daily to do lists

Have a monthly calendar on your wall that has all the assessment that your have due and plans you have for that month (different to the assessment table i talked about above)

For my assessment I list it in the box for that day but then have a sticky note at the bottom of my planner that lists all the details for my assessment. When the assessment is completed I take off the sticky note.

Plan your month ahead on what days/weeks you are going to start studying/start your assessment.

When planning/keeping track on how your processing with essays/assignments list every part of the assignment/tasks you need to complete for it (break down topic, create outline, research for body paragraph one, ect) on a whiteboard and then cross it off when you have completed it so you can keep track.

If you want me to elaborate on any of these points please let me know and I will try to get around to it. I really hope these tips help you, if so please tell me : )

Have a wonderful and productive day and I will see you tomorrow for day two of masterposts : )

#psychhermione4000 #masterposts #studyblr #organisation #univeristy #study #planner #onenote #productive #original posts

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coffeecatsdragons · 7 years

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Practical Tips for PGCEs

Okay, so the alliteration is completely coincidental, but I’ll take it.

I understand it may be a little bit late for this, but I thought I might compile some useful tips I learnt across my PGCE, and hopefully help someone else. These are tips that should apply to any subject, not just English.

It’s not a good idea to do all your printing at home, especially when most schools give you some money for printing. However, by printing one copy of your resource, so you only need to photocopy at school, you save time and avoid the dreaded “the wifi is down…” moment. While on the topic of printing, remember to always print a copy for yourself - very helpful when you’re trying to guide kids through what they should be doing. And you’ll probably want it in your teaching file. Whenever possible, print a few more than you need. Somehow, classes always manage to multiply their numbers when you’ve printed just the right amount of handouts - and a few will have lost it by next lesson.

Cutting and sticking takes about ten times longer than you expect it to. Even if it’s not a cutting and sticking task, I often found that younger years (7, 8 and 9) didn’t care that I had trimmed the handout to fit in their books - they wanted to cut a 5mm border round the words to save that extra one line in their exercise books.

Until sixth form, students generally want a title and date. They will ask you what the title is, even if you have it on the interactive whiteboard and the normal whiteboard. Try to establish a routine where they check there, and check with a friend before asking you.

I hate writing learning objectives. What cracked it (I think…) for me, is linking them explicitly to the AOs at GCSE. Yes, as young as Year 8 and 9. After all, that is what the people observing you will want to see.

I could tell you not to make resources, but you will. To be honest, I’m grateful for the resources I made - I’m able to use them in some lessons, and send them round to my colleagues, which makes me feel so much better about the amazing resources and schemes of work they’re giving me.

Do whatever you can to have a free day at the weekend. Seriously. I’m currently free for most of my weekend because I stay in school to plan every evening (if I go home, I generally get sit down on my bed…which turns into lying down…which turns into falling asleep for four hours), and try to get stuff done in my frees. On that note…

Sometimes your frees need to be you having a cup of coffee, taking some deep breaths and reading a book. Sometimes a lesson goes terribly, and you need to put it to the side, and do whatever else you have to do that day. It’s easier if you take a break with some time for yourself.

Do not depend on the internet working. It can sense your fear, and will turn on you. Return to your youthful days of downloading youtube videos, and insert them into your presentation. Maybe the legality is slightly questionable, but you will thank yourself when your laptop/computer fails to connect.

Unless you desperately want to, don’t bother with the interactive whiteboard. Kids who have had iPads since they were four are not impressed by pretty animations, and you can do most of the same things on Powerpoint - which you will probably get for free through your university.

This one is a personal choice, but just before I started my course, I splashed out on a lightweight laptop (yeah, it’s a MacBook). This meant I never had to suffer school computers or laptops (except sometimes for printing), as they are notoriously slow. It also makes it practical for me to take it with me everywhere, as it doesn’t weigh 15kg. For example, I’m writing this post while one of my Year 10 classes do an assessment…

Now, I’m by no means claiming to be an authority, or that this is a definitive list (I may do similar posts later), but these are things that I think would have helped me, so I hope they might help someone else!

#pgce #pgce tips #teaching #teacher #educhums #teaching tips

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studylizziee · 7 years

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How I prepared for the UKCAT

Okay so as I did my UKCAT not long ago, I thought I’d do a post on how I revised for the exam and the strategies I used, before I forget it all. Here are my UKCAT results, so you can decide based on that whether you want to take my advice or not! My score is not super high, but it’s above average, which is all I wanted.

General

Before you get practising, I think it’s important to familiarise yourself with the online layout and features of the test. The UKCAT website has a tour tutorial which I used and found really helpful. There’s also a question tutorial which breaks down the different subtests.

Flagging

This is one feature of the online test. You can click a button to flag questions that are taking too long, and come back to them at the end on a review page. All questions (except one type in DM) are worth the same amount. So don’t spend ages on one question! Flag it, move on, and come back to it at the end.

No negative marking

The exam is multiple choice, and you don’t lose marks for answering a question wrong. So when you go through the questions you’ve flagged, eliminate answers you know are wrong. This is so important because if there are 4 options, and you manage to eliminate 2, even if you guess the answer you still go from having a 25% chance of getting it right to a 50% chance.

Strategy

With the UKCAT, it’s all about trying to maximise your marks by answering as many questions correctly in the time as possible. There’s a few different ways to try and do this, but my main two were either:

do as many questions as possible then guess the rest

‘guess and flag’ more time-consuming questions to come back to (the guessing part was in case I didn’t have time to return to that question)

Verbal Reasoning

my strategy was to skim read the passage first, mentally summarising the subject of each paragraph, which gives you a general idea of the structure

next I would read the question / statement and try to find the relevant information in the passage

this is made easier by the fact that you already have an idea about where info is in the passage, so you can locate it quicker

also, when reading the question / statement, allocate keywords (such as names and dates) to help you navigate the passage quicker

when I was running out of time at the end, I would skim read, then answer the questions without returning to the passage to save time

when I was really really running out of time, I would go through and guess the rest

this strategy fell under type 1 above

Decision Making

there’s a wide variety of questions with DM, so figure out which ones you are better at and worse at

I would ALWAYS ‘guess and flag’ if it was the kind where there was a confusing table to read, but complete all the venn diagram ones (my fave)

