#show of hands who finds shakespeare boring when it's taught at school

[wings-of-flying]

right, well as the drama begins, i'm off to bed

[fluffi]

MY DETENTION BUDDY :: JAY

pairing: jay x gn!reader genre: fluff, badboy!jay, highschool!au, friends-enemies-lovers!au word count: 2k event: for @lovesick-net​​ and (early) jay day 200421 <3 author’s note: simple little one-shot for jay’s birthday (i wont be uploading anything for his actual birthday). i had to speedrun this fic because i kept changing the plot and this hasnt been proofread twice (unlike my other fics) T-T i hope it’ll still work out. warnings: (reader makes one bad decision)

Ring...ring...ring...ring..ring…

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring

Ringringringringiringringringring.

RIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRRI-SLAM!

The alarm clock stopped its boisterous wailing

10 more minutes. I don’t have to style my hair today.

Thirty minutes passed.

RIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRI- SLAM!

Ugh. I’ll just miss assembly.

RIRIRIIRRIRIRI-

This time, the ringing stopped before he could slam his hand over the alarm clock.

“Jongseong, do you not have school today?” Jay could only make out a bush of black that stood above him as he sat up, dazed and drowsy.

“Yeah, I do. I’m about to get ready. Why?”

“It’s 9 am! You should be at school! At this point, you don’t even have to go anymore.” His mother huffed in disappointment.

It was an exaggeration, but she had a point. School started at eight in the morning. It was already an hour later but he was still sitting in bed.

“I’ll get ready now. 10 minutes. Good to go.” He shooed his mom away, already running to the bathroom to wash up.

“I’m leaving now Jay. You know darn well that I have an important meeting today and I can’t miss it just for you to not get a tardy. Heck, you’re already late! You’re-”

“Mom! I can’t walk to school! It takes too long.” Jay whined as he brushed his teeth, his muffled voice interrupting his mother’s speech.

“Young man, stop interrupting me. I told you a week ago about today’s event and it’s not my fault that my oldest son can’t take care of himself. You’re going to have to take another mode of transport, you’re old enough to deal with this yourself!” With that, his mother stormed out of his room, her feet obnoxiously thumping on the floor.

“I’m also your only son...” Jay muttered. 

Of all days, why did she have to have her meeting today? Monthly evaluations aren’t that important. Dangit, I should’ve been taught how to drive. Jay returned to his rapid multitasking, grabbing his school uniform while washing his face. He didn’t even look twice,

After taking the quickest shower he had ever taken in his entire life and shoving all of his essential (what he determined as essential, at least) belongings into his bag, he opened to door and dashed outside only to be met with…

Rain.

Rain everywhere. Drenching the front yard’s perfectly tended flower garden and creating heaps of watery mud. It was pouring at 9.15 am. There was thunder and occasional flashes of light zooming through the clouds. The city was in shambles.

Not like, shamble, shambles. It was shambles in Jay’s opinion as he groaned and stomped his way through the rain.

Screw school. Screw this stupid rain, screw my alarm clock, screw this-

“Dude, why are you running in the rain? You’re soaked. Are you heading to school?” A pink-haired boy in a red Ferrari shouted from across the street.

Jay sighed in relief, immediately running across the road to said Ferrari. “Choi Yeonjun. You are a life-saver. Could I get a ride real quick? I’ll pay back for engine fees and for soaking the inside of your Ferrari with rainwater.”

“Hop right in, and don’t worry about returning. Let’s have some fun with this baby.” Yeonjun smirked and revved the engine, swerving past cars and buildings like it was a little RPG game.

At this rate, I’ll make it to school in no time.

“Dude, I’m so sorry. I guess you have to walk.”

Just as he thought things were taking a better turn, Yeonjun decides to show off his new driving skills and zooms through roads at a rapid speed, so fast that he crashed the car by a tree. It was a miracle that both of them didn’t get hurt but as far as Jay was concerned, he could worry about that some other time. This was just slowing him down on his long and tedious journey towards his form of hell.

On the bright side, the rain had stopped and the sunshine was back as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll get going to school.” Jay internally groaned and started sprinting in the direction of his school.

“Hey, at least I helped you get closer to school! Didn’t I?” Yeonjun shouted from behind and coyly smiled.

Such a boastful punk, Jay thought. “Whatever, bro!” He turned back and gave his older friend a quick wave before dashing off.

“Park Jongseong! You’re late...again.”

“I’m aware.” Jay didn’t spare his English teacher an eye and slung his backpack over the chair, about to take a seat.

“Stop giving me attitude, I’m your teacher.Why are you tardy for the fourth time this month?”

“Alarm clock.”

“Alarm clock what? Are you afraid to speak up? I don’t see you acting like this in the hallways.”

Jay looked down at his feet and sighed before side-eyeing his teacher. “Overslept, okay? Sir if you could just let me off the hook you would be able to proceed with your Shakespeare nonsense.”

The entire class snickered. It was no secret that Jay loathed Mr. Jung, the English teacher. Who didn’t? Mr. Jung treated every student in school like they were incapable toddlers and it was a wonder that anyone would dare to stand up to his stupid remarks. Jay’s carefree attitude towards his horrible teachers was one of the reasons why he earned so many fangirls.

Not like you were one, of course. You watched as he pulled his chair out and sat next to you out of the three other vacant seats at the back of the class.

Mr. Jung rolled his eyes and continued writing on the blackboard. “Also, Jongseong,” he added, “you’re wearing your school shirt the wrong way round. See you in detention for your tardiness.”

A few of the girls in a few seats in front of him whispered rapidly, although whispering didn’t stop Jay from finding out about their gossip.

“Lol! So much for being the bad boy of our grade. He looks like a wreck today.”

“I know right? I wonder what the other fangirls will think of this. Should we send the pictures to the fan club?”

The second girl giggled. “Yeah, duh. Name it jay-park-wreck-images.”

So much for my reputation. Jay could only roll his eyes as he pulled out his supplies, ignoring the camera clicks coming from the seats in front of him.

“Oh, yay. At least I’ll have a detention buddy now.”

Jay eyed you up and down like your statement was some sort of monstrosity. “Detention? You, detention? Pfft.” He laughed.

“Yeah, Jay. Me, detention. Why are you so happy about it? Glad to be stuck with another girl?”

“What, no-no. You just...don’t seem like the type to be in detention. How’d you get it?”

“This..may be kind of embarrassing, but...” You turned to the side and Jay gasped.

On the sleeve of your uniform was a...rabbit? It wasn’t too obvious as to what the marker doodle was but it was apparent that you had intentionally spent time to draw on it.

“Look, I was bored in assembly this morning and found a spare marker in my pocket! Don’t judge, we all know how bad assembly can be.” You blurted just as Jay was about to ask why you had done what you did.

“You could’ve just drawn on your hand or done something else with the marker.” Jay sighed and shook his head at your dumb decision.

“I was out of my mind, okay? Ugh, Assembly always drives me nuts. I got called out for for the horrendous ink bleed when Mr. Jung saw as I walked into the classroom. He said it ‘didn’t follow school guidelines’.”

“For once, I agree with Mr. Jung. It was a stupid choice, you know? If you didn’t draw on your uniform then you wouldn’t have to go to detention now.”

“Jay Park, the bad boy of school, is telling me to be a rule abider. Biggest twist of the century.” You rolled your eyes.

Jay frowned and turned back at you, losing that little spark in his eyes that he once kept. “I’m not a bad boy you know? I just don’t like the system in place here.”

“As if anyone is going to believe that. Go hang out with another girl of yours. I’m not here to be your toy.”

“People like you are the reason why everyone thinks I’m a bad person. I thought you were different, you know?”

You had been preoccupied with taking notes for class, but now you looked at him with squinted eyes. “Well, I am different. Different as In someone who doesn’t fall for your useless charms. Go suck up to your fangirls or something.”

Jay rolled his eyes and scooted away from you. He thought he had been lucky to meet you, but he guessed not.

You always do this, you idiot. You were so close to making a new friend.

You put your hands in your head and side-eyed Jay, who seemed to be struggling as Mr. Jung blurted out an entire unit’s summary.

The boy hadn’t brought any stationery and was definitely on the wrong page of the textbook. You figured that he was this disheveled from his absolute lack of planning but you still felt bad.

His hair was a mess, it was still damp from the rain before. If only you could help him style it…

Why do I want to touch his hair? That’s weird and gross.

You were so occupied with thinking about Jay that you realized that he was still struggling in class.

Maybe you could make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

Jay was struggling to find the page you guys were on for class when a pencil blocked his view.

“What do you want?” He said as he tried to look past your pencil swinging.

“It’s a pencil for you since I realized that your table is practically empty and you’re going to need something to take notes with for later. Also, it’s page 153, not 53.” You leaned over to help him flip the pages.

“Oh, that makes so much more sense. I was wondering why we were relearning unit 3 when finals aren’t even near yet.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at a relieved Jay. “So you do pay attention in class.”

“Of course I do! I’m a student. You should stop using that stereotype on me.” Jay frowned and a tinge of disappointment shadowed his face.

“Right, I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to work on it, it’s rumors and assumptions that have built up over the past few years and I understand that it shouldn’t get in the way of our friendship.”

“Friendship? We have a friendship?” Jay chuckled and cocked an eyebrow up, teasing you.

Maybe it was that eyebrow slit or the weird tension that was building up between the both of you. You felt your face heat up. “I mean- yeah, friendship. Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, hun. I thought we were something more.”

“Um...best...friends?”

It was perfect timing as the bell rang and you immediately started packing things into your bag, eyes glued to the clock instead of the amused boy next to you.

Jay laughed, running his hands through his blonde locks and watching as you started running out of class, your eyes occasionally looking back at him to see if he was still staring at you.

“See you in detention!” He called, drawing the attention of your classmates.

Jay Park needs to learn how to shut his mouth. Everyone was now staring at you and you were flustered, embarrassed, shocked, and confused. The weird mix of emotions were driving you nuts. All you could muster was a little nod and you dashed out of there as fast as you could.

“Today we’re going to learn about Murphy’s Law. It is where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“But everything that can work, will work.” Jay raised his hand and added, sparing a glance at you jotting notes in the back of the classroom, oblivious to his reference towards you.

“You’re right Jay. Murphy’s Law works both ways. Reversing it is considered part of science…”

Today morning was a storm (figuratively and literally) and everything seemed to be going wrong for Jay. Murphy’s Law prevails. but there’s always a rainbow after the storm. You were his rainbow and his lucky charm.

2021 © fluffi

[villainousshakespeare]

Learning a Lesson Chapter 1

Young Actor Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Rated E - Eventual Smut, Angst, Complicated Relationship - Teacher/Actor Posing as Student, Feels, Flirting, Fluff

Summary: It's your first day as a teacher and things are going well. That is, until a tall, gorgeous boy with blond curls and dramatic ways saunters into your last class. When he ignores all the swooning girls to flirt outrageously with you, it is secretly thrilling. Even more so is when he tries to steal a kiss after class ends. How long will you be able to keep your defenses up?

Up and Coming actor Tom is under cover in high school for  research for a movie, but the pretty drama teacher is making the long assignment so much more enjoyable!

This was inspired by a dream I had. I opted to turn the main character into a young teacher instead of a student, just due to my own neurosis. Will probably be in a bout 4 parts... we shall see...

@arch-venus25​, @caffiend-queen​ @ciaodarknessmyheart​ @frostbitten-written​ @just-the-hiddles​ @kellatron55​ @myoxisbroken​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @shae-annelore​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @hiddlesholic​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @wolfsmom1​ @tom-hlover​ @toozmanykids​

The day had been going surprisingly well, if Emily did say so herself. All of her classes had seemed engaged in the material to some extent, and no one jumped out at her as an obvious juvenile delinquent bent on disrupting things. Of course, it was the first day of the school year and things could change, but with just one class to go she was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

That was all about to change.

It was her first official day as a teacher. She had student taught, of course, but this was different. These kids were hers to mold and teach. It helped that most of the morning classes had been freshmen and sophomores. She had always looked young for her age, and she had already been asked once for a hall pass that afternoon between classes. It was embarrassing, but hardly unexpected. Soon she hoped that everyone would realize that she was faculty and not, in fact, attending herself.

Her last class was the one she had been both dreading and excited about all day. Senior Elective - Drama. It was her one chance to teach the subject that she loved the most. American and World literature were fine, of course, but she was a theater geek at heart. Teaching students who chose to study some of the most important plays in history, what could be better? She just hoped that they didn't all tower over her and decide that she couldn't possibly be the boss of them at her age.

The first few students to enter gave her hope. Three girls, giggling together in hushed voices, entered the room. She sized them up instantly - smart, a bit nerdy, and certain to turn into stunners in a few years' time. They smiled shyly at her as one, and Emily grinned in return, instructing them to sit anywhere they liked. As the others trickled in,  began to breath easy. A few of the honor society kids, a couple who bore the stamp of musical theater unmistakably, and one or two who obviously were there simply because it sounded like an easy A that they could sleep through. Well, they would learn soon enough. Theater was a participatory activity in her mind. Still, the ten girls and three boys seated before her were hardly the type to strike fear into her heart, even if some of them did have several inches on her. She could do this!

The bell was still ringing when the door opened again and a tall, lanky boy backed in, calling jovially to some person still in the hallway. His voice was surprisingly deep, and contained a laughter that sounded infectious. Emily waited impatiently for him to conclude his conversation, foot tapping and lips pursed. When he finally turned around, she felt as though she had been punched in the gut.

He was certainly tall, easily topping 6 feet as he slouched against the door frame, insouciant smile on his face. A halo of wild, noodle like blonde curls framed his face, artlessly falling across his forehead in a manner designed to make one want to reach out and brush them back. His eyes, a stunning blue that ought to be illegal, were framed by obscenely long eyelashes and, if she were not mistaken, a light touch of eyeliner to make them all the worse. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut were hidden beneath just the right amount of residual baby fat to make him appear mischievous rather than outright dangerous, but she was not certain she should trust that assumption. A black t shirt and baggy black pants draped over his long, lean lines, accessorized with black and silver jewelry at his his wrist, waist, and neck, and a silver bar through the top of one ear.

Good lord above, her high school fantasy had just sauntered into the class she was supposed to be teaching! And Emily was not entirely sure that she had surrendered that fantasy as completely as she had hoped! Certainly her confidence, riding high just seconds before, was suddenly plummeting as the young stud slowly surveyed the class, enjoying the obvious attention his late entrance and stunning looks had provoked.

"Take a seat please, you're late," Emily said stridently, hating how forced her voice sounded.

"Apologies, I got turned around. Luckily some girls were nice enough to show me the way."

No doubt, she thought as he loped to the front of the class and sat in the desk immediately in front of her. And god almighty, was that an English accent? From the way most of the girls and two of the three boys in the class were twittering behind him she was certain she had heard correctly. He looked up at her with a cocksure smile on his face and she felt an absurd wave of embarrassment, as though he could read exactly what she had been thinking about him.

"So," he asked, extending his long legs out from under the desk until the toe of one booted foot almost touched hers, "when does the teacher get here?"

"I am the teacher," Emily tried to keep the consternation from her voice as she retreated behind her desk, hoping for some sort of barrier between her and the living temptation seated before her. Blindly she pointed to where "Miss Temple" was written on the chalk board, as though that would prove something.

"Impossible. You're far too young and attractive to be the teacher," he pronounced, openly giving her a once over as the rest of the class snickered.

Emily clenched her hands to keep from tugging down her skirt to make it longer. It hit a respectable length at just above her knee, but the way he looked speculatively at her legs she wished it hit the floor. Still, she was not about to let this smug little (or, well, not so little) popinjay rattle her.

"I am old enough. And you will find that there are no rules about a teacher's appearance," she told him. "But thank you all the same Mr -"

"Martinsson," he told you. "But you can call me Tom. And you are?"

"Very well, Tom," she sighed, ignoring the question. "Now, if I may begin the class?"

He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture that left her unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes or smack his smug, pretty face. She settled for turning on her heal and pulling her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare out of her tote bag, wishing she couldn't feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over. Pants. She would definitely be wearing pants from now on.

"Shakespeare?" one of the musical theater kids groaned. "I thought this class was going to be fun!"

"Kiss me Kate is Shakespeare," the aptly named Kate, one of the honors girls, shot back, "and so is West Side Story!"

"It's less boring with songs," the boy muttered, making most of the others laugh in agreement.

"Dude, Shakespeare isn't boring!" Emily's heretofore nemesis said, turning to look disgustedly at the poor boy behind him. "Not if you have a thought in your head, at any rate!"

"See," Kate preened, trying to catch Tom's eye as the other boy squirmed.

"It's just stuffy old men shouting made up words at each other," one of the suspected lazy kids argued.

"Not if you do it right!" Tom insisted.

Before Emily could think to move, he unfolded his body from beneath the little wooden desk and dropped to his knees on the floor directly in front of her and began speaking with dramatic flourish.

"Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom."

As a gasp went through the class, Tom yanked up his shirt to bare a chest more well defined than she would have imagined. Not, of course, that she had any business imagining anything at all. He thrust a pencil into her hand and held it against the naked skin, continuing his soliloquy:

"And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me."

Emily stared, mouth gaping at the young man on his knees before her, pressing her hand to his flesh, and felt a wild urge to pull him up and kiss him senseless. The raw passion that he had infused his words with echoed in the room, impossible to miss. The lines had been rushed, and he stumbled once over the wording, but there was no faulting the fervor with which they were delivered.

After a moment of silent awe, the class erupted in spontaneous applause as he smirked and pulled himself to his feet, bringing Emily's hand to his mouth to kiss it in a ridiculous show of stage chivalry that made the class giggle but sent electricity coursing through her body. She snatched her hand back took a step away from him as he turned to bow to his cheering classmates.

"Was that Romeo?" one of the girls asked fatuously.

"No," he said disdainfully. "Romeo was a twat too stupid to think through a plan or trust his woman. That was Richard the Third."

"And does she take him?" the girl asked giggling.

"Oh, she does alright," he said with a wink. "Then he uses her to secure his kingdom, kills her, and moves on the next princess. But still, you can feel his seduction in the words."

Emily watched the girl struggle to come to terms with that information and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had the sense that this was a man, a boy she reminded herself, who often had that effect on people.

"That was, er, quite the performance Mr. Martinsson," she attempted to wrench the class back. "And I agree, Shakespeare is far from boring. We will not, however, be reading Richard III right now. I thought we would start with something a bit more light. Much Ado About Nothing. Now, if you would all take out your books, I will assign parts."