REALLY GET TO KNOW YOUR VENN DIAGRAMS, not even kidding like 60% of questions involved one

top tip: if you’re given info that looks like ‘there are 25 kids. 4 like basketball only, 6 like swimming only, 2 like football only, 1 likes swimming and football, and 5 like all three’ etc, draw out a venn diagram!! It will help you visualise the info and solve it so much quicker

if you’re wondering what to draw on, you’re given a little whiteboard notebook thingy and a marker pen

also, you don’t have to solve the entire puzzle to answer the question!! often you won’t be given enough info to finish the puzzle but they will ask about parts that you are able to complete

then on to the argument questions, by which I mean the type where there’s a question and you have to select the strongest argument for / against

a strong argument: directly addresses ALL aspects of the question, does not make assumptions about what might/might not happen, and is based on FACT not opinion (backed up by stats is a bonus)

e.g. if it was ‘should we increase the legal driving age to reduce the number of young drivers and thus pollutants in the atmosphere?’ a bad answer would be ‘yes, young people drive too fast and cause 20% more deaths than older people’. Although it has stats, the question was asking about pollutants in the atmosphere so this argument is not relevant

Quantitative Reasoning

first of all, some questions are multi-step and take wayyy longer than others. I would always ‘guess and flag’ these and move on to questions that were quicker to answer

make sure you’re up to speed on your basic maths skills: percentage changes, percentage increase/decrease, ratios, fractions, conversions, area / volume, averages (mean/median/mode)

the one they ALWAYS test you on without a shadow of a doubt is speed = distance/time !! make sure you know how to rearrange it to find distance and time as well

with regard to graphs: avoid doing too many calculations, and try to eyeball it to see what is closest to the answers available

ahh, the on-screen calculator

it’s awful - BUT, I have a hack!! which I found out literally the day before lol

so I thought you have to click with the mouse to enter numbers and it was taking forever, but you can use the number keyboard!!

all you have to do is make sure that Num Lock is on! (thank me later)

I don’t really have much more advice for QR, just reassurance. I was getting like 500 every time when I practised, but the actual test I found a lot easier, and I got over 700

Abstract Reasoning

I didn’t actually do that well in this section lol

mneumonics seem to be the way to go though, and the one I used (as recommended by @medicslacks) was SCaN for Placement

shape, colour, number, placement

then also check things like symmetry and angles

just practise with this one though, it seems impossible at first but you do get better!

Situational Judgement

READ THE GMC DOCUMENT ‘GOOD MEDICAL PRACTICE’

THE LINK IS HERE

I printed it and read it. Not only does it help SJ, but in general it informs you about what is expected of doctors, and I’m sure it will help at the interview stage

generally, things that are important are: maintaining patient confidentiality, working well as a team (and if there are problems address the issue privately with the individual before involving third parties), accountability for mistakes (always apologise and take responsibility), knowing your limitations, maintaining public confidence in the profession

patient safety is the no. 1 priority so if anything threatens that it is ‘very inappropriate’

Useful Resources

These are the resources that I used during my preparation:

1250 UKCAT Practise Questions by Olivier Picard (latest edition) - I started off with this one. It was good if you want extra questions to practise with, but in the end I think I would have been better off sticking to online resources

Medify - I used this for the majority of my preparation. I had it for 2 weeks and I found it really useful. I recommend starting with the practise questions, then doing timed practise, then moving on to the mocks that are available

UKCAT practice tests - when you’re on to the final stages of revision, I recommend doing the official UKCAT practice tests. There are only 3 which is why I saved them until the end!

Okay so that concludes my post! The UKCAT is honestly the weirdest exam and I have no idea why medical schools think it’s an indicator of how good a doctor you would be. But good luck to anyone doing it, and I hope this is helpful! X

#mine #ukcat #ukcat tips #medblr #studyblr #studyspo #study blog #studivation

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pigeonacademic · 7 years

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Mr. Asshole

I’m sure you’re familiar with my old history teacher, the one I told you about half a dozen times. Well, that has been an abridged, Safe-For-School-Retelling.

You shall now get the uncensored, uncut version of The Curious Case of Mr. A.

Now before we begin, I regret to inform you that I have tried to push this guy so far back in my memory that I forgot his name. I can remember everything about Mr. A- from how he looked, from how he walked, the way he talked, what clothing he wore- I can remember everything EXCEPT his name.

So, I’m calling him Mr. A. A for Asshole.

Now, Mr. A, as you already inferred, was an asshole. Just from looking at the guy you can see that he thought his shit didn’t stink. I mean, what kind of person would walk around with their hands clasped behind their back, sticking a leg straight out in front of them like a drunken ballerina and waltz around the classroom with a little sway in his step, head held so high you’d think it was on a bearing rein and looking down at you while making a face that looked more at home on someone who just swallowed the world’s most sour lemon.

And to think that’s all before you hear him speak.

I mean, his rectum must have been jealous from all the shit that came out of his mouth. Mr. A wasn’t the type to hold back his negative comments about students, and I mean straight-up insulting them AND their parents, and liked to get up in peoples’ faces like a drill Sargent. Why he wasn’t fired was beyond me, although I highly suspect it was because it was his silver tongue against a bunch of middle school kids in a class that was well known for misbehavior.

Most people when they hear about him picture this crotchety old-timer who’s been around since the Cretaceous period, but no, Mr. A was a VERY young teacher. In fact, he was fresh right off the assembly line!

Oh, and just the way the guy LOOKED, you can tell something was up with him, looking like an extra in a vampire coven in Supernatural. He was absolutely pallid; he looked as if he had just emerged from his crypt and ready to feast on the blood of virgins. To add on to the vampiric look, he had dark bags under his hazel eyes, and his dark brown hair was short, but messy in the “I just got out of bed and I didn’t bother to brush it” kind of look, and he had this five o’ clock shadow. He was also thin-not bony thin, but thin enough to where his purple button-up shirts looked a little loose on him, popped collar and tight fitting jeans that had a set of keys dangling on it, so every time he did his little sauntering walk all you heard was a clink clink!

If this guy was a fictional character in Supernatural who happened to be a vampire, I mean, I’d find him attractive; too bad he had that butt-ugly personality to ruin whatever charmingly creepy aesthetic he had.