"I'm afraid I don't have a book," it was Tom, of course. "We didn't move here in time for me to pick one up from the library."

"Very well, you can use mine," she sighed, glad she knew all the characters from memory.

Tom got up again, Emily wondered if he was capable of sitting still, and walked around her desk. He towered over her as he crossed behind her, and his arm casually and quite inappropriately draped around her shoulders as he passed. She twitched to dislodge him, and he shot her a guilty but hardly repentant grin in response.

"The book, Mr. Martinsson," Emily all but hissed.

"Thanks," he said, hand grazing over hers as he lifted the big tome and walked back to the desk.

"Now," she said, struggling to push down the effect he had had on her when standing so close in her space, "who wants to be Beatrice, the female lead?"

All of the female hands shot up instantly. She could hardly blame them. There was only one choice to read Benedick, and everyone knew it. Briefly she considered casting him as Claudio, or better yet, Dogberry, just to spite them all. For some reason the thought of him flirting in verse with one of these cloying little girls made her irritable. For better or worse though, her love of the play won out over her misplaced jealousy. Tom was Benedick, and Jamie, a quiet, studious girl Emily liked on sight was Beatrice. A ripple of resentment made Jamie shrink back a bit, but Emily still thought she was pleased with being cast. Who wouldn't be?

"Mr. Martinsson," Emily said as the closing bell rang, signaling the end of the class and the day, "please stay behind. I would like a word with you."

Rather than looking at all put out, Tom's face broke into that smug smile she were beginning to realize was a habitual look for him. She waited for the mob of loitering girls to finally take the hint and reluctantly leave before shutting the door behind him and turning to see him perched on the edge of her desk.

"I was hoping you'd keep me," he said confidently. "I thought you might."

"Yes well," Emily found her mouth was dry and suddenly regretted closing the door. It would look foolish to open it again though, so she tried to pull herself together. "I think we need to talk about your behavior."

"My behavior?" he asked, looking amused.

"Yes, it was highly inappropriate for class," she scolded.

"What was? My pointing out that you were attractive?"

"Among other things. Flirting with me, kissing my hand," somehow when she listed his crimes they didn't sound nearly as bad as they had seemed at the time. If any other student had acted in such a way, she realized, she would have laughed it off and set them in their place. It was only because it was him, so attractive and utterly beyond her touch, that it was a problem.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you," he said, which wasn't really the point. "But you must know that you are very attractive. Very desirable. I would have to be blind not to notice it."

"Tom - I just said -"

"That it was inappropriate for class. We're not in class now. And you can't tell me you're not attracted to me as well. I can tell."

"That's not the point. You are a student. A child."

"I'm 18 last week," he corrected, sounding offended. "And you can't be older than 25. That's hardly enough of a difference to matter."

"There are plenty of attractive girls your own age," she said, hating them all.

"Stupid, vapid girls," he muttered.

"I'm your teacher," she said again, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"Then you don't want me to kiss you?" he asked, hopping off the desk and suddenly standing very close and towering over her.

"It's not appropriate," Emily gulped out, repeating herself.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Look, I'm not saying you're not attractive," she licked her lips and struggled to keep her thoughts together as he took another step towards he.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"You know you are, that is not the point."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is, it's wrong!"

"The point is, you want me to kiss you."

"Tom. Mr. Martinsson -"

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me, and I'll stop."

His hand had circled around her and was somehow at the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He was enveloping her. His scent, his body heat, his bright, accented eyes, all clouded her mind and made it hard to think. His head was moving towards hers, and she knew it would be a kiss to make her toes curl.

"You're wrong," Emily gasped, closing her eyes and waiting for his lips to meet hers.

"Liar," he whispered, a mere breath away from her lips.

Dropping his hand, Tom stepped away and smiled down at her with something close to scorn in his eyes.

"I expected more from you," he told her. "I hope next time you can be honest with us both."

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Emily reeling.

***

"How'd it go?" his director Jonesy asked him again, making his teeth clench.

"As I said," he repeated. "Just the never ending tedium of high school. God, the U.S. version is even worse than ours was!"

"Beginning to regret asking for this?" Jonesy chuckled.

Tom considered it. He had been excited when he was cast in the new film being directed by an up and coming indie director. He was young, and what few jobs he had been given had been in period pieces of the waistcoat and ascot variety. Playing a troubled teenager in a gritty coming of age story was not something he wanted to let pass him by.

Still, considering that his own education had been at the posh British public school of Eton, proverbial School of Kings, he had been feeling ill prepared for the role. To rectify the problem, he had asked to be placed in an American school for a month. The first day had certainly been an eyeopener, that was certain.

"No," he said. "Regretting the homework though."

"I thought you were supposed to be a troubled kid," Jonesy laughed. "Blow it off!"

He agreed with a laugh, but knew it wasn't quite true. There was one assignment he planned to do to the best of his ability. Shakespeare deserved no less, and neither did she. Miss Temple of the lovely legs and expressive eyes.

He had thought her a student at first, and was disgusted with himself for how attracted he was to her. The pretty skirt was just short enough to show her knee, and the blouse hinted at enticing curves that he couldn't help noticing. When he realized she was in fact the teacher, and a Shakespeare teacher at that, he couldn't resist. He was supposed to be a dramatic kid, very well. He would use it to his advantage. It had almost killed him to flub the line near the end, but he didn't want to show his hand as an actor on the first day and ruin all the work the studio had done to arrange this for him.

He hadn't really expected her to respond to him. When she did, even though she tried to fight it, he could feel the electricity. He had not been so drawn to a woman in ages. Damn the stupid disguise!

He had wanted to kiss her desperately. Added a year to the age he was meant to be playing in an attempt to convince her it was not the worst idea in the world. He knew she had wanted it too. It was only his strict code that had made him pull back at the last minute. She said no, even if they both knew she didn't mean it. Very well, he would just have to try harder next time. It would lend some excitement to what had so far been a less than thrilling assignment. He would learn about American high school life, and she would be his sweet reward. It was only a matter of time.

[laurenhufflepuff2]

A list of fandoms I'm in (in no particular order, will probably be updated regularly. Some fandoms are more intense and some are more casual. Depending on the fandom, I could go on and on about fandom topics for HOURS. Let's get into it!)

Harry Potter, Disney, Marvel, DC comics, Miraculous Ladybug, Avatar: The Last Airbender/The Legend of Korra, Star Wars, Literature, Winx Club, Nintendo, Minecraft, Little Witch Academia, Voltron, Coraline

Details:

Harry Potter- I got into Harry Potter in 7th grade and now I am the resident expert in my family and in my friend group. I read all the books, watched all the movies (notably the British version), and I've seen the Fantastic Beasts films as well. I've also read Tales of Beedle the Bard (the Warlock's Hairy Heart was traumatizing) along with the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them textbook (plus an updated edition). I also read The Cursed Child script and while I mean no hate to anyone that liked it, I hated what it did to the canon. I am in Hufflepuff with some Ravenclaw tendencies (I took the Pottermore quiz 3 times, 2 out of 3 I got Hufflepuff, the other time was Ravenclaw). I had a pottermore account and I was so upset when it got converted to the Wizarding World page. I cosplayed Hermione in 7th grade complete with British accent and even monologued as her for a talent show (classmates and teachers would recognize me as the Hermione girl all the way through high school). I was obsessed and I still love it even if J.K. Rowling has gone off the deep end on Twitter... yeah... my favorite character is Hermione but I also relate to Luna

Disney- there's so much that goes into the Disney part of my fandom list. I'm excluding Marvel and Star Wars from this part as they were originally separate entities before Disney got the rights to them. I have seen almost every animated Disney film ever and often use random movie quotes in conversation. My favorite villain is Maleficent, my favorite princess is Ariel (followed by Belle, Rapunzel, and Anna). I relate to so many of the characters. I'm not sure who my favorite Pixar character is though (I love Violet, Sadness, Dory, and Piper (from the short)). My favorite Disney fairy is Fawn. My favorite characters overall are Ariel and Stitch. Disney is definitely on the list as one of my biggest obsessions. My favorite movies are Lilo and Stitch, the Little Mermaid, Inside Out, Alice in Wonderland (original), and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

Marvel- I mostly get my Marvel exposure through the MCU, other movies, and animated TV shows. I have difficulty reading graphic novels so most of my comic book knowledge comes from friends, posts, or wikis. My favorite characters are Spider-Man, Captain America, Peggy Carter, and Scarlet Witch. I also like Gwenpool, Deadpool, Spider-Gwen/ Ghost-Spider, Venom, Squirrel Girl, Daredevil, Mantis, Gamora, Black Widow, Iron Man, Thor, Loki, Bucky, Black Panther, and most MCU characters. Out of the X-men I really like Professor X, Wolverine, Mystique, Magneto, Nightcrawler, and Quicksilver (either version- MCU or Fox).

DC- this was the franchise I was more familiar with growing up but again, graphic novels aren't easy for me to read so most of my knowledge comes from information pages about the comics or from tv/movies. My earliest experience with DC came from the 60s Batman series, with Catwoman and Robin being my favorites. I also watched the Wonder Woman series from the 70s and a handful of CW shows, my favorite of which being the Flash and Arrow. I also managed to watch all 5 seasons of the Teen Titans Cartoon Network series from 2003. With that being said, my favorite characters are Wonder Woman, Catwoman, Flash, Batman, Nightwing/Robin (Dick Grayson), Green Arrow, Starfire, Raven, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and Alfred. I also like most of the bat family, and when it comes to CW I LOVE Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost and Cisco.

Miraculous- this is one of my guilty fandoms but since this is Tumblr I'm not too worried about it. I love Marinette and I relate to her on an astoundingly deep level (minus the stalking and obsession with potential lovers, that's creepy). If I had a miraculous, I'd probably want the Ladybug one, but the Cat miraculous, fox miraculous, and snake miraculous are good too. My favorite character is Marinette/Ladybug.

Atla/Tlok- I jumped on the avatar bandwagon just when it was starting to get popular, so I managed to get through the series before the memes took over everything. Same with Tlok, although i couldn't completely avoid the spoilers for that when i started it. I've been wanting to get into the comics because of the short story comics I've read, they seem easier to read than superhero comics. My favorite characters are Aang, Katara, Ty Lee, Iroh, Korra, Jinora, Asami, Suki, Appa, Momo, Naga, and Pabu. I also like Sokka, Mai, Zuko, Lin, Kuvira, Varrick, Zhu Lee, and Azula. I feel really sorry for her and while I understand that a redemption arc would undermine the importance of her corruption arc, I still wish she could have one. I would love to be a waterbender or an airbender... maybe a waterbender raised in the air nation? Obviously, being the avatar itself would be awesome. The show has taught me a lot of great lessons and put a lot of stuff into perspective for me.

Star Wars- oh boy, talking about this one is dangerous. I've seen firsthand the horrors of the Star Wars fandom but then again no one will probably see this anyway so... I've seen all the movies and I remember watching the clone wars series with my brother when I was younger but we fell wayyy behind and it's taking us forever to get back into it. I've also seen the Mandalorian and quite enjoyed it. I like the prequels unironically, in fact, the prequels are some of my favorite movies. I especially like how they switched from lightsabers being heavy weapons to light weapons that can be used for all kinds of tricks that make for epic battles like the ones we see in Revenge of the Sith. The sequels were fun to watch but when I would analyze them along side their predecessors, I came to the conclusion that, for me, they were good to watch but did not do anything good for the rest of the franchise. My favorite characters are prequels/clone wars Obi Wan and Anakin, Padme, Ashoka, Leia, R2D2, BB-8, R4-P17, the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), and Grogu. If I had a lightsaber I'd want it to be blue, but when I was little I got a purple one like Mace Windu because it was closer to pink and I was into pink at the time. I still have that lightsaber and none of my friends have a purple one so it's one of my flexes. I feel like I wouldn't make a good jedi because of attachments being forbidden, so I'd probably become a grey jedi.

Literature- this is a broad term I use to cover all the random books and stories I liked reading and have studied. So we have Shakespeare (Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing, Romeo and Juliet), The Great Gatsby (bored while reading, loved to analyze), Grendel (HATED reading, loved to analyze, Grendel really needed a hug and a friend), The Crucible, Fahrenheit 451, Dark Life (+ the sequel Riptide, both are by Kat Falls good reads, sci-fi and kind of dystopian), The Once and Future King

Winx Club- I think the show is trashy but I still love watching it. I haven't been able to get through season 6 though and I hated what they did with season 8 and Fate: the Winx Saga. My favorite character is Bloom along with Stella and Flora. I prefer rai to nick. My favorite transformations are magic winx, enchantix, and harmonix. My favorite member of the Trix is Icy followed by Darcy. My favorite Pixies are Chatta and Lockette.

Nintendo- mainly Pokémon above all else, followed by Animal Crossing. I have also played (mostly as player 2 or just never beat or watched my brother play) mario games, legend of zelda, pikmin, and kirby. Games I haven't played but I just liked the characters/the lore and probably learned about through Super Smash Bros. are Fire Emblem (Lucina mostly), Metroid (Samus and baby metroid), and Kid Icarus. Pokémon is where I'm most knowledgeable but you'll most likely beat me in battle. I am however great at MarioKart and I always destroy my friends at it. Terrible at fighting games though.

Minecraft- I like playing this casually. Sure, I'll play for hours and hours on end for months, but I prefer to stay exclusively in peaceful when playing Survival mode and I don't make anything too ambitious in Creative mode. I like to write, so sometimes I'll make a rough layout of the settings of my stories in different worlds. I prefer interior design and decorating when building, and when in survival mode I focus more on mining and gathering while my brother works on ambitious building projects. I just bring him the raw materials and furnish the interior when he finishes the outside.

Little Witch Academia- this takes up a smaller portion of my fandom list because there were only 2 seasons and a couple movies and I watched the whole series years ago, but I still enjoy it. At one point I wanted to cosplay Akko, and I loved the nod at Twilight through the Nightfall series. And I especially liked the twist that Shiny Chariot was Ursula, which I suspected for some time. The blend between magic and technology was fun to see, but I was so sad that the series ended RIGHT when Akko finally showed signs of magic proficiency. Also, Shiny Chariot being the reason Akko couldn't do magic was heartbreaking.

Voltron- this takes up a much smaller portion of my fandom list mainly because I haven't even finished it. I know hardly anything about Transformers aside from the Bumblebee movie so to me I just watch it for fun. It reminds me of power rangers, star wars, and star trek, and then there's just a transformer insert. But I don't know anything about Transformers so maybe the show is more rooted in canon than I think.

Coraline- I am in a love-hate relationship with Coraline. I have watched the movie several times, I've read the book, I've watched hours of theories and analyses on youtube, I've watched behind the scenes videos by Laika, and I even wrote a script for a fan film parody. I am amazed at how original the story is and how impressive the stop motion animation is but I also have recurring nightmares from it and it scares me/creeps me out to the max. If anyone asks what my scariness limit is, it's definitely Coraline.

[ssidesblog]

teacher au !

(i only know how the american education system works + my school is very standard and could even be argued its worse than most public schools but thats my only point of reference ! ap stands for advanced placement and essentially means classes someone can take in hs and at the end of the year take a test, if the test is passed they gain college credit.)

roman: the loud drama teacher who doubles as the ap english teacher for the senior class. hes the teacher all the gay kids go to when they need to vent or just need advice. he makes his english class as interesting as possible; its the ap senior class so the entire course is focused on british literature, the shakespeare unit is always everybodys favorite bc roman knows so much and makes everything much easier to understand. his theatre classes are extremely chaotic and are his favorite classes of the day. the drama room is a safe space for a lot of the gay kids at school and roman makes sure hes in his room during lunch every day unless theres Important Teacher Buissness he needs to attend to. hes the director for the after school plays and 'makes' virgil codirect with him (hes in charge of all the techies). he has his favorite students (he would never admit it but like everyone Knows) who often view him as a parental/older brother type figure. hes stayed after school with kids for hours until their rides came and has even given kids rides home. hes really close to his kids and each year he cries when the senior class leaves. the theatre department doesnt get a lot of funding so roman works hard to put on shows that they can be proud of and each year he becomes more and more motivated to being new people into theatre.

logan: hes the junior year ap language + composition teacher !!! he tutors for every subject bc hes knowledgeable so he teaches basically every subject. a lot of kids go to his room during lunch + after school for tutoring and hes the reason half the school is actually passing their classes. he chose to teach language and compisition bc he loves language and being able to teach the importance of it. all of the students know just the right thing to say to get him off course and just talking about anything (theyre favorite thing is to ask about space) and he spends almost the entire period talking about that and not the actual lesson. logan + roman's english classes are next to each other and theres a door that seperates them. often times students will find sticky notes on the little window of the door that logan and roman have written for each other. all of the students think theyre secretly dating or at least WANT them to be. roman likes to go into logans class and be annoying when hes on his free period. hes also the debate teacher ! during free periods roman helps logan with his debate students. roman and logan often times get way too out of hand and their debates turn into a 'what not to do during a debate' example.

virgil: the art teacher ! theres only three art classes (beginning, intermediate, and ap) and he teaches all of them. during the start of the year hes fairly quiet and reserved but a lot of his students really like him. hes a very relaxed teacher and similar to roman gives a safe space for kids to hang out. a lot of the more reserved gay kids hang out in his room during lunch. he takes three days a week to make sure hes available to tutor during lunch, hes not as smart as logan but he has a good grasp on math so he helps a lot of his art students with their math work (theyre gay art kids ofc they dont know how to do math). virgil assigns the beginning + intermediate class to paint backgrounds for the plays and thats usually two weeks to a month that he takes his class to the drama room to work. its a way more loud atmosphere as roman also has classes going on. this is when a lot of the students see that virgil is not nearly as quiet and reserved as they thought. when hes around roman hes a lot more talkative; he's constantly jokingly making fun of roman and being a scarcastic pain in the ass. every year thats when his classes shift and hes a lot more open and fun with his classes. he plays music during class since hes not lecturing most of the time. he switches from playing classical to emo music, sometimes within the same day.

patton: hes the psychology teacher ! he only has two classes he actually teaches so when he isnt teaching hes actually a one of the two school psychologists (the other one being picani). he teaches two normal psych classes and leaves ap to janus ! hes a very hands on teacher and does lots of example based learning ! during lunch a lot of his students can be seen doing surveys to collect data for an assignment. as a school psychologist he makes sure to be as welcoming as possible, he understands why a lot of students dont want to see a school psychologist, they dont have a good rep. the kids who do see him though feel extremely safe and secure around him. hes really good at calming kids down from panic attacks, his office is filled with stim toys and theres at least 10 weighted blankets. some times kids come in just to take naps. virgil hangs out in his office a lot whenever students arent there. logan comes in on especially stressful days to either nap or read. roman borrows fidget toys from him on days where his adhd is particularly bad. remus comes in sometimes to get quick and weird psychology facts. janus and him have long discussions about philosophy and grade papers together !!

remus: anatomy and biology/ap bio teacher >:3 he is so insanley chaotic. he wanted to also teach chemistry but the principal (thomas) did NOT trust him to be around chemicals. disections are always fun ! he encourages students to NOT eat anything they disect bc hes alr tried it and it doesnt taste good (nobody knows if this is a joke or not). hes a very jokey teacher and is a fake asshole to all of his students. he is not a harsh grader at all and honestly even of a student dont get a single thing right on a test theyll probably pass as long as they tried ! roman often comes into his room during one of his free periods to tell stories about the borderline psychopathic shit remus used to do as a kid. theres a lot of storytelling in his class and each time the students are in disbelief. despite the chaos, remus is a really good teacher and everyone who takes his class learns a lot. hes definetly known to be one of the more interesting teachers and none of his classes are ever boring.

janus: he teaches ap psych, gov/econ (both normal and ap) and ap us history ! he has no free periods and he is completely ok with that. he and logan are both known for being chatty cathys and his ap psych class takes full advantage of that as a way to learn. although theyre different, janus talks a lot about philosophy to his psych students and applies a lot of what theyre learning to different philosophies. his gov/econ classes are more chaotic. theres a lot of debates and he still applies philosophy to a lot of the ideas he teaches in those classes. his ap us history class is the most chaotic. the debates in his gov/econ classes are more amoungst students but his us history class has held a lot of debates against janus and his more closeminded students. janus teaches a lot of stuff not normally taught like black history is america, native history, and a lot of the shit america did Wrong in the past and how its affecting the present. on top of his full class schedule hes the advisor for mock trial who meets afterschool. patton comes in to help the best he can (usually hes a 'what not to do' example). roman also comes in to help them make their roles the best they can possibly be

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Dead Poets Society: The Story

Dead Poets Society opens in a pretty traditional way: with the first day of school.