Nobody in the class knew what kept crawling up his ass every morning. Same old routine each day: Enter the classroom a few minutes later than everyone else, circle the room once or twice with his hands behind his back, give several condescending remarks to whatever poor kid happened to be his victim that day (guess who was his favorite bloodbag to pick on? Three guesses who.) and saunters right back up to the whiteboard where he’d begin the lesson.

The thing about Mr. A is that he didn’t just teach. The guy LOVED to hear himself talk, so one minute we’re talking about Rasputin and how un-freaking-killable he was, and the next minute he’s droning on about his own accomplishments or something going on in his personal life.

As much as kids love to hear their teacher talk about themselves (no really, y’all got great stories most of the time) everybody was sick of Mr. A and his holier-than-thou attitude.

As much as I got in trouble with him, I can remember THREE major infractions, all which resulted in me getting a one-way ticket to the detention room. I only told you about two of those, so I’ll tell you the third one first:

Mr. A and I had gotten into a confrontation (again) and I had been taking some help classes on dealing with anger. So, while he was getting up in my face and shouting me down, grew a pair of balls and told him I didn’t wish to speak to him anymore because I’m too angry, and I turned away from him. That’s exactly what the lady told us to do if we ever found ourselves in a confrontation with someone, and being the kid who had critically low self-confidence, I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for myself than I already had.

Most teachers would have either backed off, or at least take into consideration I was using a cool-down method. But of course, Mr. A was an asshole.

He started yelling at me again for being “insubordinate” and he marched his ass out of the classroom and came back with a detention slip.

So, a few days after that fiasco, we had another regarding Wicca and Paganism, because somehow it was brought up in school discussion.

I was around twelve or thirteen at the time, and I was going through a Wicca phase (which girl hadn’t?) and he said that Paganism was the exact same as Wicca. So I politely informed him that he was wrong, they are similar BUT they are not the same religion. For starters, Wicca doesn’t worship any gods, whereas Paganism worshipped gods and goddesses.

So, he gave me a detention slip for that.

Barely a day later we had moved on to Teddy Roosevelt and the legend of the Teddy Bear. HIS retelling of the story was that Teddy Roosevelt refused to shoot a bear cub in a tree. I told him politely that, once again, he was wrong, because while Roosevelt did refuse to shoot the cub, the cub had been TIED to a tree and had been beaten so badly that Roosevelt told his friends to put the cub out of its misery.

As you can guess, he gave me a detention slip.

Three detentions in one week, a personal record and something my grandparents were super angry about, until I explained what happened. Gran whipped up the internet stick (USB thing for internet, no idea what it’s called) and googled them, and printed out the proof and sent it to him.

Mr. A, being the asshole he was, refused to repeal the two detentions even when faced with the actual papers on the matter.

I remember we moved a few months later, and I can’t say that I miss Mr. A. Considering how new he was to teaching, I can only hope he either bettered himself over the years, otherwise, there’d be generations of students who had to deal with one of the top five worst teachers I ever had the displeasure of meeting. (Old Mrs.Willis is still the #1 contender, you’d have to be an akin to a dictator in order to surpass her.)

@ufolotus @dusty-gravedigger @diaroon @robert-the-asshole @nanasketchdump

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arplis · 4 years

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Arplis - News: Tempting Magnetic Towel Bar

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Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/tempting-magnetic-towel-bar

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inkantation18 · 5 years

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Reclaiming my Space

In my absence over the summer I enjoyed the freedom to read without the nagging pull of consistent writing and posting dragging me into a world of creative frustration. I began to miss updating this blog while also accepting that my eagerness to solely post about reading and writing had dwindled. I still wanted to write about them but my desires had seeped into other unrelated topics too. By September I established my return would be this fall with a much-needed reinvention.

Envy sparked the need to express my duality through this medium. I was jealous that a fellow Philly blogger could switch between books and lifestyle with ease. I’d built this platform off of books but yearned to expand, but it just didn’t seem right. Until I told myself to do it. I refuse to let the second half of my twenties be cluttered with doubts and insecurities. And this is why we’re here now, revealing to you just another aspect of my identity—my navigation through wellness, finances and lifestyle.

Entering this final stretch of the year, my focus is to reclaim my space, more specifically my bedroom. This idea is thanks to a podcast episode by BlackGirlinOm of the same name. From ages 20-24, my bedroom was just a spot to rest my head at night, wake up, get dressed. Repeat. For 1825 days I viewed it as nothing more than just a bed in a room, and it showed. There were no accents, no décor. Just a bed, a dresser, full length mirror and a desk. This past June when I turned 25, my perception of the room changed. I wanted to make it a symbol of tranquility, safety and creativity. Even today, I’m still transforming it into a hub where I can relax and recharge and create and meditate. Below I’ll share with you five ways I have, am or plan to reclaim my space before the end of 2019.

I rearranged my room. This came at no cost, obviously, but when I switched around my desk with my dresser and mirror, I could already feel the shift in the room’s energy. With the desk’s new position, natural sunlight floods the wall and the exact spot I can get bomb lighting for my bookstagram posts. As for my mirror and dresser, having more space in front of my bed has made it much easier to keep my faux fur rug cleaner and allows space to add another piece to the wall they rest on. After the switch, my room has felt more open and inviting. This had to be the first step to encourage me to complete the creation of the space I truly want.

HomeGoods, Marshalls and T.J.Maxx are my best friend. The weekend I got my raise, I went with my mother to Exton, PA and blew a bag.

I mean serious retail damage. I spent the next two weeks tiptoeing around unnecessary purchases, but the addition of a new rug and blankets enticed me to want to remain in the comfort of my room. With the whiteboard planner I’ve hung from my wall, I can spread out all of the creative tasks I need to conquer that week. I even introduced a TV back into my room, something I haven’t had since college. The consumption of Netflix can be therapeutic for me on weekends where I prefer the company of solitude and trying to fix my laptop screen from the glare of the sun just wasn’t cutting it anymore. The space is small, so there won’t be much more to add but I’ve been plotting on a specific shoe rack and circular wall shelf for a few weeks and hope to add them soon.

Candles, candles, candles~ They were arguably the bulk of my purchases from my blow-a-bag session a few weeks ago. Candles were the one item I picked up from every store. Though I adopted the attraction to them from my father’s own collection, I see candles as a form of pacificity — an integral part of my meditating and manifesting practices. The collection has grown to about 5 or 6 new ones, so I believe that’s a good stopping place for the fall and may resume my candle shopping in the winter. Also, if you’re ever in need of good candles, I prefer DW Home to everything else (All tea, all shade, all offense your faves don’t compare)!

Minimalizing my closet. I’m a creature of nature, so once something sticks, I ain’t letting go. I had all of my high school years to go through the dreaded neon phase and then in college I was into animal prints.

SAY SOMETHING I DARE YOU. By the time I received my bachelor’s, my style evolved into neutrals only. I still struggled with online shopping though. Selling items on Poshmark opened my eyes to how often I recycle the same clothing and what I’m most comfortable with. To help solidify this new mindset, I’ve concluded with a simple system for my clothing—for every new item, one must either be sold, donated or trashed (depending on how well-loved it is). This system has saved me room in my closet and curbs the need to spend excess money on clothes. Shoes are included, too. This allows me to keep track of what I currently own and determine if that new top or new pair of booties has a spot reserved for it. But truthfully, that the rule is gonna be no good come Black Friday, because I mean...???

Counting crystals. In the past two months I’ve been more in tune with my spirituality. I’ve come across a number of witchy Instagram pages that intrigue me for their expansive knowledge and welcoming presence for newcomers. I have a two-year-old tattoo of a crystal ball on my left thigh, so believe me when I say this isn’t just a phase but a lifestyle. I didn’t exactly know where to start in but social media has been a lifesaver! Anyways, while I await my copy of Waking the Witch, I’ve been doing more research on crystals and what energies they can provide. The main reason I need the shelf in my room is to safely place the crystals I intend to order. My room won’t be able to host an altar, so a shelf is the next best thing. until I get the shelf I’ll purchase a set of crystals to travel with. But best believe when I can start ordering them for my bedroom, the energy will get that shift it really needs! But for now I’ll continue browsing and dreaming of what I can’t have just yet.

Alright, so I’ve explained my absence, the blog shift and what I’ve currently been focused on. I’m not entirely sure what ignited this wordly shift in me since I turned 25, but I’m not mad at it. I more interested in where it’ll take me and look forward to sharing this next step in life with you! Like always, my best points of contact are Instagram and Twitter.

Excuse me while I return back to the comfort of my bedroom.

#lifestyle #2019

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illyriantremors · 7 years

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Beneath the Stars Chapter 3

Chapter: I II

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre finally makes it to her first art class of the week with Amren, but details over the class's end of year exams are hardly the relaxing getaway Feyre was hoping for. Luckily, a certain someone she met at the start of summer turns up with a surprising offer that could help take her mind off things.

Chapter 3

The smell of Room 701 was thick with paint. I could have died in that smell - the heavy acrylic that burned the insides of a person’s nose when it grew too pungent, like gasoline straight from the pump.

I found it soothing. I’d known it my entire life.

Mrs. Weaver could be a total Trelawney at times, but even when she was throwing pencils and banging her yardstick on the whiteboard to get our attention, I never felt better.

Goodness, how I missed this classroom.

Mrs. Weaver wasn’t in the room when I stopped in early on lunch to get ready for class, but Amren was. The sharply pointed ankle booties peaking out beneath one of the easels told me as much.

“Oh my gosh, Am - how the heck was Spain?!” I exclaimed, cringing to hear a little of the valley accent native to my region creep out of me in my enthusiasm. But who cares - Spain!

Amren didn’t move an inch. I sat down at the easel adjacent hers and started getting my brushes out regardless of the fact that I didn’t know what our first assignment would be. Amren hadn’t cared. She’d already painted a handful of dragons with mustaches in the corners of her canvas.

“Thrilling,” she said as though bored, but with Amren everything always sounded dull coming from her. To say Spain was thrilling meant it truly was. “Everything there is culture - the art, the museums, the-”

“The food??”

Amren finally set her brush down and deigned to look at me a touch indignant. I flicked my eyes up at her urging her to be honest. She sighed and said as though admitting a great shame, “I had tapas no less than three times a day in Granada.”

“That’s my girl!” Amren rolled her eyes, but I could see her lips flickering towards a smile.

“You sound like Morrigan.”

Ignoring the fact that I didn’t know who Morrigan was or why I sounded like her, I barreled on, “You look good. You’re nice and tan and your hair isn’t as pointy as it used to be.” I took the tip of one of my brushes - a clean one - and flicked the underside of Amren’s intensely blunt bob. The jet-black hue only made it that much more menacing on her already angular face. “I’d say a summer in Spain did you good.”

“Indeed,” she drawled, adding a handlebar mustache to one particularly orange and scaley dragon. “And how did you piddle away your summer? Please do not tell me you spent it all with that horrible boyfriend of yours?”

“Tamlin is not horrible!” She merely grunted. “Well he’s not. Compared to the rest of my family, he’s a saint.”

“The fact that you have to compare is indication enough, no?”

I didn’t reply and just as Amren turned to consider me in my silence - she was the one person I was generally chatty around - Mrs. Weaver buzzed into the room dripping in her crocheted shawls and vibrant costume jewelry.

“Feyre! Amren!” She clapped her hands together and they trembled tightly in front of her. “I am so glad to have you girls back again this season! Amren, I told you AP Studio Art would be a good idea.”

Mrs. Weaver always referred to school years as seasons. It felt like a more apt expression of the shifting times in our lives - like art come alive, she told us. Under her breath, Amren muttered, “Season hasn’t started yet, but anyway…”

I shook my head amused and prepared my station as the rest of our class filtered into the room at the sound of the bell - all five of them. Mrs. Weaver stood in front of us clutching her yard stick, a sort of security blanket for her, trembling with excitement. In my head, I waited with baited breath every time she did this for her to shout, “Look into the beyond! Use your inner eye to see the future!” Sadly, she never did.

“This season is going to be a vastly critical time in your lives,” she began after welcoming us all together. “The AP board, as you well know, has kept the same standard for examination in May, but the subject matter they’ve chosen for your projects is going to be challenging - self portraiture.”

Collectively, the entire room groaned.

“Can’t we just paint the canvases black and be done with it?” Amren asked. “That’s all they really expect from us anyway.”

Mrs. Weaver’s yardstick came flying down beside her with a snap on the air. “You most certainly will not! Unless of course, Amren dear, that is how you feel it best to express yourself.” She gave Amren a rather sharp look, but quickly regained her poppiness. “Between now and the exam deadline in May, you will have to complete no less than ten individual pieces under the theme of self-portrait for the commission board to review. Normally the exams are sat at the end of May, but given that you’ll be sending your art off for review, the work will be due at the start of the month, so I expect you all to be on task with this.”