It’s the beginning of a fresh school year for transfer student Todd Anderson (Ethan Hawke), new, shy kid on the block at Welton Academy, a prestigious prep-school for boys, located in Vermont.  At the opening ceremony, older recruits march through a church, down the aisles full of other students, carrying banners that display the words: Tradition, Discipline, Honor, and Excellence.  New students light candles, and, most importantly, headmaster Nolan takes to the podium to welcome the new students, and shy, quiet Todd Anderson sits in the pew, looking nervous as Headmaster Nolan begins his speech, discussing the four Pillars of the school, the prestigious nature of the establishment, and introducing the new English teacher: John Keating (Robin Williams).

The panel of teachers, sitting behind Nolan, is notably older and grayer than Keating, who, while not a terribly young man, is considerably more lively and animated than his new colleagues.  This will be important later, but not right now. (Spoilers below!)

After the ceremony, the courtyard in front of the school is full of parents saying goodbye to their sons.  It is here that we learn something interesting about Todd: he has, as Nolan puts it, “big shoes to fill” .  As it turns out, Todd’s older brother was a student here, and a pretty good one.  Even more nervous, Todd files out of the courtyard with the rest of the students, where we meet Todd’s to-be roomate: Neil Perry (Robert Sean Leonard).

Neil Perry seems to be Todd’s complete opposite in personality.  He’s confident, and out-going, and is expected by Nolan to be doing ‘great things’ this year.  He takes Todd up to their dorm room, and there, Todd meets Neil’s friends: Knox Overstreet (Josh Charles), Richard Cameron (Dylan Kussman), Stephen Meeks (Allelon Ruggiero), Gerard Pitts (James Waterson), and Charlie Dalton (Gale Hansen).  The boys get comfortable in Neil and Todd’s room, teasing Neil for being made to take chemistry courses over the summer.  The laid-back nature of the introductions is cut short, however, by a knock at the door.

It’s Neil Perry’s father (Kurtwood Smith).

Mr. Perry tells Neil that he has spoken to Mr. Nolan, and has cut all of Neil’s extra-curricular activities for the year, including the school yearbook, as he doesn’t want Neil distracted from the end-goal of medical school.  Neil tries to argue, but is quickly shot down.

After Mr. Perry leaves, the other boys encourage Neil to stand up to his father, but he refuses, resigned to doing what he’s told.  The other boys leave, inviting Todd to join them for a Latin study group the next day.

The next day, on the first true day of classes, the boys pass through lesson after lesson, taught by wizened, distinguished men who bore their students to tears.

And then comes English class.

Mr. Keating enters the room, passes his entire classroom, and heads for the opposite door, telling his class to follow him.  Confused, the class obeys.

Keating takes them out to the hallway, encouraging them to look at the case full of pictures of Welham alumnus, and tells them that those who first attended Welton, explaining that these people who were once young, are now old, or even dead.

“Carpe diem, seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

He also recites to them some poetry:

“O Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody? Not a clue? It’s from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now in this class you can either call me Mr. Keating, or if you’re slightly more daring, O Captain my Captain.”

After class, Cameron remarks that Keating seems rather odd, but the rest of the boys seem to like him, or at least, find him interesting.  While the boys hit the showers, Knox reveals that he has to attend a dinner at the Danburys’ (whoever they are, more on that later) explaining that he can’t meet to study with them tonight.  The boys pick on him a little and then invite Todd, who doesn’t seem to be on board for the plan.

That night, the boys meet to study, and Knox comes in late, elated.  See, he’s met the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen: Chris.  The bad news is that she’s engaged to a guy named Chet, but that doesn’t seem to deter Knox that much.  He remains completely smitten.

The next day, Keating’s class remains as unconventional as the day before.  This is no course where the first class is fun and then it’s down to business the next day: Keating seems to mean business about seizing the day.

He opens class by requesting that Cameron reads the first page of the introduction of their poetry book, an introduction about how to rate a poem’s ‘greatness score’.  As he reads, Keating writes on the board, allowing him to reach the end of the page before telling Cameron, and the rest of the class, to rip out the introduction.

At first, the class hesitates, but after a moment, many of the students gleefully obey.  As they tear out the pages, another teacher, Mr. McAllister stops to investigate.  Keating explains that he is teaching the boys to think for themselves, to enjoy the use of language and the power of words.  

“No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”

The boys contemplate this as Keating adds:

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

At dinner, McAllister sits next to Keating and chastises him warningly about his choice to educate the boys to think for themselves, encouraging them to be creative.

“Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and I’ll show you a happy man,” McAllister quotes.

Keating smiles and replies with a verse of his own: “But only in their dreams can men be truly free. ‘Twas always thus, and always thus will be.”

At their own table, the boys unearth an old yearbook, searching for Mr. Keating’s page.  They learn that he was involved in a group called the ‘Dead Poets Society’.  

Curiosity piqued, the boys ask Keating about the Dead Poets Society after dinner.  Keating explains that it was a secret society, inspired by the words of Henry David Thoreau to ‘suck the marrow out of life’.  This group would gather in a nearby cave and read poetry aloud, and write some of their own.

Neil suggests to the rest of the boys in private that they should revive the Dead Poets Society and meet that night.  In his room, he finds a book called Five Centuries of Verse, with an inscription from Keating: the opening to every Dead Poets Society meeting.

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.  To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.”

That night, the boys all sneak out of the school and meet in the caves.  Neil begins the meeting, reading the opening, and then the group takes turns reading poems and talking, getting progressively more spirited.  After a while, they conclude, heading back to the school and singing.  

The next day, in English class, Mr. Keating shows the boys how to read Shakespeare: not dull and stuffy, but full of life, (doing impressions of Marlon Brando and John Wayne to illustrate) and then does something even stranger.

Keating climbs onto his desk and asks the class why he does this.  Charlie suggests that it is to feel taller.

“No!  Thank you for playing, Mr. Dalton. I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.”

With that, Keating encourages his class, one at a time, to stand on his desk, looking at the room from a different perspective.  As class comes to a close, Keating announces that the boys are to write, and then read aloud, their own poems, privately telling Todd that he is quite aware how much this assignment must scare him.

In his room, Todd attempts to write a poem as Neil bursts in, full of excitement.  He has discovered a flier for a community play of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and intends to try out, realizing that he wants to be an actor.  He says:

“For the first time in my whole life, I know what I wanna do! And for the first time, I’m gonna do it! Whether my father wants me to or not! Carpe diem!”

The next class, Keating takes the boys out to the field, handing them each a line of poetry.  He begins an exercise where each boy must read aloud the line before running up and kicking a ball, one after another, while he plays classical music.  Directly after, Neil blazes through the dorm, shouting that he’s secured the part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, his enthusiasm undaunted by the fact that his father will never write the approval letter necessary.  He forges the necessary letter from his father for the theater and the school principal as Todd looks on.  

It is the next English class, and it is time to read the poems from the class.  Knox, who has ridden his bike to Chris’s school to watch her at least once, reads aloud a poem dedicated to her.  Other students read, and finally, it comes time for Todd’s turn.

Todd, as it turns out, hasn’t written a poem.

Undaunted, Keating brings Todd to the front of the class, covering his eyes and encouraging him, helping him create a poem on the spot.  Todd’s spontaneous poem brings the class to applause, and Mr. Keating moves the class outside for some more ‘poetry in motion’.

At this point in the story, we’ve got a lot of information about quite a few characters.

Protagonists Todd and Neil, originally apparently the opposites of one another, are similar in pressures from home: Todd to be like his older brother, and Neil to follow the carefully laid plan that his father has set out for him.  Neil is already moving outside of that plan, pursuing acting, and Todd, with some encouragement, manages to come up with an intense poem in front of an entire class, despite his shyness.

Even the other boys in the group have unique characterization: Charlie, the anything-for-a-joke class clown, Knox, the hopeless romantic, and Cameron, the reluctant tag-along.  (Meeks and Pitts are there too, but they have far less screen time and personality than the rest of the DPS.)  We as an audience are watching their growth and personal arcs after the catalyst that is John Keating.

Oddly enough, Keating is the main character that we spend the least amount of time with, and know the least about.  We don’t know a lot about his home life, or what his background is, or what his thoughts are.  All we see is his direct influence on the boys at the school, and his unintentional inspiration to restart the Dead Poets Society.

Speaking of which:

At the next Dead Poets Society meeting, Knox seems uneasy, announcing that he’s going to kill himself if he can’t be with Chris, and leaves the meeting to call her.  The boys follow, cheering him on, as he makes the call, hanging up at first, before working up his nerve (Carpe Diem) to call her again.  Chris invites Knox to a party, saying she was thinking about calling him, and elated, Knox accepts the invitation.

The next night is the night of the party.  Knox heads off to the Danbury house, where he’s swallowed up by a rowdy crowd of teenagers.  Soon enough, Knox (and everybody else) is at varying levels of intoxicated.  Inhibitions loosened, Knox kisses the forehead of a passed-out Chris, enraging her boyfriend and starting a fight, ending the party abruptly.

Meanwhile, Todd is given the exact same birthday present as last year: a desk set that he didn’t even like, yet another sign of his parents not really paying attention to him.  Neil, noticing Todd’s disappointment, cheers him up, throwing the desk set off the roof, before taking him to another Dead Poets Society Meeting, where Charlie (now insisting on being called Nuwanda) has brought girls in to impress them with poetry.

Charlie also announces that he published an article in the school newspaper demanding that girls be admitted to Welton, signing it the Dead Poets Society.  The rest of the group is justifiably angry, afraid that this will put the school’s administration onto them.

Sure enough, at an assembly, Headmaster Nolan demands to know which of the students was responsible for the article.  At first, none of the students come clean, until a phone rings.

Charlie picks it up, and announces that it’s from God, saying they should admit girls to Welton.

This prank inevitably ends with Charlie getting paddled in the Headmaster’s office (1959, remember?) and threatened with expulsion.  Nolan wants the names of the other members of the Dead Poets Society, but Charlie won’t tell.  

After dismissing Charlie, Nolan calls Keating in, questioning him about his teaching methods.  Keating explains that he’s trying to teach the boys individualism.

“I always thought the idea of education was to learn to think for yourself.”

“At these boys’ age? Not on your life!”

Afterwards, Keating approaches the boys, specifically Charlie, and gently scolds him for his stunt.

“There’s a time for daring and there’s a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for,” he says, explaining that being stupid is not the same as being an individual.

This is a common theme of the entire story, actually.  As much as Keating encourages free-thinking and exploration of ideas, he knows the difference between bucking authority for the sake of it versus nonconformity.  Each of the boys is exploring this aspect in their own way, from Todd’s slow-growing confidence to Neil’s direct disobedience of his father’s oppressive plan to Charlie’s defiance, even to Cameron’s caution against ‘disobeying rules’.  Dead Poets Society is a story about encouraging people to think for themselves, but to be wise about what they do once they start, and while some are more obvious than others (Charlie’s foolishness and Knox’s overzealousness contrasted with Cameron’s blind following of ‘the rules’, all portrayed as kind of problematic), some examples are more ambiguous.

Such is the case with Neil.

After a rehearsal for the play, Neil comes back to his dorm to find his father, very displeased with him.  He’s incredibly angry about Neil joining the play, and instructs him to quit the play the next morning, the same day as the first performance.  Upset, Neil goes to Mr. Keating’s office to ask him for advice.

Keating listens to him, and suggests trying to talk to his father, for Neil to show him how passionate he is about acting so that he will allow him to do the play, encouraging him to come to his father earnestly before the play.

On a slightly lighter note, Knox enters Chris’s high school and follows her to class with flowers, trying to apologize for the previous night.  She’s understandably embarrassed and tells him that her boyfriend, Chet, is still upset with Knox and is out to get him.  Undeterred, Knox follows her into class and reads a poem about Chris aloud, in front of all of her classmates.

Remember what I said about ‘wise’ ways to deal with free thinking?

A little later, Neil lies to Keating, telling him that he’s talked to his father, and that he’s allowed to stay in the play.

The next night, Keating and the boys prepare to go see Neil perform, with Chris even turning up and deciding to accompany Knox to the play.  It’s well worth it.  Neil is in his element, comfortable and dynamic on stage, and his classmates and teacher cheer him on, awestruck by his talent.

Before the last monologue, Neil spots his father, entering the theater.  Clearly daunted, he goes out and sells his final monologue anyway, to the wild applause of the audience.  

All but his father.

After the performance, Neil’s father brings him home, informing him that he is being pulled out of Welton, and enrolled into a military school, immediately followed by medical school.  Neil attempts to argue, to plead his case, but his father shuts him down, and Neil stops arguing.

Later that night, after his parents go to bed, Neil sneaks into his parents’ room wearing his costume, opens the drawer, taking his father’s gun, before retreating to his father’s study and killing himself.

It is right here that the movie goes from a good, even average film about ‘seizing the day’ and living life to the fullest, to a great movie about the consequences of doing it.

In another movie, Neil’s father would have seen the performance and realized his son was right.  Or if he hadn’t, Neil would have finally stood up for himself, and his parents might have seen the light.

In another film, Neil wouldn’t have died.  Especially not like that.

It is this moment, this gear-switch, that the audience is forced to contend with the implications, the fallout of these actions, and that sometimes, even ‘seizing the day’ is impossible, depending on your circumstances.

It’s not an easy idea to swallow.  It’s not one we’re used to in movies.  But it’s here, nonetheless.

Back at Welton, the boys tearfully wake Todd up to tell him the news.  Upset, Todd runs out into the snow, as the boys follow.  He remarks on how beautiful the snow is before throwing up and breaking down, rushing into the snow alone.  In the classroom, Mr. Keating paces empty desks, arriving at Neil’s and removing the poetry book he left for him with the Dead Poets Society inscription.

The next morning, it turns out that the fallout affects more than Neil.

Headmaster Nolan announces that he intends to conduct an investigation into what happened.  The boys gather to talk as Nolan interrogates Cameron, the rule-abider.  The remaining Dead Poets are certain that Cameron is going to sell them out, and sure enough, that’s exactly what he does.  Cameron enters, telling the group that he told them everything, and that they all should too, as it’s too late to save Keating, but not to save themselves.

Charlie reacts to this by punching Cameron in the face, getting him expelled.

The next boy called in is Todd, who enters Nolan’s office to find his parents there, too.  Nervously, he sits as Nolan tries to get Todd to sign a document blaming Mr. Keating for Neil’s death.  Todd glances at the page: the rest of the Dead Poets have signed too.

Later, in English class, Headmaster Nolan arrives and announces that he will be teaching until they can find a permanent replacement for Keating.  As he opens class (encouraging people to read the ‘excellent’ ripped out introduction from the book) Keating enters the room to collect his things.  After long moments of silence of the boys keeping their heads down as Keating gathers his belongings, Todd finally breaks, calling out to Mr. Keating and telling him that the school forced them to sign the confession.

As Nolan tries to get him to sit down, Todd shouts out: “O Captain, My Captain”, and stands on his desk.  Many other students follow, one by one, as Keating tearfully watches.

Keating gratefully thanks the boys, and the film ends on a closeup of Todd’s face, after he’s finally stood up for himself, and seized the day.

Make no mistake, this is not a happy ending.  Keating is forced to leave the school.  Neil has taken his own life, trapped into a lifetime he didn’t want.  Charlie has been expelled, and it’s likely the rest of the boys will be too.  This is a movie based on, and ending with, great uncertainty.  Not every boy stood up.  Not everyone is coming out of this okay.

The question is, what are we supposed to take away from this?

The message of the film, the core theme that people remember, is Seize the Day.  And yet, of those who ‘Seize the Day’, very few come out of it unscathed, if any.  Instead, people are left with heartbreak, making bad decisions or, even if the decisions may have been morally ‘right’, or what they felt they had to do, consequences must follow.  Charlie’s overzealous sense of humor and bucking of authority gets him expelled.  Knox’s over-the-top romanticization of Chris nearly drives her away and gets him in trouble.  Neil kills himself because the restricting nature of his family won’t allow him to ‘Seize the Day’.

And Todd?

Todd finally speaks out, but too late to fix any of the damage.

Despite the focus on Mr. Keating in most of the promotional material, the protagonist of the movie is, of course, Todd.  Once Neil dies, Todd is who we are left with, and it is Todd who changes from shy boy who won’t speak out to the leader of a final daring farewell to a teacher that changed his life.  He’s the one that grows.  He changes.

It’s just too little too late.

The story of Dead Poets Society is a sobering one, and not exactly a story you’d expect.  The first two-thirds could have been part of any typical, ‘feel good’ teen drama about self-discovery, but the last third takes expectations and turns them on their head.  This is real life: it doesn’t always work out.  People get fired for trying to do the right thing.  Parents don’t see the harmful impact they have on their children.  People value rules and tradition over the dreams of the young.

It is in this devastating third act that Dead Poets Society earns its place as a classic: by refusing to allow the cliched beginnings to define its ending.

It would have been so easy to allow Neil to convince his father to allow him to act.  It would have been simple to allow Keating to change the mind of the establishment, for the Dead Poets to take Welton by storm.

But real life doesn’t always work out like that.  Sometimes, the way we go about ‘seizing the day’ can end badly depending on our circumstances and the wisdom in the method we choose.  The film isn’t telling us how to do it right.  It’s showing you the lives of people who did it wrong, or at least, who seized the day, tried to make their lives extraordinary, and failed, due to many different reasons.

But.

That doesn’t mean we should stop trying.

For every failure, for every mistake (Neil sneaking to do the play, Charlie’s pranks, etc.), Todd’s example stands above and beyond.  Yes, he might get into trouble.  But this moment, this act of telling a beloved teacher that his work was not in vain, that his students will remember him, that he was not to blame, feels right.  This is what he is supposed to do.

We cheer for that moment, we feel the weight of the movie lift just a smidge, because in the end, we have to seize the day.  We have to try to make our lives extraordinary, but we have to find the right way to do it, the wise way to do it.

Because, for all of the mistakes made, Keating is right: Words and ideas will change the world.  It is up to us how to use them, when to use daring, or caution, and in the end, try to find the meeting place between doing what is right, and doing what is true to yourself.

The ending is uncertain, yes.  But it’s the only satisfying ending that an honest movie could give us.

Dead Poets Society is an emotional story, bringing up questions about non-conformity and following the rules that go beyond a surface: ‘yes or no’.  A gripping story full of great performances, a warm atmosphere, and immortal dialogue, Dead Poets Society will continue to be a testament to words as long as we care to use them.

In the articles ahead, we’re going to be taking a look at some of the other important elements of Dead Poets Society, so if you enjoyed this one, stick around and join us!  Don’t forget to leave a comment, like, or some other form of love if you enjoyed it, and follow for more!  Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

[cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction]

a family's bond - chapter two

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878746/chapters/73715106#workskin)

words: 3717

summary:

"I hate it here," Peter whispered.

"I know," said Harley tiredly. They were curled up on the top bunk of their bunk bed together. They craved genuine physical affection after too many months of being touch-starved or physically hurt—there was no in-between—and being on the top bunk meant that they were harder to reach.

Dan was in his bedroom down the hall snoring off the alcohol. He'd gotten rejected for the promotion he'd been working towards for the past year and he'd drowned his sorrows in a bar somewhere before coming home to take out his frustration on them. He'd been too drunk and uncoordinated to cause any lasting harm—or harm that should have obviously still been there a day later—but the encounter had shaken them, Peter especially.

He'd come from a loving home, but in the matter of minutes both of his remaining family members had bled out in front of him and he'd been tossed in the system. He wasn't used to the harsh cruelties of the world—though he'd gotten a taste of it when he was four and eight, respectively—and it had left him reeling.

"I wish we could just... leave," Peter mumbled.

"Me, too."

"Ugh, disgustoso! I'm gonna puke," Harley gagged, recoiling away from the dumpster and making the lid fall with a clang. Peter chuckled to himself and sent an amused glance at his foster brother, glad that he was upwind from the dumpster. He could still smell it from clear across the alleyway—not only had his sense of smell become enhanced with the spider bite, but everything was smelling so fresh due to the snowfall earlier today—and he was glad that he didn't get the brunt of the smell like Harley.

"Stop laughing!" Harley hissed, shoving his tattered scarf against his nose. "Penso letteralmente che qualcosa sia morto lì dentro." Peter grimaced at the imagery. With their luck, something probably did die in there at some point.

"Tell me about it," he muttered as he nudged a suspicious-looking box. "I fell in there last night."

Harley winced. It had been Peter's turn to patrol last night and he had literally come home smelling like a dumpster; now he knew why. They'd ended up having to throw away his suit—a pair of old sweats and a stained hoodie—because the smell of garbage had also been paired with a six-inch gash along the side and a rip in the pantlegs. Until they completed the suits they were working on (hand-sewing was not a fast process and they were rather rubbish at it, so that lead to a lot of start-overs), Peter would have to share Harley's. It was that or use his old dancing clothes, and he was too attached to them to risk them being burnt, ripped, or blood-stained.

Harley wasn't too happy with that as that meant that they would have to clean his suit twice as often and risk Dan finding out, but it wasn't like Peter could just throw on a random pair of joggers. Their suits had to look the same because they had agreed that there would only be one Spider-Man, and they intended to keep it that way unless there was a big fight that required more than one person to show up. So far there hadn't been any big fights that they couldn't handle on their own (though Harley argued that Peter should have told him about Toomes), and it also meant that if one of them happened to get kidnapped, the other would (hopefully) be able to find them without getting the police involved.

Last night, Peter had ended up getting tossed in the dumpster during a fight and he had spotted some junk electronics that had been thrown up. He hadn't anticipated it snowing while they were at school so now they had to dig around to find the boxes he'd seen and he wasn't even sure if anything was salvageable. He hoped that since it hadn't rained and that everything was more or less frozen that nothing had gotten water damage.

While Harley rifled through some boxes next to the dumpster, muttering Italian swears under his breath that Peter had taught him, Peter toed at a box flap and nudged the box away when all it held were old newspapers. He wasn't sure where the boxes full of electronics he'd spotted last night were since he'd only gotten a glimpse and things had been tossed around during the fight.

Peter and Harley made some light conversation in Italian, though Peter had to correct some of Harley's pronunciations and fill in the blanks when Harley didn't know a word. While Harley was decent at the language, he wasn't fluent since he still struggled to translate sometimes and it wasn't automatic like Peter, and they hadn't taken much time recently to converse in it to make sure the language stuck, so Harley was a bit rusty. They mostly stuck to easy subjects like school; they had a History test in a week that they had neglected to study for—it's not that they were bad at history, it was just boring sometimes, and who had time to study when you could be catching bad guys?—and they talked some about their shared English project—they might be able to easily read complex algorithms or equations, but they still struggled with reading Shakespeare—and the conversation eventually tapered off as they tried to find the electronics so they could get back to the apartment.

It was freezing out, and ever since the spider bite, Peter and Harley had struggled to keep warm. Even through two pairs of gloves and multiple layers of clothing, Peter's teeth were beginning to chatter and his fingers were starting to get numb . From the corner of his eye, he spotted Harley shivering and he was just about to say that they should come back later—it was supposed to get warmer tomorrow—when Harley hauled up a box with a successful cry.

"L'ho trovato!" he crowed. "It was buried under a few other boxes."

Peter stumbled over and looked in the box Harley was holding effortlessly. It was full of what looked to be DVD players and radios and some other things, some of which looked like someone had taken a hammer to them. He reached in and pulled out a circuit board with some frayed wires attached to it.

"Could be useful," he muttered, dropping it back into the box. "Let's go, sto congelando!"

Harley shivered, no doubt agreeing with his statement.

They got back to the apartment in record time and swiftly changed out of their damp clothes, which they promptly shoved into the washer. They had only hung around the alley for a total of twenty-to-thirty minutes before leaving, but the stink of the garbage managed to saturate their clothing. Peter was pretty sure that their stuff stank so bad that even someone without enhanced senses could smell it. While Harley hopped in the bathroom for a quick shower, Peter got the washing machine running and began looking through the box of stuff they managed to procure.

As he'd seen earlier, there were a few old DVD players and some radios, but there were also some circuit boards and some random electronic parts like what looked to be a fan motor, as well as some remote-controlled cars, too. He sorted the items into different categories; parts, repair, useful, not useful, and trash. Some of the DVD players or radios could be fixed to sell for some extra cash, but some of them were too old or were too broken that could be taken apart for parts. The same could be said for the circuit boards and random electronic parts; some could be salvaged for future use while others were trash. The remote-control cars were staying, even the broken ones. The motors and controls could be used for webshooters or just be something to tinker with.

It didn't take long, only about ten minutes, until Peter heard the shower shut off. He pushed some of the stuff away so that Harley could have some space to manoeuvre and he grabbed his own shower things and clothes.

"I tried to be quick but hot water seems to be broken," Harley announced as he walked into the room, towelling his hair.

Peter mentally groaned, hoping that the water would at least be lukewarm. "I'll see if I can fix it after I shower, if not Dan's gonna be pissed," he sighed before pointing at a pile. "In the meantime, you strip those for parts and double-check the trash pile."

Harley looked at the assortment of items on the ground, taking in the various piles Peter had made. "Will do," he muttered, tossing his towel into the hamper.

By the time Peter finished showering and checking the water heater—one of the valves got stuck and the relief valve was loose—Harley was already a good two-thirds of the way through tearing apart the "parts" pile. The trash pile was gone, having been thrown in a grocery bag or two and tossed down the floor's trash chute, no doubt.

Peter finished drying his curly hair—it was long enough to cover his ears as he hadn't gotten it cut in a year, though Harley's wavy hair was longer, long enough to pull up into a small bun—and quietly joined Harley in pulling apart the rest of the DVD players and radios. Neither of them bothered to speak and Peter allowed his senses to fade out slightly, somewhat thankful that they were beginning to dull the longer either of them went without proper nutrition.

It was slightly worrying, the way that his senses were fading. They were still much better than a regular human's, but they definitely weren't up to par with how good they'd been when they had first gotten bit and had been somewhat healthy. Harley didn't know and Peter didn't intend to tell him because he didn't want his foster brother to worry. While he feared that his strength and agility and the other enhancements he'd gotten that made him Spider-Man would fade, too, he enjoyed the slight reprieve on his senses which had been dialled to eleven since the spider bite. (The slight blurring of his vision on bad days was a disappointment, though, he would probably need glasses soon, which meant that Harley would find out.)

The reprieve meant that he could easily ignore the cars down below or the neighbours talking, and he instead enjoyed the quiet atmosphere that was only unsettled by the sound of the DVD players or radios being taken apart and moved around. Eventually, they finished taking everything apart and moved onto completing their homework. While Peter knew that they should probably discuss their project for the Stark Industries Internship Competition—it was only a few days after they'd gotten their forms, but they only had a month to make a working prototype—he didn't want to ruin the peaceful silence and it didn't seem like Harley wanted to, either.

That calm feeling faded quickly.

The next week was full of Peter and Harley studying frantically for their history test, scrambling to finish their English essay, as well as studying for almost all of their subjects as they were all seemed to be finishing units at the same time. There was also patrolling and working on their internship project; they were staying up later and later, and instead of working together, they had to split up the project into different parts.

The only thing that stopped Peter from going crazy was the fact that Dan was on a two-week-long work trip, and he was willing to bet that Harley was feeling the same. They didn't have to worry about staying quiet in the evenings, they could take longer showers, and they also didn't have to commune to the old, no doubt freezing office building where their makeshift workshop was. Instead, they could work in the comfort of the living room and they could even stay after school to get the coding done without worrying about time. So long as they kept everything clean and made sure to put away their tools before Dan got back, then they were golden.

The second week into Dan's absence was much more successful than the first week, though no less stressful. Now that their tests were completed and their essays were turned in, they could focus completely on their project. The coding turned out to be more complex than either of them had been anticipating and Peter ended up having to order some chemicals online that he needed. He sent them to a P.O. box—because there was no way in hell was he risking Dan finding out that he was buying stuff—but couldn't afford the express shipping, which meant that he drove himself crazy coming up with various chemical formulas and ways to make the "fabric."

They ended up having to take multiple breaks via Spider-Manning and focused on the actual construction of their project to get rid of the stress. The tablet that would display the injuries was an easy fix as it just needed a new battery and screen, which were bought at a cheap parts store, and they managed to figure out how the pressure thing was actually going to work. Usually, someone just stretched the cloth while it was attached to a multimeter (amongst other things, but that was the simplest explanations), but they planned to have something that was worn and got stretched often. They also planned to monitor vitals, as well, which would be difficult if they were using a multimeter.

They did, however, use a multimeter on their first attempt. Peter basically attached a crap ton of wires to an old t-shirt and pressed on it to make sure it worked. (Spoiler alert; it did.)

By the time the first prototype was complete and some of the complex coding was done, Dan had returned and Peter had received his chemicals and had begun making the cloth in their makeshift workshop. The original idea was to make strands like his webbing and weave them together, but then he realized that the didn't have an industrial loom to weave the webbing, and so he decided to make something that was latex-like by pouring it like you would with resin. The first few test batches weren't particularly successful (one came out sticky, another was stringy like cheese, and the other turned rock solid instead of the stretchy rubbery substance Peter wanted) but he ended up with something he figured was decent enough. It wasn't his best work, and if he'd had access to SI's labs or even a loom it would've done better as a cloth, but he figured it was decent enough for a prototype.

Coding and programming everything and then testing it for bugs was as difficult as Peter and Harley expected. They had to more or less create numerous algorithms for injury identification, and they also had to find out what types of pressures and vital signs equalled what type of injury. They stuck with blunt force trauma as it was the easiest to test. It, unsurprisingly, took a lot of pressure or trauma to break a bone (while Dan had barely managed to fracture or bruise some ribs in his harshes blows, they'd been beaten on pretty badly in their starting out days as Spider-Man, even with their spider-sense to aid them (though Harley's spider-sense was less fine-tuned, for some reason)). As they would have had to do a lot of extra programming and research to know how much force broke a certain body type along with what vitals would look like at that part in time, Peter and Harley only had their pressure ensure catalogue injuries for a grown man's forearm.

By the time they managed to complete the project and make (and practise) a presentation, it was the day of the competition.

***

"Calmati," Harley muttered, nudging Peter's bouncing knee with his own. "We've gone over the presentation a dozen times since last night. Non preoccuparti."

Peter had stopped jiggling his knee at the nudge and instead began to fidget at his dress shirt cuff. Harley self-consciously smoothed down his own dress shirt. Both of them had been thrifted for pretty cheap but they hadn't fit properly, so they'd gotten the old lady down the hall to do it for them in return for them fixing her broken water heater. It was a common, if new, arrangement they had with the woman; if Peter and Harley helped her with whatever housework she needed to be done, she gave them some amateur sewing lessons in return. She'd also allowed them to use a plastic sewing machine she'd originally bought for her granddaughter, but hadn't allowed them to take it from the apartment, which meant that the old lady gave them some odd looks for making what looked like leotards.

Because Peter used to dance, he'd managed to convince the woman that they were making costumes, but that was only after he showed her a (rather sloppy) saut de chat. He used some ballet moves during Spider-Manning (mostly split leaps) but he hadn't been able to properly stretch or even dance in so long. Harley, after learning that he could dance, had managed to convince him to teach him a few moves, but they hadn't taken the time to do anything more in-depth since they were so busy with homework and Spider-Man.

Of course, even after the display, the old woman still looked like she didn't believe them for a single minute. But Peter was pretty confident she didn't know that they'd taken her lessons and had used them to make themselves super suits and to sitch up their own wounds if they ended up getting shanked. (Which happened more often than either of them cared to admit.)

Still, she'd been kind enough to tailor their shirts for them. They still didn't fit properly—they were too baggy around the middle and somewhat tight around their shoulders and chest—but they looked better on them than they originally had. They hadn't been able to buy any dress pants in their size that were cheap enough, so they currently wore their best pair of jeans. Both were black and Peter thought they matched pretty well. Well enough that they might even be mistaken as brothers, though that was wishful thinking.

Peter had always wanted a sibling when he was younger and Harley was the closest he had to one. However, they were only foster brothers and one misstep from either of them could get them separated, and the thought filled Peter with anxiety. He'd latched onto Harley as the first kind person he'd seen since his aunt and uncle died and he knew that Harley had latched on just as tight.

The doors opening caught Peter and Harley's attention and Peter looked up from his shirt sleeves to see who entered. The room they were in was packed full of people from the surrounding tech schools so it wasn't a surprise that he'd been unable to hear any approaching footsteps, and there was also the fact that he'd been so nervous that he hadn't been focusing on his senses too much.

Peter let out a surprised noise and stood respectfully as the CEO of Stark Industries, better known as Pepper Potts, entered. He hadn't known that the woman would show up and it made him tug on his clothes self-consciously. He noticed Harley doing the same.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Stark Industries," Ms Potts said, causing everyone to quiet immediately. Peter was a little awed at how swiftly she managed to get the room to quiet, though he supposed that was due to being the CEO of SI and an extremely powerful businesswoman in her own right. "As I'm sure you all know, you've been invited here as a part of the Stark Industries Internship Competition, where only a select few of you who meet our specialists' criteria will be chosen for an internship here at SI.

"If you've read the permission forms you were given, and I truly hope you have, then you will know that any future interns will be given the chance to refine their project under the watchful and helpful eyes of your superiors, who will advise you in the inner workings of a tech company."

Peter glanced around the room. A good half of the projects he could see appeared to be robots—albeit cool ones—but that didn't look like they properly represented what SI worked towards, which was medical equipment, prostheses, clean energy, and equipment for the country's top authorities; mainly the military, police, and fire departments. The other half appeared to have gone for some type of prostheses or drones, though they didn't look nearly as advanced as the recent prostheses SI had shown to the public. Still, for high school kids that went to the city's top tech schools, the prostheses were pretty advanced. The only real competition Peter saw was the kids who had gone for something challenging like they had, most looking to be medical related.

Peter glanced at his and Harley's project, which suddenly looked so small and mediocre compared to all of the big robots around them. While he knew that making robots wasn't too difficult (he'd made plenty when he'd lived with May and Ben, and he'd competed in robot-building competitions with Ned and Harley before the two of them had to quit robotics club), all they had to show was a piece of cloth and a second-hand tablet. He hoped that the programming they'd come up with and their idea was enough to earn them some points.