She went around our little circle of easels and handed us the pages detailing the rules and limitations of our submissions. Another packet. At least this one was only two pages long and Mrs. Weaver had changed the font to a curling, friendly script.

In her opinion, all fonts that one did not have to guess about at least a few letters were offensive.

Ten pieces in slightly less than eight months was actually pretty tight. And self-portraiture? I was going to need a lesson from Van Gogh himself to figure out where to start on that one.

But the parameters weren’t horrible upon closer inspection - students may choose any medium with which to produce their pieces and submissions may be contained within any size or shape necessary as deemed by the student to represent their work.

I could work with that.

Amren apparently could too because her exam syllabus was already lying at her feet, a dusty pointed shoe print covering the top corner.

Mrs. Weaver set us to work on our easels for the remainder of the period with the simple task of putting down whatever first came to mind when we considered the word self as a way of getting us started preparing for our senior AP project. I knew Amren was bored when she started adding top hats to her dragons.

My canvas remained blank for a long time. Whenever I thought of the word self I thought of me, which I supposed made sense since the self was me in a weird meta sense my English teacher probably would have loved to hear more about. But who I was and what I saw in myself was a mystery.

I was an artist - yes, but artistry didn’t define me even if it fueled me. I was a daughter and a sister, but all of those bonds felt broken just then. I guessed I could have connected myself to Tamlin, but I was never one of those girls who defined herself off of whoever she was attached at the hip to.

All of this led me to avoid the idea that I was entirely blank inside, just as blank as the canvas staring at me. It was stark white - pure and untouched like the walls of my bedroom since I’d decluttered for the move.

The move that was happening tomorrow.

I swallowed. I wouldn’t do this here. Freak out. Art class was a safe space - a happy space.

The bell ringing snapped me awake.

“Feyre, you didn’t create anything,” Mrs. Weaver said a touch more than disappointed when she came round to my easel. I would have to come up with something eccentric to put her off.

“Sometimes nothing speaks more to a person than too much of something, Mrs. Weaver.”

Your inner eye has seen into the beyond!

Again, I was denied my vision.

“Well done, dear,” she said with a pat on my head before stopping at Amren’s easel. Amren sat back in her seat with a snarky look on her face, waiting to see what Mrs. Weaver would make of her dragons. Not much, it would turn out. “Well, you do enjoy your jewelry, Amren, but I expect an actual effort next time.”

Amren ran her hand along the many multi-colored bangles adorning her left arm, trinkets I supposed from her recent summer vacation.

I pulled my backpack together and stood to leave. “I don’t know how you do it, Am, but I envy your gusto.”

Amren snorted. “What happened over summer, Feyre?” she asked dead cold.

I tried not to break our walk out, shrugging casually. “Nothing really.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Feyre,” she mimed, “but I don’t envy your ability to lie. It sucks.”

I almost chuckled. “My mom left and that’s about it. Nothing interesting, like I said.”

Now, Amren did stop walking even as I pushed the door open. I paused when she didn’t catch up and felt a heavy weight I’d tried to ignore press in on my chest at the serious look she threw me. “What do you mean your mom left and that’s it? Aren’t you upset?”

Upset didn’t even begin to cover it - but again, I wasn’t going there.

“Not really. Oh and we’re moving. Guess I lied again. Can we go now? I’m starving!”

Amren caught up with me and swooped in so she was standing right in front of me, seeming a tall and fearsome pillar for one so short. “That’s why you didn’t write to me all summer. You usually email me constantly-”

“It’s not like you ever reply.”

“Besides the point! What happened?”

I shook my head looking up towards the ceiling - anywhere but the truth - and threw my hands up. “My parents had a fight, first night straight after school let out. Mom left. Dad drank. I went to a party. It was a merry summer and now my dad is moving us all tomorrow and I don’t have any choice in the matter.” My arms fluttered once more at my sides. “The end.”

“You always have a choice, Feyre.”

I whipped around and found - Rhysand? - Rhysand, that was his name, leaning coolly against the lockers outside our class and jumped back startled to see him there.

I’d almost forgotten about that night I’d met him at Lucien’s party. Our school was so large, it was hard to remember a one-night chance encounter, but the reality when I was being honest with myself was that I had secretly tried to forget the night. I had woken up the next morning feeling guilty for leaving Tamlin behind and then flirting with someone else, even if Rhysand was the one who had done 99% of the flirting.

Because really, he had. Flirting - and irritating. Mostly, he irritated.

“You learned my name,” was the first thing I could think to say to him and he gave me an infuriating smirk for noticing.

“Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Well you certainly are old.”

Rhys pushed off the lockers to stand next to Amren. “That’s why I’m senior class president. Only someone very old would have enough wisdom for the job. Thank goodness I’ve aged gracefully or it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“How very shallow of you, Mr. President,” I said, budging to inch past him so I could get to the parking lot faster.

“Ooh, bedroom names already. I like it.” He mimed straightening a tie on his shirt, which was crisp and buttoned enough that he could have been wearing one. This time, it was a deep magenta. “Would you prefer First Lady or Madame Secretary?”

I rolled my eyes and forced myself past him into the rush of leaving students with a muttered, “Please.”

“How about Senior Chair of Arts & Drama?”

“I take it you two know each other,” Amren said, sidling up next to me in step.

“No,” I said at the same time Rhysand sung out, “Yes.” I glowered at him and found him smirking like a cat at me. I also noticed he chose to walk next to me rather than on the side of Amren who I assumed he was here for since she was on SBC herself.

“The Senior Chair of Arts and I met at a party this summer,” Rhysand explained sounding as though he enjoyed this far too much.

“What are you prattling on about?” Amren snapped. “There is no Senior Chair of Arts & Drama.”

“There is now. You should have told me you were artistic,” Rhys said, turning his attention back to me. “I would have offered over the beer I stole from you at Lucien’s had I known.”

Amren stopped walking completely and pinched at his shoulder across me. “You were at Lucien’s this summer? What in the hell were you doing there?”

“Not important, Amren, love,” he replied though, picking an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder. I noticed his tone was much less jovial. Amren glared at him. “We’ve been sorely lacking a figure for that department on Student Body Council for far too long. The job’s yours if you want it.”

It took me a few moments of silence to realize he was being completely serious. No flirtation. No weird humor. He was actually inviting me to join him on his cabinet.

“You’re crazy,” I said before those violet eyes had a chance to get me again. “What in the world am I going to do on Student Body Council?”

He took my lack of an outright no as encouragement. “Oh I can think of plenty of things you can do. I assume you’re handy with a paintbrush?”

“Ha-ha.”

“No really. My dear cousin will be ecstatic not to have posters for special events that suck anymore. We could use a good eye on activities programming. Does she have a good eye, tiny one?”

“Yes…” Amren dragged the word out dangerously, but Rhysand hardly noticed. I’d never seen Amren take this kind of mocking before with so little reaction - by her standards, anyway. There was a story there - one I didn’t know about and I thought I knew Amren pretty well.

“Well then you’re perfect,” Rhysand said pure and simple. “So what do you think, Madame Chair?”

We stepped outside and I spotted Tamlin across the quad waiting for me. I waved when he spotted me, but even at a distance, I could tell he didn’t look thrilled. His phone was out, the telltale sign of Newspaper meetings to come. My stomach churned.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said swiveling to a halt so I could cut off the conversation. “I have no desire to make my life any more busy than it already is. My senior art project alone is going to kill me.” And then as if Rhysand were no more important than a fly, I swapped my attention to Amren without another look in Rhysand’s direction. “Am, I’ll see you Monday.”

“But-” Rhysand cut himself off when he saw who I was walking towards. His face went stone cold and his hands were suddenly deep inside his pockets. He sounded okay, at least, when he called after me, “Alright, Madame Chair. But if you change your mind, the offer stands. It’s a long way til Winter Formal yet.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, my mind catching on the mention of our school’s annual mid-year dance. “Don’t hold your breathe. And don’t call me that!”

“What, Madame Chair? Even as I kept walking further and further away, Rhysand couldn’t seem to let the conversation wither and I had an even harder time not obliging him. “What am I supposed to call you then? Something tells me you won’t accept goddess divine.”

“Feyre works just fine, thanks!”

“Feyre,” he said, musing on my name like a sweet piece of candy he’d waited all day to press onto his tongue. “I can work with that.”

I’ll bet you can, I thought resisting the urge to wipe the sweat off my forward in relief, though there was a definite laugh ghosting in my throat.

“Were you just talking to Rhys…?”

“Hello to you too,” I said kissing Tamlin on the cheek and I sounded happier than I thought I would.

Rhys.

I chewed on the shorthand of his name, finding it interesting that Tamlin had used it.

“Not really. Come on, let’s get going already. I’m starving and a double-double sounds amazing right about now.”

Lucien stood a few feet behind Tamlin, his entire expression sour. “Actually…” Tamlin said and my chest fell mid-breath.

“Newspaper?”

“Newspaper.”

I nodded. “Well okay then, more fries for me, I guess.”

Lucien drew a rather sharp breath even for him and looked away so I could see his face, but he was definitely pissed off about something.

Tamlin looked pained as he wrapped his arms around me. “One more week, I swear and then it’s done.” Lucien made a derisive snort.

“I know, I know, I just miss you sometimes is all.” I leaned my chin against his chest and looked up at him enjoying how the dark green of his eyes played in the sunlight. “You’ll be there tomorrow, right?”

“As long as everything goes smoothly at the meeting tonight-”

“No,” I said hotly pulling back a space. “You promised you’d help me move. Please don’t ditch me for this. You’re at Newspaper all the time and this move,” I lowered my voice so I wouldn’t have to suffer Lucien overhearing, “Tamlin, I can’t do this alone.”

He kissed my forehead and I found myself leaning into him a little more. “I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Thank you,” I said in a deep exhale onto his chest. “It means a lot to me that you’d give up a day of something I know is really important to you.”

Lucien snorted - again, and I felt Tamlin’s body stiffen around me. He let go of our embrace and readjusted the straps of his backpack. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with a bright smile, wide like a cloudless sky in the spring.

“You’re an idiot,” Lucien said after Tamlin had walked away. “I hope you know that.”

Not this again.

I moved closer to my little terror of a friend and crossed my arms with a deep sigh. “What in the hell is the matter between you two?”

“You should ask him that.”

“Or I could just ask you since you’re the one making snippy comments and scrunching your face up like someone just spit on you every time Tamlin so much as breaths.”

Lucien stared pointedly at the ground, his own arms crossed over his chest.

“Come on, Lucien,” I relented. “I’m not just his girlfriend. I’d like to think that after a year of hanging out with you by association that we can talk every now and then.”

The look Lucien gave me was pained - incredibly so. There was tension in the way the delicate muscles of his face held themselves, so tightly stitched together that the elegance was gone in favor of a secret, silent war I wasn’t privy to.

“There’s nothing the matter with me,” he said finally. “I’m perfectly amiable as always. Tam’s the one trotting around with his nose in the wrong book while the teacher watches.”

I had no idea what he meant.

“Give him time, Feyre.” His body broke hold on the strain keeping it in place. He sounded, well, defeated. “He’ll come around.”

By the time Lucien left me in the quad to go home, apparently deciding the solitude was worth avoiding the sufferings of an early dinner with me, the school had emptied and my car was one of the last ones in the student parking lot.

No Tamlin. No Lucien.

No one.

I vaguely wondered where Amren and Rhysand had gone off to and had a strange desire to find out.

Me - on Student Body Council. What a joke.

Flipping the engine on, I gripped the steering wheel focusing on the way my finger tips went numb the harder I squeezed. When I could barely feel them anymore, I peeled out of the lot and drove home alone.

AN: AP stands for Advanced Placement. AP classes are essentially college prep level classes that require a huge exam at the end of the year graded on a scale 1-5 and if you pass with a high enough score, some colleges will give you college credit for them. I never took AP Studio Art, so my knowledge of this exam was changed to fit this fic. Also, In n Out is a California fast food chain that most of us on the west coast hail as THE burger place to eat. The double double Feyre references is two patties and two slices of cheese on the burger as opposed to one like normal.

#beneath the stars #bts: a feysand fic #bts #myfic #feysand #feyre #rhysand #moriel #nessian

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micaramel · 6 years

Link

A teacher has gone viral for using DIY meme stickers to grade exams.