"If you would please turn your attention over to here," said Ms Potts, gaining his attention again. She gestured to a group of several men and women, most of whom were dressed in lab coats or office-wear. "These are our heads and specialists in our Research and Development departments. They will be in charge of grading your projects and proposals. As we only have a limited number of specialists compared to how many of you there are, please be aware that not everyone will be able to present right away."

Peter counted just under twenty men and women, and compared to the number of kids he'd counting, that meant that there was something like a three-to-one ratio here. The number seemed daunting. Only a few people would get selected for an internship out of around fifty to sixty students.

"I know it may get tedious to present more than once, but all interns at SI are well acquainted with this, so please be patient," Ms Potts continued explaining. "If you need to leave for any reason, please tell our head of security Mr Hogan. He will write down your name so we can get in contact about presenting at another time."

She gestured to a man who Peter had noticed earlier. He stood silently and stared them all down, brown eyes flickering over all of them with distaste and like he was assessing them. It made him nervous to have such calculating eyes on him, but Peter knew that they'd be dealing with plenty of eyes on him once they began presenting, so he tried his best to shake it off.

"Thank you all for coming here today."

And with that, Ms Potts checked something off on her StarkPad and left, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

[pinkykitten]

I was tagged by @writing-with-melon I hope my answers aren’t complete waste or if time and if so I’m sorry and I love you

Rules: Answer ten 10 questions, ask 10, and tag 10 people

1. What song automatically plays in your head when you look out the window on a long drive? 

i dont really have an answer for this. i think i just automatically think about any song ive been listening to recently or any song that has been stuck in my head. 

2.  Do you have some snacks nearby when you write?

well i live in a two story house so the kitchen is downstairs and im usually lazy busy so since i have a mini fridge upstairs i just usually get water to drink while im writing. its kinda hard to eat and write cuz i loose focus really easily so when i am writing i am writing! i am in the zone! but if i am a little hungry ill usually snack on candy like chocolate kinder joys i love them but they r so expensive or snack on chips but i get like salt on my fingers or i like cheetos so cheetos dust and that just gets everywhere and later my hands and keyboard kinda smell like fart. 3. What do you do to combat creative burnout?

so burnout happens to me a lot so to get inspiration i either read other stories or fanfics which gets my head gears turning or i admire a piece of art or photography or a song. whats so unique and satisfying with writing you can explore and go anywhere with it, hehehe erotic if you know what i mean lol jk there are no barriers with writing just your imagination. there is inspiration any where you go and id advise to never stop writing. even if its a few short sentences or paragraphs about anything even bird poop its still progression and your mind is working and your searching for words like its all good for you bby.  4. Do you use (or like to use) prompts? 

i do ill put the link here. im thinking of changing it though to do something different. 

5. What is your favorite place to write?

lol boring, i know but my room. my room is really bright in the mornings and comfortable and chill and i have a candle of the pandora ride in disney that smells like the ride so its all good and relaxing and super peaceful plus i have a picture of myself the age of like 9 on my desk idk why but it encourages me and makes me focus to make sure i never get that cringy again. 

6. What is a hobby or yous that you usually don’t talk about?

well i like working out HAHAHAHAHA jk that was a joke...get it...cuz i much rather be eatingokillstop. but i really like to draw which i have a art page you can see it if you click here pls look at my failed attempts to be hip and cool with the cool kids and being artsy fartsy. another hobby is i really like to do makeup and nail art, nail art is really tough guys no joke if you do it like you got wizard powers are something. maybe its bc my nails are shorter than pete davidson and ariana grande’s relationship, alright im trying to stop i swear!

7. Do you play an instrument? Which one?

no i wish though. i always wanted to learn to either play the piano or electric guitar cuz H.E.R looks so cool doing it. 

8. How do you feel about your handwriting?

it sucks dont even try me. my sister can barely read it like no wonder nobody wants to steal my signature heck they can’t even read it!

9. Can you tell us of a story that marked your development as a person? As a writer?

ok sit back guys, sniff a nice amount of crack and get ready for the most cringy moment of my life but also a time when i knew i was meant to be *inhale* a fanfic writer. 

so it was elementary school, i think 3rd grade and for my writing assignment we were given a prompt of idk what the heck tbh i think it was like be outside the box and im like ok imma nail this cuz im a weird child and yeah so i got my papers and pencil and i went TO TOWN on this paper. so i wrote two stories. one short story with a picture to go with it and one long story that yeah i buried years ago. so my first story was about a farmer was about that farming life. he had chickens and dairy. so i cant remember if the cheese was spoiled but doesnt matter. anywho these cheese and a chicken were alive like they could talk in the story and i gave them faces, yikes. but the whole story was the farmer was a b*tch and he was trying to eat the chicken and cheese so they hatched a plan to get away from the farmer. they did it successfully and they ran away. yay happy ending my teacher actually liked that one me too and my school mates were thinking what they heck is this girl on i made a story about how me and justin bieber made cookies for Christmas you know. so then my other story i was more proud of this one cuz it was a tone of paper, sorry trees, and this story was about how a female hippo (girl i was all about plus size and thicker girls and no body shaming) and an male ostrich were kidnapped from their own habitats and taken to become circus animals. failed version of Madagascar hey mine was before the circus movie OK THEY STOLE IT FROM MEEEEE. so they get taken and are treated to harsh punishment and the animals can talk and i think its in the point of view of the male ostrich guy thing. they are in the circus and they start to have this relationship happening. love starts blossoming its all good. im happy with this cuz i believed in love at age of 8. they find a way thru a kick butt scene of the animals escaping and the hippo and ostrich are so in love that they run away together and they have half hippo half ostrich babies and i think i named the species  hipstrich or like ostppo idk but i was so proud of this story and when my teacher read it she was worried about me lol i think she thought i might like mate these two animals like secretly idk but she was like it was ok and i was like what this is frickin William Shakespeare writing or like F. Scott Fitzgerald writing. nevertheless it taught me a lesson that nobody else needs to like what im writing the main point and only thing that matters is if your proud of it and you like it and i really did. i will remember that story forever and thats what made me want to be a writer. lol sorry that was a lot. 

10. @emdop I’m going to use this great question: Explain one of your WIPs in the most ridiculous way possible. 

wellllll im working on my peaky blinders oc story its a lot of drugs money killing weapons jewelry rich profanities like its the show but written from my stubby hands so my oc and whatever its great and so excited to show it to you guys. 

MY QUESTIONS:

1. WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO START TUMBLR?

2. IF YOU COULD CHANGE ANYTHING OF THIS WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

3. WHAT QUALITY IS IMPORTANT TO YOU?

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE OUTFIT?

5. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE?

6. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SONG IN THE WHOLE WORLD?

7. IF YOU COULD VISIT A PLACE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?

8. WHAT SHOW OR MOVIE UNIVERSE WOULD YOU WANT TO BE IN?

9. WHAT IS THE SCARIEST MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE?

10. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE IN THIS WORLD THAN ANYTHING ELSE?

im tagging: @thatlittlered, @ardentmuse, @acciosnapes, @lotsoffandomimagines, @collecting-stories, @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms, @naughtyneganjdm, @lenahellgizibe and two random followers @spiritsent, @sucker-for-my-fandoms

i was tagged by @writing-with-melon again ty btw, ps i felt so much pressure lol jk 😊

Rules: Answer 5 questions, Ask 5 questions, Tag 5 people.

1. What is your favorite book?

fifty shades of grey hahaha naw my favorite book is obv you all know this is series of unfortunate events but i never usually cry period and i never cry for books ever so when i read mrs. tom thumb by melanie benjamin, its the part when her sister minnie dies i cried so hard idk it was just emotional the wording the way she described her pain it was so beautiful written yet so sad and that was just amazing to me cuz im like this book made me feel things and im like wow i would love to write a book one day and make someone feel something whether it be sadness anger happiness annoyance anything they are having an emotion and that is super powerful to do that with just words. pls go check out that book its a good read. also im a fan of the greatest showman so i really enjoyed it. there are many other books tho that i thoroughly enjoy so much. 

2. What piece that you’ve written are you most proud of?

oh my god ive always wanted to be asked this question hands down i am always proud of my platonic gender neutral tony stark fic called in·con·sol·a·ble window to me i wrote it so sad and i was feeling like depressed lol when i saw peter die in infinity war like i didnt know what to do with my life tbh but im so glad that @impetrichorny requested it tysm i just like how its not based on romance or fluff or happiness it is based on when you lose someone the nightmares and sadness you go through and that there is nothing nobody can do about it except just be there for that person so i really like writing angst and something that was out of the box. ive been thinking tho of doing a part two since the fate of all the characters has changed after endgame. who knows tho. 

3. What is the last song that inspired you? 

well for art it would have to good news by mac miller when i did that kobe bryant memorial on my art page. i dont want to give it away though but ill just say some very powerful womens music inspired my oc writing and making. 

4. How do you feel about letting people read what you write?

at first i was scared cuz i thought i wrote like trash which that feeling kinda doesnt go away like some days i feel that way others i feel confident or it depends on the request it just depends but anyways i was always insecure about my writing so when i started writing it was more like lets see how this goes if not ill delete the whole page. im glad to say it went great but in the begging it was hard cuz i kept putting myself down but i learned to accept or just understand that you keep learning with writing you always learn knew things with writing how you can explain something better or you words get more intricate and people see the improvement and you do too thats why i applaud those who dont speak english that english isnt their first language. you are doing a tremendous job and keep practicing cuz you’re gonna make it to the top. ive also learned that some days are not my days and you can take time off when youre not feeling it when you have writers block. just recollect your juices sip some tea go to the beach relax your mind a little and take as long as you need to come back and give it your all. also comments and reblogs and likes a follows those meant so much to me and encouraged me. thats why i cant express it enough how much all those mean to writers, artist, photographers, anybody who is truly trying their hard in this area of social media. its makes a person happy smile and confident in their writing but first train your mind into loving what you make not what others thing. you have to be happy with the outcome that is what truly matters and what makes your writing the best. look at me getting philosophical. 

5. Do you get distracted easily? If yes with what?

yes and with porn haha i get distracted easily like very easily homeschooling was really tough for me. music distracts me, netflix, the urge to watch david dobrik or unus annus or buzzfeed unsolved on youtube, heck my farts distract me. i gotta be like troy bolton i gotta get my HEAD IN THE GAME!

MY QUESTIONS:

1. IF YOU COULD BE NAMED SOMETHING ELSE, WHAT WOULD YOU BE NAMED?

2. WHAT PERSON INSPIRES YOU THE MOST?

3. IF YOU KNEW THE WORLD WAS ENDING TOMORROW WHAT WOULD YOU DO TODAY?

4. WHAT DO YOU OFTEN THINK ABOUT IN THE SHOWER?

5. WHATS YOUR WEIRD COMBINATION FOOD?

im tagging: @thatlittlered​, @ardentmuse​, @acciosnapes​, @lotsoffandomimagines​, @collecting-stories​ AND WHOEVER WANTS TO DO THIS IF YOU FOLLOW ME OR LIKE MY STORIES TAG ME ILL READ YOUR ANSWERS. HOPE I DID THIS RIGHT SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING MWUAH 

[missmeikakuna]

So, Apparently, I Find Fairies Hot Chapter 2

Rated: T

Fandom: Original Fiction

Relationship type: Male/Male

Description: You know those movies and TV shows in which an effeminate gay character has a crush on the popular jock? Strike that, reverse it.

Daniel is technically popular at school but fades into the crowd. After an injury at footy (Australian football) practice, he is forced to focus on improving his grades, starting with English. Luckily, the new kid in school knows a lot about Shakespeare and is willing to tutor him. Now if only this new guy wasn't so attractive.

CONTENT WARNING: Homophobic slurs are used. Also, there are some sexual references but nothing too graphic.

Chapter 2: Is it gay to read a play?

Daniel sniffled, rubbing his nose. As he walked home he scowled at every flower he passed. He was walking alone, looking at his phone several times a minute in case Eddie cancelled. 

He gasped a little when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a grinning Eddie with his hand on his shoulder, moving forward from the momentum of running.

‘I may as well walk with you,’ he explained with heaving breaths. ‘That way I can get to your place straight away and we can study a bit earlier.’ He took a closer look at Daniel. ‘Why do you look so grumpy?’

Daniel sighed. ‘Spring. Fucking hay fever.’

‘That’s a shame. I love Spring. It’s like all the plants are rising from the dead. That and Halloween’s in Spring.’ Daniel chuckled. ‘What?’

‘Rising from the dead? The only thing that’s rising is my impatience for all this pollen.’ A sneeze.

Eddie turned to his side but continued walking the same direction. ‘Are you taking any medicine for it?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just being whiny.’

‘You really should take care of yourself. If you don’t, you’ll end up in the doctor’s office or worse, you’ll be miserable all season.’ Eddie leaned in even closer, not noticing how Daniel’s body tensed up. ‘So, what do you do besides footy… and sucking at Shakespeare?’ Daniel glared at Eddie. ‘What? Okay, to be fair I’ve always sucked at sports. Or does surviving a mosh pit without being squished or trampled to death count as a sport?’

‘I, uh… don’t do much outside of that and watching TV. I need more hobbies. Speaking of which, what did you have on last night?’

‘Corpse Windmill was on and it was their last performance before they head back to the Netherlands. They’re this really obscure comedic technical death metal band. They debuted in 2004 as a reaction to postmodern notions of-’

‘I think I get the point.’ Eddie pouted and Daniel’s heart twisted. ‘Uh, well, actually, instead of telling me about the band you can tell me about that technical metal stuff.’

Daniel halted as if a record had just been scratched. ‘You listen to metal?’

Eddie pointed at his face and laughed. ‘Why are you so surprised? It’s obvious by the name I gave myself. Eddie’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, and Ironpoe’s a combo of Iron Maiden and Edgar Allen Poe, who’s the best gothic writer; you cannot change my mind.’

Daniel frowned at his hands. Into his pockets they went. ‘I don’t know much about metal.’

‘What do you listen to?’

‘Pop and Rap mostly.’

‘Well, there is rap metal but it doesn’t have the best reputation. I’ll try and find a really good artist and show it to you.’

‘Thanks. I just thought you’d listen to, I dunno, songs you’d play in a gay bar.’

‘What songs do they play at a gay bar? I’ve never been to one.’

Daniel looked at the ground. He sneezed. ‘Oh. I haven’t either, obviously, but I imagine they’d be the songs that go ‘doof doof doof doof’ or ‘ins ins ins ins’. I dunno.’

Eddie laughed so hard that tears began seeping out if his eyes. ‘Say that again.’

Daniel bit his tongue.

Eddie scoffed. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘Sorry.’

The two took the rest of the trip in silence.

Eddie took a good look at Daniels home, which was a two-story grey concrete monstrosity with big glass windows and a sizeable garage. The garden was covered with ferns, a palm tree casting a shadow over the sand-coloured cobbled driveway.

When they stepped through the front door, the duo saw Daniel’s mother standing by the kitchen counter, a phone up to her ear and a scowl on her face.

‘Why hasn’t he fired her yet? Honestly, if I have to work with her one more time…’ Eddie waved at her. Daniel’s mother failed to notice him. 

Daniel grabbed Eddie by the arm and dragged him to his room before he could do something to grab her attention. 

Eddie struggled not to turn up his nose when he saw how messy Daniel’s room was. Underneath the unmade bed was a pile of dirty dishes that had been shoved there. Posters of half-naked women were placed across the walls without a thought to making their heights match. However, one part was as clean as Mother Theresa’s criminal record. The desk seemed to have never been touched.

The two boys pulled their copy of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ out of their bags and sat on the bed. 

‘Okay, first I need to properly assess the damage,’ Eddie said. ‘Could you read the bit we read yesterday again? Actually, read it from here.’ He pointed to the start of the first miniature monologue by Robin.

Daniel took a deep breath. ‘The… king… doth…keep…his-’

‘You can stop now.’

‘I didn’t even finish the first senten-’

‘I’ve heard what I need. I think you’re reading it word by word, even though in real life the words in a sentence should flow together. Try reading the whole sentence before speaking.’

‘What if I get a word wrong?’

‘You keep going. In the theatre, you can’t just stop or slow down if you don’t know what to do. You’ve got to improvise. With Shakespeare, it’s tougher since everybody already knows the lines but the show must go on.’

Daniel did as he was told and smiled when he finished a monologue. When he saw that Eddie’s expression didn’t match his, he frowned.

‘You don’t need to put on a posh voice. Shakespeare’s plays were performed in front of commoners, so everyday people were able to enjoy it.’

Daniel gulped before repeating the monologue. ‘Now what the hell did I just say?’ he asked.

‘Okay, so you’re a fairy jester talking to another fairy. According to you, the king of the fairies is having a party and he’s mad at his wife because she kidnapped a child and now pays lots of attention to the child, making the king jealous. Now read it again with that in mind.’

Daniel nodded. After he finished the monologue, Eddie clapped. Daniel grinned. ‘Now let’s talk about themes,’ Eddie declared.

He taught Daniel the same things Dr Daylings said but rephrased them to be more relatable. Daniel nodded in understanding the whole time.

Eddie looked at the time on his phone. ‘Oh my god, sorry for lecturing you for so long. Let’s take a break and just hang out or something.’ Daniel lied down on his back and sighed in relief. ‘Was I that annoying?’

‘No, you were really good. Where did you learn so much about Shakespeare?’

‘I’ve watched his plays live a lot.’

‘Makes sense. So, um, I have a question. Don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘Well, now I’m worried. What is it?’

Daniel bit his tongue for a moment before continuing. ‘Why do you act so… stereotypical? Like, you almost look like a chick. I mean, you’re clearly not because chicks are hot and… I mean, not that you’re not hot, but… I didn’t mean that that way!’

Eddie spat with laughter. ‘Jesus, you’re blushing!’ He breathed slowly to calm his laughter. ‘I’m just being myself.’

‘But how can you be so open to people you’ve just met?’

Eddie was silent for a few moments as he pondered the question. ‘Well, some gay people can’t really hide it. It’s too obvious. So why should I bother? I know some gay guys just act like regular guys, but I’m just not that. I was always kind of girly. When I officially came out to my parents, they had this bored look on their faces. It kind of pissed me off, not gonna lie. I mean, thanks, Mum and Dad! What, was all this fear for nothing?’

‘When did you know you were gay?’

Eddie chuckled. ‘Oh god. I think it was the cashier at the café my parents took me to every week that made me realise it. He was so cute. Of course, nothing was going to happen between us because he was around fifteen and I was seven, plus I’m pretty sure he was straight.’

Daniel put his hands in his pockets, still lying down. ‘Do… all gay guys know they’re gay that early?’

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t…’ He frowned for a second before smiling again.  ‘I don’t know any other gay guys outside of the ones I see on Drag Race. Oh, I did meet a bi guy once at an Iron Maiden concert. He didn’t look super stereotypical, but when we were waiting for the show to start I saw he had a pink, purple and blue pride bracelet.’

‘Bi?’

‘You know, bisexual. Bisexuals are… wait, you probably already know that. Phew, I guess I can stop a lecture before it starts.’

Daniel was silent as the image of his old friend spiralled into his mind like a tornado before spinning away, leaving a destroyed mood in its wake.

‘Let’s get back to studying,’ he grumbled.

The next day had English class. After asking the class who wanted to read a part, Dr Dayling’s eyebrows jumped up when he saw Daniel’s hand up.

Daniel read a monologue, constantly looking at Eddie for approval. Eddie gave him the thumbs up and a smile.

Dr Dayling nodded. ‘Well done, Daniel. I have no idea what fairy used their magic on you, but you should thank them.’

During lunch, Daniel invited Eddie to sit on the couch with Daniel’s other friends. James glared at Daniel, but he didn’t notice.

‘Shit, we’ve got PE after lunch, don’t we?’ Eddie asked. James nodded. ‘How do I get fitter?’

Daniel smiled. ‘Well, my gym has a free trial for new members.’

James snickered. ‘What, so he can stare at all the guys in the shower?’

Daniel wanted to respond to that, but he kept his mouth shut. Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously? Jock guys aren’t my thing anyway.’

A quick, sharp pain pricked Daniel’s heart.

Just as quick was a girl’s response. ‘You watch too many American movies. We don’t have ‘jocks’ here.’

Eddie ignored her and continued ranting about homophobia, making everyone near him groan except for Daniel, who could no longer pay attention to anything Eddie said.

[anthonybrxdgerton]

Shadow of Night reread

A few days ago I re-read Shadow of Night by Deborah Harkness. It took me very little time to do it (which was surprising, considering the fact that i re-read the first book for almost 2 months). I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, things i hope to see in season 2 of A Discovery of Witches, some stuff referencing the next & previous books and what not.

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 1590 & 1591 (matthew & diana scenes) and 2009 & 2010 (present day scenes) in the span of 7 months

diana's hair change colors when she timewalked into 1590 - they're long, red and curly, and they change - not exactly back - when they return to the present - they're straight, silky strands that were brighter redish gold - just like my mother's hair. it does't say anything about the length though (probably in the next book);

2 of my favorite quotes describing Matthew in this book: The man was as tall as a giraffe. | Bloodred stockings would do more than capture a wandering eye, given that the man who proposed to wear them was a six-foot-three vampire, and most of his height was leg..

“Surely you’ll let me kill him now, de Clermont. I’ve wanted to do so for ages,” Hancock said, cracking his knuckles”. “No. You can’t kill him.” Matthew rubbed a hand over his tired face. “There would be too many questions, and I don’t have the patience to come up with convincing answers at present. - Hancock never liked Kit, I also love Matthew's reasoning lol 

- AT THE SIGHT OF PHILIPPE'S LETTER MATTHEW CRIED VAMPIRE TEARS ESPECIALLY THAT THE LAST TIME MATTHEW SAW PHILIPPE HE COULD BARELY HOLD A PEN IN HIS HANDS AND PHILIPPE LOVED WRITING I AM NOT OKAY 

“Then who . . . ?” I trailed off. “Ysabeau? Baldwin? Surely not Marcus!” I couldn’t believe that Matthew’s mother, his brother, or his son could be involved [in the Congregation] without someone letting it slip. - oh, diana... Question: did Deb knew it was Baldwin when she was writing it? In A Discovery of Witches Matthew acted like he didn't know who was on the Congregation "And Marcus? Find out who besides Peter Knox and Domenico Michele are members of the Congregation."

- Until I have made peace with the past, I will not set foot in France. - we know Gallowglass showed up in Sept-Tours in 1945 when Philippe was dying. Did he go there before too? 

“Explain yourself.” The words were quiet, but they didn't conceal Philippe's fury. - he is nor just mad because Matthew has a wife now. He is furious because he can sense that BOTH Diana and Matthew are from the future - this is what Philippe wants Matthew to explain.

Also, interestingly, reading A Discovery of Witches I've noticed that Baldwin called Philippe "dad" while Matthew calls him "father". Coincidence? But then in the Book of Life Baldwin calls Philippe “father” so... Idk anymore. That being said, verin calls him “Atta”;

“The twelfth century was not good for you, and we allowed you to read entirely too much poetry." - I need to know more now! What exactly did Matthew read in 12th century?

"It is regrettable that you are not going to Florence, then. But it will be a long time before you will be welcomed back to that city, after your latest escapades there." - Matthew, what the heck did you do there? Please tell me you were NOT behind the siege of Florence, i beg you... But then again, Ysabeau did say that Matthew caused wars in Italy when he was bored...

Tamen mea lingua graeca est peior.” “Then we shall not converse in that language either,” murmured Philippe in a pained tone. - HE JUST WANTS TO SPEAK IN GREEK, THAT'S HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE, WHY DOES NOBODY BUT YSABEAU SPEAK IT. BUT that explains why he made sure greeg was still taught in schools later - he wasn’t only looking for Diana, he wanted people to speak his native language too

“Philippe doesn’t seem to think so.” “Then bed him. - lol, if only

"He is my son. I will not fail him.” Philippe’s mouth tightened." PHILIPPE I LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS

“For someone wedded to a witch you are quick to judge the passions of others, Matthaios. Louis is your brother.” Goddess bless us, another brother. - Diana is not happy having huge family lol

I had been wrong. Philippe had not been trying to break Matthew, but only his guilt. Philippe had not failed his son after all. - MY FEELS

“I forgive you,” his father repeated, throwing his arms around his son in a fierce embrace. “I forgive you.” - IT KILLS ME EVERY TIME, THEY BETTER KEEP THIS IN THE SHOW

i love how Philippe just makes Diana his blood daughter without a second thought lol

“Think—and stay alive.” Philippe clapped his hands. - one of my favorite quotes 

Alcides Leontothymos beseeches you to hold this child Diana in your hand. - i am right to  think Philippe is in fact Heracles, right?

Philippe trying his hand at engineering and failing every time will always make me laugh. You may be thousands years old vampire, but some things you will never learn 

Philippe, Diana and Matthew's goodbye always kills me SEASON 2 BETTER DO IT JUSTICE

“Anomalies,” Ysabeau murmured. “Philippe was always looking for anomalies in the world. It is why I still read all the newspapers. It became our habit to look through them each morning.” - Phiippe knew he would not be alive by the time Matthew and Diana were together, but he was always hoping he could see her again. he hoped that Diana would be at least born while he was still alive and he always knew that when Diana and Matthew came back to their times, there would be anomalies throughout history. That's why he told Gallowglass and Verin to search for them too, to keep Diana safe.;

“That’s what Philippe says about Granny,” Gallowglass muttered under his breath. “Just before all hell breaks loose.” Give me more Ysabeau and Philippe you cowards; 

“Matthew knows the book, for his brother gave it to me.- So Mary Sydney knows Godfrey too. Does she know the rest of his siblings?;

[Marcus] made a muffled oath. “Tell your intuition to take a break, for God’s sake.” I need to see Marcus and Ysabeau interacting in season 2, their banter will be amazing

Every time I read Marcus seeing miniatures for the first time and missing Matthew so much kills me too - the show did them dirty, i need more of them together too; 

I forgot how much I ship Marcus & Phoebe;

I wish we could see the requests for magic Diana has received in season 2 and her not being able to do anything about that, i need this conflict SO MUCH. Does she help? What is she doesn’t and her neighbors will out her as a witch? This could be SO GOOD please show, deliver;

Diana’s symbol is rowan tree;

“Baldwin’s never lost a million of anything in his life.” - just throwing this out there because I love Baldwin with all my heart; 

917 is the Knight's of Lazarus telephone number. it belonged to Philippe, then to Matthew and now to Marcus. Philippe chose it to honor Ysabeu's birthday (September 17th). What i wanna know - is it her birthday or re-birth. ALTHOUGH it should be 179 - In Europe (and Philippe was Greek after all) we, unlike Americans, write the day first and the month later;

When Gallowglass learned that Baldwin had been called to Sept-Tours at Ysabeau’s behest for some unspecified emergency involving Matthew, the Gael knew it was only a matter of time before the historical anomalies appeared. i think it was when Diana was kidnapped by Satu, right? Just want to be sure;

Gallowglass is smoking, i completely forgot about it;

Rudolph is flirting with Diana so much (ughhhh) because his source in Congregation told him that Matthew only married her to save her life a.k.a. charges of witchcraft;

Matthew helping Jack with his nightmares is the sweetest thing he's done so far;

One of Philippe's names is Ariel, what are the others?;

 Abraham (Jewish weaver in Prague) comes from Chełm. Is this why Benjamin moved there?;

I need to KNOW the story about Baldwin and Dracula, Deb. Come on.;

“He did. I swear it. Baldwin ordered him to leave or face the same fate as the Impaler. You should have seen Baldwin’s face. The devil himself wouldn’t have disobeyed your brother.” i want to see it too lol;

apparently, Gerbert told Ysabeau about the prophecy about a witch with the blood of the lion and the wolf. I wonder if this was one more reason she was anti-Diana at the beginning or did she dismiss it as something not important;

And speaking of colleagues: How, after years of buying you Harvard bibs and mittens, did I end up with a daughter who teaches at Yale?” good question lol I WANNA KNOW TOO;

Bennu, Stephen's familiar, is a bird.;

#saveEm2k19;

Matthew nearly had a heart attack when he discovered that his beloved Range Rover was not waiting for him in the underground garage. Instead we found a navy sports car with a soft top. hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha it always cracks me up; 

Edward Kelley sent the first page to Rabbi Loew, the second to Hubbard. Who gt the third and who sent it to Diana’s parents?; 

Annie stayed with Shakespeare after Matthew and Diana left and Jack was with Hubbard.;

Also, Matthew made Diana a diplomatic passport for easier traveling;

Overall, I loved this book. There were some boring moment that didn’t move the plot forward at all (like most of Prague, especially the hunting or the play, making the philosopher’s stone with Mary Sydney) that I hope the show will cut it out completely or shorten it. Hopefully, they give us at least 2 episodes of Philippe at Sept-Tours - now that they got 10 episodes, they have a chance to do it properly. I also love the magic lessons from Goody Alsop and other witches, though I suspect, season 2 will only give us 1 witch (but I hope we will see Sophie’s ancestor too. My favorite characters are Philippe, Pierre and Jack and I hope we will get plenty of them (please include Pierre, show!)

[idthellyeah-blog]

A totally timely and significant review of Rancid’s “...And Out Come The Wolves”

(I honestly don’t remember when I wrote this, maybe 2015. Definitely just got jacked up on something and decided that I needed to write a track by track review of an album I loved when I was a cool punk teen. It has just been sitting in my Google Drive patiently waiting to be posted.)

 I remember the first time I ever heard/saw Rancid was when the video for “Salvation” off of their second album “Let’s Go” premiered on MTV. Such an 80’s/90’s kid thing to do, discovering a new band by seeing a music video on TV, ugh. I thought the leather clad mohawked bad boys were amazing and perfect and so cool...that I immediately tried to spike my hair using gelatin (tru punx only) and got a leather jacket (did not look that cool and was very sweaty).  When “...And Out Come The Wolves” came out the next year (1995, I’m old AF) I was totally enamored and had found my #1 favorite album of all time (that lasted for like a year until music got better).  I was supposed to go see Rancid at a big show in Omaha, I lived in a small town called Columbus that was roughly 90 minutes away from the big city...but the day of my mom didn’t let me go because I had bad math grades.  I reacted the way any entitled white teen did, by laying in the garage and crying and playing their album.  That show wound up being a huge to-do when fans tore up seats in the venue and threw cushions at the band leading to Rancid not playing Omaha for a long time.  I missed out on some cool bad-ass punk rock shit, first world problems. Fast forward to today when I decided that I, Ian Douglas Terry, needed to write out a song-by-song review of this quintessential punk album.  I’m a real music nut, and obviously very good at structured writing...so here we go!  (Rock on)

1. Maxwell Murder - Oh boy, this one starts with like a subway train sound and then the beginning of a killer/complicated Matt Freeman bass line.  That dude SHREDS the bass, and even has a wild solo in this song.  That’s tight.  Why did they stop letting him sing?  He sounded like a fun Muppet on their first album and I loved his songs.  Maybe he wanted to focus on just shredding the bass and using tons of pomade.

2. The 11th Hour - This song is great.  It is poppy and upbeat and about a woman having dreams and demanding answers.  Hell yeah.  I love good punk music that supports women and feminism and figuring out where the power lies (spoiler alert, it starts and ends with you).  Remember how Brody from The Distillers left Tim Armstrong for the dude from Queens of the Stone Age? And then he got all fat and got a beard?  I can completely relate to that, and have been there sans beard.

3. Roots Radicals - This song RULES.  I had to look up what “Moonstompers” were and who “Desmond Dekker” was.  I remember trying to relate to this like it could somehow compare to living in a town with 20,000 people and the nicest Wal-Mart in the tri-county area.  Remember how there was that Spanish language cover of this on one of those “Give Em The Boot” comps that Hellcat put out? That was real tight.

4. Time Bomb - Hit single baby!  This had a huge hand in getting punk kids into reggae/ska for sure.  Killer organ solo, lots of rude boy shit going, I loved it so much.  Tim Armstrong totally re-used lyrics from the song “Motorcycle Ride” from the previous album...which is hilarious.  Like c’mon dawg...you should know your own lyrics.  I learned how to do the solo from this and felt like a guitar god (it is a very easy solo, like almost too easy).

5. Olympia, WA - I love songs like this that are about cities that the band isn’t from...so you have to fire up your imagination (or just read the lyrics) and be like, “What went down in Olympia, Washington????”.  Turns out it was mostly hanging out on different streets in New York and playing pinball with Puerto Ricans while wishing you were with a person who you were sleeping with in Washington.  Hell yeah, just like Shakespeare.

6. Lock, Step & Gone - Songs about docks were HUGE in my youth.  Dropkick Murphy’s had like eight songs about boys on them, and this Rancid song alludes to them.  I loved all of the blue collar, working class ideology that had nothing to remotely do with my comfortable upper middle class (not sure if that’s accurate because my parents were teachers, and like is there even a middle class any more?) life. This song definitely sums itself up at then end when it says “There’s a whole lot of nothin”.

7. Junky Man - Another theme that I could definitely relate to in a town of 20,000 people with like ten people who did meth...Junkies!  This song is pretty great because the dude from the Basketball Diaries does some sick poetry in it...that movie was nuts.  I like that song that he later wrote/sang about all the people he knew who died. The only way poetry can be cool is if the person is an insane drug addict with cool/sad stories to tell. Otherwise it is just loud diary reading.

8. Listed MIA - At this point I wholeheartedly agree with this song, “I’m checking out”.  I don’t know if I ever really liked this song or if this was just part of the “I accidentally left it playing after the first four songs that I liked were over”.  Lars says the derogatory f-word for homosexuals in it, because people called him that word...that doesn’t seem cool man.  I get that it rhymes with “maggots”, but maybe give white dudes in the Midwest less reasons to sing that word out loud.

9. Ruby Soho - This is one of the best songs ever, hands down.  It is beautiful and you can barely understand what Tim Armstrong is saying but it is wonderful.  I feel like deciphering his lyrics led me to be able to understand most speech impediments, so hell yeah.  This song is about loving someone a lot but having to leave them because it isn’t working out. This song was the blueprint for every romantic relationship I’ve ever had in my entire life so it might be a gypsy curse.

10. Daly City Train - Oh hell yeah, fun Reggae drums!  Through punk and ska I grew to appreciate Reggae, but through being bummed out about that culture’s deep seated homophobia and the fact that most of it is super repetitive and boring and for dad’s on vacation.  I’m just glad that 311 taught me to love those smooth Caribbean sounds again (oh god am I joking or am I serious, I can’t tell any more please save me).

11. Journey to the End of the Easy Bay - I can still play this bass line and was very proud of myself the first time I half-way pulled it off.  It doesn’t sound as smooth and nuanced as the way Matt Freeman plays it, but goddamn it I think that was the height of my skill as a musician.  This song rules themes about needing to belong and finding a place with people who thought and felt the same as you...and then losing it as everyone grows out of it.  This was most of my early 20’s. I grew up in a scene with similarly minded people, it eventually ended and I still have contact with some of those people but that point in my life will never be replicated. I finally belonged somewhere and was part of something bigger than me.  Now I do comedy and it is bleak, entitled, and sad and mostly alcoholics talking about their dicks.  Please take me back.

12. She’s Automatic - This is not a bad song but a very confusing way to describe a woman.  I get that it means she is effortless in “the way that she moves” but maybe I’m not giving Lars any poetic license because he looks like a guy who punched books. This woman sounds great though, and I’m sure they dated for three months.  Revisiting this and that era reminds me that I almost had sex with a girl at the first X-men movie...man, being punk ruled.

13. Old Friend - Back to the Raggae!  This song is pretty great, but they really missed an opportunity of selling this to a heartburn medicine company.  “Good morning heartache, you’re like an old friend come and see me again”...that would be perfect for a commercial of a guy eating a giant plate of lasagna and making a “Oh boy, I did it again!” face.  The Transplants sold a song to that fruit shampoo, maybe this is something I can retroactively help negotiate.

14. Disorder and Disarray -  I love when punk bands have songs about “business men” being evil and the industry being bad.  Like when Against Me were part of an Anarchist collective and then on a major label putting out really bad music.  Rancid was at least on Epitaph, which while arguably not “cool” it was at least run by a kind of punk dude who is responsible for the biggest/shittiest corporate garbage of a festival, The Warped Tour.  This song has a part towards the end where they talk to each other like David Lee Roth would do in Van Halen songs, that rules.

15. The Wars End - I get that this is a song about little Sammy being a punk rocker but at this point I think they should have admitted this album was fine with 10-12 songs and maybe some of these were super repetitive and unnecessary.  It's like you’re forcing it. I can’t imagine the dude who recorded it had a lot of fun and he probably fell asleep and was startled awake and had to pretend like he’d been paying attention the whole time.