Ainee Fatima told INSIDER that she just started using the stickers this week, but she's had the idea for a while.

Fatima said her students loved the stickers.

She teaches media studies, so the memes were especially relevant.

Sometimes, it can feel like teens are speaking another language. So instead of trying to fight it, one high school English and media studies teacher decided to try getting on her students' level by using memes to grade exams.

On Wednesday, Ainee Fatima, a 27-year-old English and media studies teacher based out of Franklin Park, Illinois, shared a video of herself using her meme stickers to grade exams on Twitter — and people loved it. In just over a day, her post went viral.

I love grading with my new stickers! pic.twitter.com/4K66qQblSJ

— ainee f. (@axfxq) October 17, 2018

"I love grading with my new stickers!" she wrote. In a follow-up post, Fatima explained that she makes the stickers herself and shared the template.

I can no longer send this through DM, I hit some weird limit! Here's the link to it :) Enjoy fellow teachers! Here u go! https://t.co/Ad3ImXaQIV

— ainee f. (@axfxq) October 18, 2018

Fatima told INSIDER she made the stickers on the spur of the moment, although she'd been considering it for a while, as her 12th-grade students love memes.

"I was grading exams [on Wednesday] and started to get really frustrated at the answers my students were writing down, I thought 'I wish they could see my face right now,'" she said. "So I had sticker paper handy, made a quick template on the computer with Confused Nick Young's face and some positive Gordon Ramsay memes and printed them out!"

Don't worry, I did positive memes too! 😂 pic.twitter.com/rTfHCGKQwJ

— ainee f. (@axfxq) October 18, 2018

Fatima said that she wanted the memes to encourage learning and help erase the stigma that comes with a getting a bad grade on a test. She was happy to see that in action when she passed the graded exams back.

"I didn't print enough so not every wrong answer got a sticker so the students who did not receive a sticker for a wrong answer were actually asking if they could get one. It made them look at their exam and actually ask me to correct their answers for some credit," she said. "This is what I wanted!"

Online, people love the teacher's creativity.

If I ever get a class with older students I’m doing this. Great strategy to connect with students and do your job!

— Anthony S. Hughes (@shodamolaJR) October 18, 2018

this upcoming generation don’t know how lucky they are to have lit ass millennials as teachers lol https://t.co/qKdWQ7tqlP

— james (@phan1om_) October 18, 2018

This is going to help students learn. They pay way too close attention to what’s going on in them phones to ignore meme stickers. Good stuff IMO https://t.co/CvCK6oknnF

— #MrRussB (@MrRussB) October 18, 2018

LMAOOOOO I WISH I GRADED BY HAND ID TOTALLY DO THIS

— marissa 🌀 (@MarissaDaily_) October 18, 2018

lmao i saw this on your story and was sad that I didn’t get to screen record it. I’m glad that it ended up on here bc these are the #teachergoals that I hope people strive for tbh LOLL https://t.co/Ywa3PRlspZ

— Yusra (@moroccanwitchh) October 18, 2018

Create a classroom culture that resonates with students and excellence shows itself. https://t.co/U0qdlS5ndI

— Laiza (Lay-sa) (@lzixxaa) October 18, 2018

Others are sharing how they use pop culture and memes in their classrooms.

Hi! I love your idea! I used the Cardi B meme for my hallpasses and my kids loved it. Could I also have your template 👀

— . (@adiammm) October 18, 2018

Love it!!! I’m a 12th grade counselor and this is the sign on my door lol. The kids love it and it’s a great way to connect with them. Also it’s probably more for my own entertainment than theirs hahaha. pic.twitter.com/9qiOfRCQTB

— La Dominicana (@mami_rose) October 18, 2018

@daddydaniel28 literally made these a couple weeks ago and now 3 people have shown me this today 🤣🤣🤣 pic.twitter.com/FCCIY1lWg6

— Mrs. Tabeche (@MTabeche) October 18, 2018

I’ve always used memes in the classroom (above the whiteboard). It keeps students interested and yes, I also sold pop, juice, water, Gatorades and teas for my yearbook fundraiser. #CoolTeacher 😎 pic.twitter.com/yazoWzWfj5

— Angelica Garcia (@MrzTeacherLady) October 18, 2018

Fatima said she doesn't know of other teachers at her school who incorporate pop culture or media into the classroom like this. But since she teaches Media Studies English she says this experience has been an interesting case study "about the power of viral media."

A new teacher this year, Fatima said this whole experience has been validating. She's had an outpouring of support from her fellow teachers and she said her students are "super stoked to have a 'famous' teacher."

But at the end of the day, she just hopes she's making a difference. "Including pop culture and media in their curriculum will get your content and instruction across way farther than sticking to age-old content," she said. "It might seem silly but just having those few kids try a little harder, made my day! I have striven to be the teacher I needed when I was in school."

Visit INSIDER's homepage for more.

SEE ALSO: A New Jersey man says he has eaten plain cheese pizza for dinner every night for the last 37 years

Join the conversation about this story »

NOW WATCH: We rode in this museum's collection of rare and expensive cars

from Design http://bit.ly/2q12pOi

#micaramel

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klkettle · 6 years

Text

On writing and nerding: my Nookery

Being a Londoner I’ve got about 5 inches of ‘space’ to use as my writing nook. This is more often than not the corner of my living room.

I’ll be honest this is a massive uptick from 10 years of writing in hotel rooms. Officially the second decent thing hotels are useful for, after jumping on the beds.

Finding the right place and space to work has always been difficult for me. I have been a mobile worker most of my adult life, and where transience wasn’t on the cards home was more open-plan sleep and entertainment space than “shed”, like I had once imagined.

Writing in the presence of housemates and close friends has led to a tendency to ‘nest’.

[To be read in David Attenborough voice]

“Here we find the rare Kettle-bird, a nesting writer capable of burying herself in blankets, pillows, hats and hoodies so that all that is visible is a pair of intense eyes, rapidly typing hands and a glowing keyboard. Best to avoid if it looks like it might cry or kill you.”

It also means I’m forever taking things up and down from walls. And you wouldn’t believe the places I’ve found post-it notes! Like most modern writers I have an 'electronic office’ which consists of various cloud based apps like pinterestand g-docs. But I’m building a little 'portable’ office that allows me to physicalise the most important parts and that makes use of my addiction to gadgets, multipurpose tooling and App-linking with digital media for access on the move.