16. You Don’t Care Nothin - This starts out with the exact chord progression from Journey To The End Of The East Bay….c’mon guys. You Don’t Care Nothin about being succinct and making your songs individual expressions of art! The themes even seem like something they’ve already gone over.  I’m going to eat some soup, brb.

17. As Wicked - Is this a different song or a weird breakdown?  Oh, it’s a different song.  Well...this soup is pretty good.  Chicken Noodle, but the chunky kind.  It isn’t amazing but it is good. I should really cook more.  Maybe I’ll order Chinese later.

18. Avenues & Alleyways - I don’t really have a problem with this song because it has the “Oi oi oi” chant that the bands I was in during High School would do and we had no idea why other than popular bands doing it.  It is very catchy.  It sounds like the other two songs were just building up to finally getting your attention back. Plus it has a breakdown with people clapping, that is always fun.  This has to be the last song right? It is the perfect last song on an album!

19. The Way I Feel -  FUUUUUUUCK!  What? Really should have ended the album on that last song, it had a good “anthem” vibe and at least wrapped this up into a somewhat sensible endeavor.  This song could have been stuck in the middle somewhere, or maybe just not recorded with about seven others?  The Way I Feel about this album is that there are some parts that hold up and are still fun to listen to, but the rest of it just seems like I’m being forced to read my own teenage diary and it is boring and sad. Nostalgia is a bummer, I can’t imagine having Rancid still be my favorite band.  I’d probably still wear a chain wallet and spiky bracelet and be one of those obnoxious old drunk weirdos I see at shows that stick out like crazy sore thumbs. Bummer dude.

    Oh wow, what a journey (to the end of the east bay, am I right?)...I’m glad I was finally able to get this review out so people could finally know what this album means to me and my generation of lazy weirdos. This took me six months to write and I should be congratulated for being a journalist with tons of integrity and great taste.  True punks never die, they just eventually chill out and shop at Kohl’s.

[mozgoderina]

Education: Our Most Overrated Product (Psychology Today)

It’s almost embarrassing to make these recommendations. Although I have a Ph.D. specializing in evaluation of education from Berkeley and subsequently taught in its graduate school, the changes to education I’ll suggest are just common sense.

Replace mixed-ability classes with ability-grouped classes

In most elementary and even in some high schools, we now place kids in classes at random. That makes it much more difficult for teachers to meet students’ needs than if the classes were grouped by ability and/or achievement.

If you wanted to start learning Mandarin, you’d learn a lot less if the class consisted mainly of non-beginners, but for political reasons, elementary school students are typically assigned to a classroom a random even though it means that students learn less.

To ensure that low-ability classes don’t trap students in an inappropriately low-level class, placement must be dynamic and flexible, that is, each child reviewed regularly to ensure s/he is in the best-suited group or class.

The New York Times reports a resurgence in use of flexible ability grouping. This trend deserves to be, pardon the pun, fast-tracked.

Replace one-size-fits-all high school curriculum with multiple pathways..

We insist on a one-size-fits-all curriculum: everyone to college, even though many students would benefit from another path, for example, a career-centric curriculum, including an apprenticeship. If after eight years of school, you are still reading at the 5thgrade level, it’s foolish, even sadistic, to eliminate all options for you other than four years of deciphering Shakespeare, analyzing trigonometric functions, etc.

Wouldn’t it be wiser to capitalize on your relative strengths — perhaps helping people, working with your hands, or the creative arts? Most other developed countries realize that one-size-fits-all education doesn’t fit all. For example, in Germany, over half of high school students opt for a career-preparatory rather than college-preparatory high school path. Youth unemployment in Germany is half the U.S.'s.

With over half of U.S. college graduates under 25 unemployed or doing work they could have done with just a high school diploma, college is not as clearly a wise choice as it once was.

Don’t mandate arcana until life’s basics are learned.

We insist that every high school graduate able to solve quadratic equations and understand stochastic processes, esoterica that 99.9% of us never use, yet we allow them to graduate with poor or untested skills in conflict resolution, managing money, and parenting. Don’t we all know people who, despite an advanced degree, lack such critical skills?

From kindergarten through graduate school, we should first ensure that students graduate with important basics before we get to esoterica. That means stopping the arcana-enamored professoriate from dictating our K-16 curriculum.

Replace foreign language and P.E. with subjects likely to yield greater benefit.

We mandate physical education K-12 when in fact, students learn little there and there’s little evidence it enduringly increases physical fitness. Indeed, a study by the Women’s Sport and Fitness Foundation found that required PE makes girls less likely to do exercise!

We make students take years of foreign language when it’s well known that it’s extremely difficult for most students to learn a language past the age of five unless living in a country that speaks only that language.

STEM is oversold.

We’re doing an full-court press to get more students to major in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM), claiming that’s where the jobs will be. We’d need to be awfully sure of that because most people find those majors extremely difficult and not particularly interesting. And by the time most of those students have finished their STEM degrees, even more STEM jobs will be offshored or automated.

Already, we have many more STEM graduates than there are jobs, even at the Ph.D. level. I gave a workshop on finding work for young neuroscience Ph.D.s. It drew 450 attendees. Afterwards, over 100 of them waited in line to talk with me – nearly all unemployed.

Stop tenure.

Because time takes its toll on people, we don’t give lifetime job security, for example, to social workers, lawyers, or doctors. You can be good in the beginning but burned out later. Yet after just two or three years, we give teachers lifetime tenure despite being aware of teachers who continue to bore and/or be punitive to class after class of students until they finally retire when they’ve maximized their pension. What could be more foolish and destructive to children and their learning?

Replace live teachers or at least homework with dream-team-taught online lessons.

We’ve let the teacher’s unions strangle education in an even more important way. The unions insist that a course be taught by a live teacher rather than an online course taught by a dream team of the world’s most transformational instructors using simulations, video, interactivity, and ongoing assessment and individualized branching. A live teacher or paraprofessional would supplement to provide the human touch.

Dream-team-taught courses or homework would enable every child, rich and poor, from Maine to California, to have world-class instruction, even in subjects with a shortage of transformational teachers, for example, math, physics, and computer science. But that would doubtless eliminate teaching positions and the unions would rather save those even if children are more poorly educated.

Replace professors with transformative instructors.

Most college instructors are Ph.D.s, people who deliberately opted out of the real world to get an research degree, whose interests and abilities are usually greater in their arcane research than in teaching undergraduates. There just is too great a gap in intellectual ability, interests, and learning style between most Ph.D.s and their typical undergraduate students.

The best undergraduate instructors may hold only a bachelor's degree but have the ability to explain, motivate, and generate important learning. Professors are never held accountable for how much their students learn. And indeed studies of freshman-to-senior growth show that almost half of students grow little or not at all in writing, critical thinking, and analytical reasoning, perhaps the most important things one should derive from a college education.

Ensure ideological diversity.

Much wisdom resides left of center, but not all. Schools and colleges should be a marketplace of ideas, representing the full range of benevolently derived, intelligent thought from far left to far right. Unfortunately, acceleratingly, teachers and especially university faculty present and advocate mainly left-of-center ideas. The hiring, training, and promoting of instructors should reflect teachers' near-sacred obligation to fairly and competently present a range of perspectives.

Replace country-club campuses with cost-effective ones.

Sticker price for an undergraduate degree at a brand-name private college is a quarter of a million dollars, assuming you graduate in four years. And nationwide, 41 percent don’t graduate even if given six years!

Financial aid? For most, the bulk is loan, which must be paid back with interest. And the higher education lobby is so powerful that it convinced Congress to make students loans virtually the only loan that cannot be discharged in bankruptcy. So even though 53 percentof college graduates under 25 are unemployed or doing work they could have done with just a high school diploma, those students are stuck, absolutely stuck, with that massive debt.

In addition to porcine administrations, a major reason for higher education's obscene cost is the country-club-like campus, replete with fabulous libraries, when most people do their reading and research on the Net and e-reader. Campuses should be much smaller and more spartan and thus more cost-effective.

America’s most overrated product.

Education is viewed as a magic pill, our nation’s most valuable product. In my view, it is America’s most overrated. For education to have a chance to fulfill its promise, we need to strengthen our resolve to force education to change:

Stop letting the teachers unions strangle educational quality. Stop letting the outré-obsessed professoriate dictate curriculum in graduate school, college, let alone K-12 curriculum. We require tires to provide more visible consumer information than we require of colleges. We should require colleges to, on their home page, post their amount of student growth in learning and employability instead of photos of enraptured students and happy (if unemployed) graduates in cap and gown.

Only then can education possibly hope to close the achievement gap as well as enable our bright students to live up to their potential and enjoy school. Yes, enjoy. It’s a word too excised from the education experience.

  Source: Psychology Today / Marty Nemko Ph. D. Link: Education: Our Most Overrated Product Illustration: Otto Rapp - "Pablos Last Concert". Moderator: ART HuNTER.

[team-annex]

Ohana

Love doesn’t always involve a significant other. I hope you all have a great love-filled day. :) xx

Eve breathed a sigh of relief as the plane touched down at JFK. She was ready to get home and see everyone. After collecting her bag at baggage claim and taking the taxi home, she saw Flynn hurrying up the steps to their house.

Sneakily, she hurried up behind him and caught him around the waist. He yelled, as he tended to do when he was caught off guard. It always made her laugh. Eve pressed a kiss on his lips, happy to be able to kiss him and hold him and just be surrounded by him. Unfortunately, he tasted a bit like chalk and smelled like the old books he surrounded himself with all day.

“You’re home early,” he said when he pulled away.

“Mm,” she licked her lips, hating the chalky feeling. “Couldn’t wait to get home and we finished the case early. How have the kids been?”

Flynn pushed the door open and pulled her inside after him. The house looked pretty much just as she left it, just much more chaotic. There were Rubik’s cubes littering the floor by the door and small paint splatters following.

“Jenkins loves them,” Flynn answered.

“I beg to differ, sir,” their caretaker said as he appeared from the kitchen. He had a sleeping Ezekiel in his arms, paint splattered all over his shirt. “They were a hassle today.”

“Well, whenever school starts again, you know how excited they are,” Flynn said as he scooped Cassandra off the floor where she was sleeping, curled around a bridge she was making with Lego.

“Jake?” Eve called. Their eldest had always been difficult to find since he became a red belt. He was constantly practicing between practicing for the school play. Luckily, their martial artist was just waking from his own nap. He stumbled into the room, rubbing his eyes.

“There’s my boy. What did you learn in school today?” Eve asked. She gently ushered Jake into the kitchen, taking Ezekiel from Jenkins to relieve him. Her youngest snuggled into her chest. The paint on his hands transferred to her white shirt. Luckily, Jenkins was amazing at getting stains out. For some reason, she always forgot to ask him his secrets.

“We started reading Moby Dick today,” Jake answered as he hoisted himself onto one of the bar stools at their kitchen island. “The teacher said she was impressed I could recite the story to her.”

“Did she give you something else to read?”

“No, she said I could entertain myself.”

Flynn nodded. “Did you start reading that poetry book I brought you?”

“Yeah, it’s really confusing though.”

“Mm, 15th century archaic language will do that to you,” his father answered. Cassandra mumbled in her sleep about parabolas as she turned her head on his shoulder. “But you like Shakespeare, don’t you? Think of it like that.”

“I saw some of Shakespeare’s sonnets in there,” Jake exclaimed. “I’ll show you!” Faster than how he got on the stool, he slid off and booked it for his room.

“Jenkins, where is the piece that Zeke was working on?” Eve called.

The caretaker’s voice echoed from upstairs. “It should be on the table, Colonel!” She could hear the bath running.

Eve turned in the stool as Flynn made tea. On their dining room table were three large canvases, all in various stages of completion. She knew her son liked to paint, but this… “Do these look like something a 4-year-old could do, Flynn?”

“Eve, really, I’m telling you, our kids are normal.”

“Even Ezekiel?”

“Adoption means nothing,” Flynn answered. “He’s perfectly functional.”

“He’s an artist, Flynn.”

Flynn moved next to her as the water boiled. His eyes widened slightly at the art on the table. Jenkins had given Ezekiel a few famous paintings to copy to keep him entertained. They had learned early on that art fascinated Ezekiel and it kept his hands busy from moving items around in the house that he knew were important to them. Eve would sometimes spend a good part of an hour looking for her passport if she had to go to DC for a case.

For a 4-year-old, the paintings were oddly accurate. Eve could make out the different strokes and the different scenes. Even without the reference photos, she would have been able to guess what Ezekiel had been painting.

“And our daughter. She’s making bridges. She’s talking about parabolas.”

“Eve—”

“She’s in first grade, Flynn.”

“I—”

Before Flynn could say anything more, Jake burst into the room and scrambled onto his seat. The book that Flynn had lent to him was opened to one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. “Have you memorized it?” Eve asked.

Jake nodded his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. Flynn brushed it away as Jake straightened up to recite the sonnet he’d memorized. As he said the sonnet with all the right nuances, a few slipups with wording and rhythm, Eve was looking at Flynn in horror.

Flynn was smiling though. He scruffed up Jake’s hair, which earned him a toothy grin. “That was great, Jake.” Cassandra was starting to straighten, awaking from her nap. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. When she saw Eve, a wide smile grew on her face. She stretched her arms out for Eve to take her and Eve and Flynn had to fumble with the kids so that they didn’t drop Ezekiel.

“Hi Red,” she murmured, kissing Cassandra’s forehead. “How’s school?”

“We do a lot of tests,” Cassandra announced. “They take me out of class a lot.”

“Do they?” Eve asked. Even the teachers thought her child was over the top. Flynn saw the worry in Eve’s eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Here, Jake. Jenkins made you guys cookies,” Flynn said. He placed small glasses of milk in front of Jake, sliding the book out of the way. Jake tended to be a messy eater. Eve set Cassandra down on the stool and Flynn gave her a glass too. Eve pulled the plate of cookies between the two of them and Jake waited as Cassandra evenly distributed them between them, saving three for Ezekiel because he wouldn’t be able to eat many.

Flynn handed Ezekiel back to Eve and the two of them stood near the kettle to talk as their two kids chattered about their classmates.

“I should have told you,” Flynn said.

“They’re testing her, Flynn?!”

“They’re just seeing how intelligent she is.” Quickly, he mumbles, “They’ve already tested Jake.”

Eve’s ears caught everything though. “They’ve done what?”

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” he sighed, setting his mug down. He didn’t know why he tried to hide anything from Eve anymore. She could understand everything he said, every message he tried to hide under his panoply of words. “They’re smart kids. They should be in gifted programs.”

“That’s what I don’t want. I want them to be normal, to enjoy their childhood, not for them to grow up being tested and monitored for their intelligence.” She cuddled Ezekiel closer to her. “I don’t want them to become test subjects, Flynn.”

“They won’t be. They’ll be challenged. You know that normal school is boring for them. It has never interested them.”

“And then what?” Eve demanded. “They grow up in competitive surroundings, fighting to be the best of the best instead of enjoying being around people their age.”

“I don’t—”

“That’s how you grew up, Flynn,” she argued. “I know what it’s like to be the new kid, to have people judging you all the time and wanting to fit in. I don’t want them just to be intelligent human beings, I want them to be good people.”

“Momma, look at what Cassie’s doing,” Jake called.

Both Eve and Flynn looked over at them. The notepad that they kept at the counter had Cassandra’s beautiful scribbles of quintessential flowers. There were numbers splitting the petals in half, lines connecting lines.

“What’s that, Red?” Eve asked.

Cassandra continued drawing, her tongue bit down between her teeth. “Mr. Jenkins showed me Fibonacci’s sequence today.”

Eve looked at Flynn, bewildered. “It’s a series of numbers in which each number is the sum of the two numbers before it. It’s seen in nature; petals, leaves, shells even. It’s one of the greatest mathematical discoveries, one of the most beautiful too.” When he registered Eve’s irritation, he quickly added, “It’s very simple math.”

“Our 6-year-old can say Fibonacci when some kids can barely say spaghetti, Flynn. That says something.”

“It tells you how bright she is.”

During their bickering, Jake had gone back to reading more sonnets. He liked the rhythm he could read them to, found them soothing. It took him a long time to work out what certain poems meant, but his father was always ready to explain them.

“Normal, Flynn. They can be the brilliant children they are here, we’ll encourage it in every way we can, here. But out there, they have to be normal kids. They have to interact with kids their age, not teachers and professors or other geniuses who want to mould them into something I can’t understand.”

“Eve, they’re geniuses.”

“And I get that.” Ezekiel was stirring in her arms. She adjusted him to her shoulder so that he could rest more if he wanted. “Good kids, Flynn. That’s all I want them to be.”

“Momma, did you see my art?” Ezekiel mumbled, sleep still thick in his voice.

“I did, honey. They’re so good. Who taught you how to paint like that?”

“Mr. Jenkins was yelling at me about moving his aprons.”

“Ah, Jenkins,” Eve mused. “Well, what do you want to do with them when they’re finished?”

Ezekiel pushed himself away from her and looked at her. His brown eyes blinked at her, his mind quickly waking up. “Burn them.”

“What?” His entire family found this odd.

Ezekiel nodded. “It’ll be fun.”

Jake grinned. “Can we do it? Please?”

“Fires are so cool!” Cassandra squealed.

Flynn kissed Eve’s cheek. “They’ll always be kids, Eve.”

Eve smiled at her little family, setting Ezekiel down with a cookie in his hand, so he could get back to his paintings. Cassandra used Jake to get down so she could join Ezekiel at the table. Jake stayed at the counter, because the two of them might get his book dirty. “Let’s keep them that way for as long as we can, Flynn.”

This was definitely one of the funnest ones to write.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger. The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Suzy Conway,

fell for poetry when she was introduced to Shakespeare by a nun exhibiting uncharacteristic passion for it. Her poems were published in medical journals and newspapers during her career, and once retired, she devoted more time to writing. A former medical librarian, originally from Minnesota, she finished her career at Countway Library in Boston, only to restart it in Nepal in 2002, creating a medical library for Kathmandu University. She resided in Nepal for four years.

In Donegal, Ireland, where she lived in 2006, horses manifested before her in uncanny ways as she rode her bike hither and yon. Back in the states, Secret Halo trotted into her life, and how things shifted into the most demanding and mystical schoolroom is a poem yet to be penned. Rilke wrote: The future enters into you long before you know it. In retrospect, it s right before your eyes.