So here follows a few blogs on Nookery essentials for writers needing to build a guerrilla writing space, which can be deconstructed and reconstructed at a moment’s notice.

This is an evolution of Fort-Building of my youth, but for the discerning, space-saving, writer. (Turning it up to 11 for the nerdy ones)

1) Multi-purpose room divider / human-avoider

Blocking out children, demanding friends, television and that ever-so-pesky daylight that makes us shrink back into our coffins is sometimes necessary to allow the imagination to fly. Great for people who like to ‘write in the dark, edit in the light’.

Where possible I think multipurpose is best, and I found a great Etsy supplier that makes custom boards with chalk boards/cork boards included. Chalk boards are great for planning etc. Cork for making sure those pictures and notes and post-its stay in view and don’t get lost down the back of the sofa.

To accompany this I also recommend :

Chalkboard pens in many colours because lump chalk is made of evil

Hook Gear Thumb tacks which enable dangling other stuff on top of the pins - genius (also useful for throwing out of the window a loud people disrupting my creativity)

2) Who needs walls anyway?

Being a writer is a symptom of an addition to stationary. FACT. Even with an electronic office I’ve probably consumed an entire rainforest in my lifetime with all the printing, doodling and sticking I’ve done. Combining Whiteboard Paper with Dropbox and Evernote as a tool that transposes notes from Scrawl (OCR = optical character recognition) to electronic notes [I’ll write a separate blog on how to set this up and update a link here] allows me to scribble freely on my walls like a child with ADHD after three boxes of Nerds and a bottle of Sunny D, which means I can follow up when I come down from the sugar high.

3) Electronic Scribblings

In 2015 if it ain’t digital it won’t do. But dammit I spent literally ages when I was a teen making sure I had the most expressive handwriting for my romantic soul - to the point it was borderline illegible - but it’s mine gaddamit and the computer will recognise it eventually.

So imagine my shiny glee when I discovered LiveScribe.

I use aLiveScribe 3 - It’s particularly good for writing workshops as well as sitting in coffee shops. My only issue is that I hate biro and prefer fineliner or ink - but I sacrifice a smooth writing experience for portable productivity. (See it in action with a review here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Asj0qOY1dkI)

Other options include the Sky penwhich uploads straight to Evernote. NeoandEquilalso do smart pens. But LiveScribe is top for me especially given their new project withMoleskin(Which should be rebranded WriterCrack IJS).

When in doubt, also, there’s my trusty Lamy. It doesn’t do electronic, but it does fuel my soul.

4) Teasmaid / Regular Writer-Fuel Dispenser

Beverages, particularly Tea, are essential for writing; and making a cup of tea ‘in character’ is a great way to get into writing mode. So there are definite advantages to getting up and making a pot, also to make sure gangrene doesn’t set in during a particular epic writing sesh. Therefore I would like to thank the Universe for inventing a teasmade!

1) Sit down to write: Put on timer for Teasmade / Coffeemade(My preference is aSage kettle.)

2) *Bing*: Break + Tea.

3) Result: Profit!

If only I could get an App to provide freshly made warm biscuits to dunk too.

Sort of a combined Pomodoro technique with a cuppa ready for you at the end. What’s not to love?

* To Nerd it to 11 you can combine tea/coffeemades with aWeMo plug, IFTTTCode and your Do! Appto hit a button on your phone and get tea. (I’ll post the code here at a later date)

5) Folding desk of Awesome

When I was a kid my dad made me an open sided wooden box to use as a portable desk so that even if I was sitting 3 ft away from the television (common) I was at a good angle for my back and could get my homework done. It was my favorite Christmas present ever.

[ Let’s take a moment to recognise how awesome my parents were again - and how I totally didn’t appreciate it at the time.]

Writing stories and drawing while curled cross-legged on the floor like a super-productive yogi is now my most comfortable operating position. So over the years I have never liked permanent desks.

Here are my recommended portable and fold-able desks available for purchase for those of your without woodworking skills or handy parents.

Wall mounted desks take up little room and if you’re savvy can be disguised by the room divider!

For those of you not renting a cupboard in London (where nailing anything to the wall is a big no-no unless you want to lose the deposit you sold a kidney to round up in the first place) I’d suggest something that has the air of a Mattel Transformer, but for nerds. I give you my personal favourite folding desk.

If you have a black AMEX maybe you can commission this beauty. (Ultimate Advance Spend Plan: Louis VuittonBespoke Desk Case)

6) Lighting the scene

I like to adapt my lighting to the scene I’m writing. For example I set a warm light for a scene that is full of love or sunlight, or cold light for something indoors or utilitarian.

Phillips’ Hue system is pretty damn ingenious and allows for adjusting the multiple lights to illuminate a space with every colour in the spectrum - including flickering candle light if you combine with the hue party app. They also have several products that don’t require wires. Which makes for excellent nooking. The Apps are user-friendly to even the most technophobic user, and for those who need a physical button you can add these switches to the system with minimum effort.

The portable table lampis my favorite for mood setting and is easily set up in a nook.

Talking about flickering candle light, if you’re writing a scene where this is required I can’t recommend electronic candles enough. All the light, none of the waxy mess.

7) Silence

In a busy space it can be hard to find the right level of white noise to cancel out the world and sink into the one in your imagination. Personally I work best with music on that takes me into my story (the playlists are endless, thank you Spotify), or some form of nature sounds (rains and storms are the best for me, particularly if i want to shut out tube/bus distractions). Chris Jones’ (Esquire Writer) has a great list.

But for those of you who need true silence then short of throwing everyone out of the house or sticking sheets in your ears I would recommend various Noise-Cancelling device orheadphones.

* By the way I know I haven’t covered seating. Apart from the fact that I want to create a space that is seating independent, I’m saving my dream chairto celebrate something special ;)

Okay so that’s it. Quite an involved blog i’ll admit, but hopefully useful-slash-interesting.

Thanks for the help from my circle of writery types to provide inspiration. I hope you’ve found this useful. I created apinterest board with links to the above, and might at some point create a YouTube tour of the Nook to cover the points in this blog. Welcome comments. What do you have in your nook? How to you use technology to enable your writing physically and digitally? Have you used the tools above, and what did you think?

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