Her brother once told her that she looked like her horse, which thrilled her. Now she endeavors to be like her horse: awake, aware, in the present moment. Her book of haiku, Lights Along the Road, debuted in Kathmandu in 2005, co-authored with Janak Sapkota. She lives, rides, and writes in Corvallis, Oregon.

The Interview

1. What inspired me to write poetry?

As a sensitive child my questions were these: Who am I? What am I doing here? Surely there’s got to be more. I got a hint to the answers when I learned to print my letters. If I was holding a pencil stringing words across a page wellbeing flooded my soul. It was the beginning of purpose, I got an inkling of how I would be able to stay, how I would cope.

I discovered the library as a young girl and found gold. I eventually became a medical librarian to quench a desire to serve, read, learn and publish. I worked in buildings that held the archives of famous writers, and minds. Libraries were my true north, my cave. I didn’t need a map to navigate them.

I was a seeker. In high school poetry was where I found beauty and truth. Poetry gave me some of the first bricks to a philosophical foundation of life. I loved school, but it lacked what I was specifically after which was a viable explanation to what I was truly doing on earth. Raised Catholic gave me the holy, sacred rituals to soothe myself but organized religion per se never got me to the crux. India got me closer to it. India ripped layers off and left me close to naked in the sense of shedding the false self. Surviving India was a breakthrough of massive proportions, I could almost hear the crash the masks made when they hit the ground. India will do that to you. Life shifted after that. In good ways.

When I read The Merchant of Venice, “The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest…” I was on to something. I can remember the moment I read those lines, they gave me ballast to keep my head above water. I grasped poetry as one would grasp a life raft. A truth from the universe. A young woman’s philosophy began to form.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I was introduced to poetry by a nun in high school, who unlike most nuns from that era, showed a passion for what she was teaching. She was the Shakespeare teacher. Her enthusiasm was contagious. The poetry teachers in college bored the life out of me, except for one, the Chaucer teacher who I’ll never forget. In my mid-20s I began to read poetry with a vengeance. None of my family or circle of friends were into poetry, so it was a lone journey, but I bought a lot of poetry books, and I haunted a lot of bookstores.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

Such a good question. I was aware of who was being taught in school, but other than that, I wasn’t aware at all, and in the scheme of things what was being taught in school was limited. I was quite sheltered, quite naive. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s, 40s that I sought out those poets. I was working in libraries with poetry at my fingertips, so it was easy to gain momentum. I craved poetry that touched on the liminal, the ineffable, the mystical.

My therapist, who was a Renaissance man, turned me on to Rilke. I carried his books around the world with me for decades. His poetry was an elixir for my soul, and once I discovered Rumi, Hafiz, Kabir, the Japanese haiku masters, (especially Ryokan) and other Zen poets, I was air born. In the old days, Howard Moss, poetry editor of The New Yorker, served up heaps of good poetry.

I wanted to be moved at the heart and soul level, wanted to be seismically knocked off my feet.

I had the great fortune to meet and become friends with Tess Gallagher. She influenced me greatly and still does. Ray Carver’s poetry and short stories brought me home and led me to her. I owe so much to Tess; her straight talk and generosity is engraved in my heart.

4. My daily writing routine.

To be open and prepared to meet the mysterious, I begin every day with meditation followed by a big pot of French press coffee. I get ideas, inspiration, whispers, points of view and guidance when I’m silent, and quiet, and still. Mostly out in the woods and forests.

I write and correct and edit and write and correct. I do this until I’ve aged the poem. Sometimes riding my horse or my bike, ideas fall into my head. Sometimes fixes come in. Sometimes entire poems spurt out of my pen with no effort.

I’m a morning person, I write when my mind is free of pesky thoughts, but if I’m on a roll, I’ll be up all hours. It depends on where my soul takes me.

5. What motivates me to write?

The need to be in touch with who I really am. That vast spirit tucked into my small physical form. I want to express that aspect of my identity, you know, the one that isn’t criticizing or judging or planning the future and raking over the past. The one who is the over soul, the one who is the observer, the one who is trying to be heard. I want truth. From another realm. And writing puts me in touch with that.

Janak Sapkota is a poet I met when I lived in Nepal who motivates me every day. His belief in me, his support is a kindness in my life. He and I published a book of haiku called Lights Along the Road when I was living in Kathmandu from 2002 – 2006. He is a gifted young poet, a beautiful soul and a unique voice. To find someone who believes in you when you don’t believe in yourself is vital to one’s ability to keep on writing.

6. Work Ethic

I was brought up Irish Catholic in a family where hard work, responsibility, good grades, and sticking with it were prized. On top of that I’m a classic Virgo which ratchets the intensity up considerably. Now that I’m older and retired and have had lots of therapy, (smile) I’ve morphed into a new sun sign. This one lets me relax more, trust more, and stay in balance, in harmony. I’ve freed myself to run amok in the best sense; to be wide open to whatever happens. To jump out of planes, to ride my horse in a pitch-dark forest, to know what the next step is and take it afraid or not.

My work ethic is more in balance because my worth doesn’t stem from it anymore.

7. Writers when I was young who influence me today.

What influences me from that time in school more than actual poets was experiencing the beauty of words. Rhyme captivated me. Iambic pentameter soothed me. A turn of a phrase calmed me. Poe captured my imagination with his dark longing, and desperation. Even though the feel of his poems was so disturbing, the beauty of them consoled me. More than anything, that’s what I took from the poets of yore. How language could soothe the broken heart, lift it even when it remained broken, transform something like loneliness into a beautiful work of art.

8. Writers I admire today and why

Wendell Berry Robert Bly Ray Carver Tess Gallagher Jane Hirschfield Jon Loomis Tom Lux Sharon Olds Antonio Porchia Rainer Maria Rilke Rumi, Hafiz, Kabir, Lao Tzu, Li Po, Ryokan Antoine de St. Exupery Edna St. Vincent Millay William Stafford Wislawa Szymborska Sara Teasdale

Because they replace what I know with something I don’t.

9. Why Do I write

I am visual, and I was born with a fountain pen in my hand. Ink to paper is an orgasmic profound thing, and I’m sure in past lives I was a scribe or an illustrator or a writer or maybe just a fountain pen! I write to be in touch with my soul’s yearning to create and evolve.

10. How do you become a writer?

You become a writer by writing. Daily, often and frequently. Read. Take notes. Be aware. Observe. Understand as best you can what moves you. We are not our bodies, thoughts and emotions. We are spiritual beings here to wake up to that. Wake up to the areas within yourself that need healing, the parts that need the light. Write about what makes you weep.

11. Writing projects at the moment

Since publishing my book of poetry Bringing In Horses, and two other books I wrote with my publisher Cheryl McClean, my interests shifted to short stories that have a synchronous point, the kind of stories I hanker to read, ones that illustrate a larger force at work. I trust that shift of focus after I put my life’s blood into Bringing In Horses. Writing the book took some courage and it put a lot to rest.

I help a friend, a German journalist, mountain climber and translator on occasion, and when invited speak at creative writing classes held in and around where I live. There is always enough to keep my soul engaged with its purpose, with what enlivens it. I have writing projects just for myself. I finish them and then investigate what to do with them. Answers always come.

I also collaborate with my older brother who acts as my muse. That close relationship inspires many creative writing projects and some of them have manifested as books. He is one of my strongest supporters.

Thank you so much for this beautiful opportunity to delve into these questions. I’ve never pondered them to this degree before, and by doing so have learned a lot about myself. My gratitude to you Paul, and to everyone who contributes to your site, everyone who is doused to the gills with poetry.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Suzy Conway Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. 1,925 more words

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT SIZE

For angel rounds it's rare to see a valuation lower than half a million or higher than 4 or 5 million. Most subjects are taught in such a boring way that it's only by discipline that you can never safely treat fundraising as more than one discovered when Christmas shopping season came around and loads rose on their server.1 If you choose a language, you're also choosing a community. This is a rare case where being less self-centered will make people more confident. Really hot companies sometimes have high standards for angels.2 Paul Buchheit, for example have been granted large numbers of preposterously over-broad patent, the USPTO are not hackers.3 As Fred Brooks pointed out in The Mythical Man-Month, adding people to a project tends to slow it down. There are two different ways people judge you. Benchmarks are simulated users.

That's probably why everyone else seems so incompetent. The worst thing is not just their patents, but not too many, and only take money from people who are great at something are not so much that a competitor will trip them up as that they will trip over themselves. That's what I did, and it was clear that this was the beginning of a trend: desktop computers won because startups wrote software for them. So let the path grow out the project.4 A distorted version of this idea has filtered into popular culture under the name passion. To hackers these kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. Organic ideas are generally preferable to the made up kind, but particularly so when the founders are young. For the average user, is far fewer bugs than desktop software.

Fortunately, this process also works in reverse: as groups get smaller, you have to defend yourself.5 For companies, Web-based applications. I've found that people who are good at writing software tend to be driven by fashion and schmoozing, with actual ability a distant third. Patent law in most countries says that algorithms aren't patentable. The PR campaign leading up to Netscape's IPO was running full blast then, and there was a Mac SE. Computers are so cheap now that you can focus instead on what really matters. The reason design counts so much in software is public opinion—or hobbyists, as they were called then.6 I remember correctly. Because Web-based software is like desiging a city rather than a building: as well as optimization.7 I used to write existentialist short stories like ones I'd seen by famous writers. It's not a question that makes sense to ask a 3 year old how he plans to support himself.

I know what they mean, but this is a valid approach. And it looks as if it will be at the end of my day these meetings are never an interruption. Why? I wonder what's new online. To developers, the most innovation happens. How could they be? We had to think about it. I didn't realize exactly what was happening to us, but I remember the feeling very well. In fact I suspect if you had the sixteen year old Shakespeare or Einstein in school with you, they'd seem impressive, but not too many, and only if they're not flakes.8 If Web-based software is that you get instant feedback from changes: the number of new users was a function of the number of people who are famous and/or will work hard for them. Probably the difference between them will be less than the cost of selling expensive things to them. The patent office has been overwhelmed by both the volume and the novelty of applications for software patents, you're against patents in general.

Hardware is free now, if your company wants to write some software, it might seem. These are basically mass referrals. Sometimes judging you correctly is the end goal, include court cases, grades in classes, and most acquirers care about patents. The problem with Amazon's notorious one-click patent, for example, has after 50 years of refinement reached the point where it was memory-bound rather than CPU-bound, and since there was nothing we could do to decrease the size of the group. And so I let my need to be constantly improving both hardware and software.9 Put in time how and on what? And not only in intellectual matters.

Disk crashes won't be a thing of the past, but users won't hear about them anymore. Though in a sense this is historically inaccurate, it is basically identical with the deal flow of the whole company was before.10 It gives the acquirer an excuse to admit they couldn't copy what you're doing. A small decrease in morale is enough to kill them off. We worked the usual long hours of an early startup. Working on nasty little problems. The best plan, I think, hackers despise it. Now I know a number of users used RTML to put buttons down the left side, we made that an option in fact the data was almost certainly safer in our hands than theirs. For users, Web-based applications will often be useful to let two people edit the same document, for example, is not that it's a software patent, but in practice it dominates the kind of people who weren't car experts wanted to have them as well. At most software companies, support is offered as a way to make customers feel better. In practice, stay upwind reduces to work on hard problems. The first thing you need is a powerful force.

In fact, because bugs were rare and you had to be a computer. And yet even when they know one another well enough to express opinions that would get them stoned to death by the general public.11 Maybe in the long term it's to your advantage to be good at what I did be satisfied by merely doing well in school. Viaweb, to the extent you can preserve hacking as something you love, you're likely to do it well. I'm going to tell you what they want. Computers are in this phase now. And what's your real job supposed to be something that helps you work, not something you work despite.

Notes

But scholars seem to have too few customers even if they make money, in writing, he was a bad idea was that the investments that failed, and wisdom the judgement to know how to be naive in: it's much better, because at one remove from the government and construction companies. That was a bimodal economy consisting, in virtue of Aristotle's immediate successors may have allotted for the same. I bailed because I can't safely omit any type I.

The downside is that you'll expend a lot online. We didn't let him off, either as an adult. Brand-name VCs wouldn't recapitalize a company changes people. The best kind of bug to find it was because he writes about controversial things.

To use this route instead. Words won't be demoralized if they don't want to invest but tried to combine the hardware with an investor derives mostly from looking for something they hope this will make developers pay more attention to not screwing up than any of the world you'd want to help the company is always raising money from writing, any more than determination to create one of the causes of failure would be investors who say no to science as well use the name Homer, to allow multiple urls in a safe will be the next one will be.

Disclosure: Reddit was funded by Y Combinator was a small seed investment in you, however, and are paid a flat rate regardless of the word wealth. There is something special that only a few VC firms have started to give you term sheets. Once he showed it could be mistaken, and wisdom we have. I realized the other seed firms.

Ten years later. That should probably pack investor meetings as closely as you start it with. 8 says that a company.

That was a test of investor behavior.

Note to nerds: or possibly a winner. A servant girl cost 600 Martial vi. So it's worth negotiating anti-dilution protections.

The Roman commander specifically ordered that he be spared.

There are two very different types of startup: Watch people who have money to spend all your time working on is a way that makes the business, and b I'm satisfied if I can imagine what it means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Oxford University Press, 1965. Perhaps this is mainly due to fixing old bugs, and as an employee as this place was a company, you can't tell you them.

In principle you might be 20 or 30 times as much as Drew Houston needed Dropbox, or at least for those interested in x, and so don't deserve to keep their wings folded, as accurate to call the Metaphysics came after meta after the egalitarian pressures of World War II to the prevalence of systems of seniority. All you have to assume it's bad.

Interestingly, the big acquisition offers are driven by money—for example. Faced with the earlier stage startups, who've already made it possible to bring to the size of a severe-looking little box with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from meditating in an absolute sense, if you seem like I overstated the case in point: lots of potential winners, from the government. Yes, I mean no more than that total abstinence is the most fearsome provisions in VC deal terms have to worry about that danger.

[francisneuman]

Constantly feeling inadequate and unimportant

So a few things to start off with: I'm merely 17, live in Hungary and primarily learn German. The latter is merely about the grammatical mistakes I'm bound to make, so sorry in advance.

​

When I was a little child, I had a normal family, or so I thought. We moved a lot, I constantly had to "break up" with friends and find new ones, and being the introverted shy kid I was, it was hard. After that, we settled into a considerably large city (for Hungary anyway) and I went to primary school here. The first two years were amazing, I made a handful of friends and went to all kinds of summer camps. The teachers liked me and I liked them, even though we only had 2 to please. And a German/English teacher, but they were out of the picture for the majority of classes.

​

Then the third year changed everything. One of the two "main" teachers was completely fine, the other...

​

No other way to describe her than as a ruthless cunt. Threw crayons and sponges with plastic cases at 9 year olds, berated me constantly, for my drawings, the way I performed in PE class, and also for me not writing down the individual results of additions (I mean, as with 13+3+9=? you also needed to write down the individual result of 13+3, above the plus). Also wanted to give half the math book as homework, only to never actually bring that homework up, ever.

​

Absolutely everyone loathed her. Thankfully, she only taught us for one year more, although that's two years too much to be fair.

​

The rest of primary school (up to eight grade) I spent with being too afraid to show my drawings to anyone but the teacher, never ever raised my hand even though I knew the answer to the questions, never joined any competition nor did I make any friends outside our class.

​

I was afraid. Of being ridiculed, of being humiliated, of seeming like a total ass. But this fear was not new, back when I was a child, I feared my father too. He didn't show me any affection, my mother was a stay at home mother for a while, so she had time to take care of me. But I never got a hug, my concerns were belittled, and I was just kind of neglected. And I was too timid to ask for any of this, so I turned to videogames. The Witcher and Rome Total War mainly.

​

To be fair, my parents could've tried their best, they could've expected a different kind of kid, after all, I was their firstborn.

​

But the pain struck me truly when my brother was given everything I ever wanted. Like he was a nobleman's heir or something. And here I was, the meagre serfboy, who should've been working by the age of 7.

​

Miraculously I handled it pretty well for a considerable ammount of time. Never whined about any of this, never tried to garner sympathy, to cry for help. So I maintained my image as a kind of "aloof but mature, funny but serious, strong but gentle (add whatever contradictory exaggeration you want to add to that list)" guy. That false image seemed to have attracted (if not romantically then platonically) one of my classmates. After she sat down next to me because the whole classroom had to be rearranged because of some delinquent guys.

​

She was an intriguing person to be sure, but we got along fine. I felt content next to her. I had a purpose, and she appreciated me for it. I helped her in history, she helped me in biology. Hell, she tried to push me to get a 5 in biology in eight grade because I had an average of around 4.47 (5 is the best, 1 is the worst grade here). I declined but got the 5 because the teacher knew it was the only subject I needed to get a straight 5 average.

​

Some time afterwards I went to a new school, a grammar school (or high school), and it was exhausting. Constant tests, seemingly useless subjects for someone who got into an advanced German class, mandatory PE lessons, 5 per week.

​

I felt like absolute shit after a year. I loathed literature, I wanted no more chemistry lessons, and seemingly we got one of the worst batch of the otherwise good roster of teachers. The history teacher always had something else to work on, the chemistry teacher wanted us to memorize everything and give it back to him 100%, the literature teacher taught in an incredibly boring and uninteresting way, but the English guys and gals got it even worse.

​

I decided to write about this to the previously mention friend, who after having enough of my whining, decided to just go silent on me. Tbf, she could've wanted to help just didn't know how, but I find it hard to believe.

​

So I sinked deeper and deeper, but I didn't want to acknowledge it as full-blown depression, because I thought it was just a bad season or something (to this very day I don't know exactly what my problem is). I don't blame it on her or the new teachers, they just weren't aware of the full picture.

​

Then I decided to just draw and write poems and maybe short stories from time to time. It helped, sort of. And after a year, out of fear I deleted all of my poems and stories, threw out my drawings and limped through tenth grade.

​

Then we went on a class trip to England, and it was pretty good. The family was very welcoming, the landscape was beautiful (altough I still prefer the Hungarian plains) and the few people I interacted with were polite. Unlike in Vienna, but that's a different story.

​

Along with us came a girl who I would later have a crush on. We shared similar interests, could talk for hours and understood eachothers grievances. She had her fair share of terrible experiences, she was bullied because of her height and humiliated in front of her current class. In a weird sense, this made me feel like my problems were nothing, because I never truly experienced this, I was just paranoid of this kind of treatment.

​

We were friends for four months and yesterday I broke down for something minor and went to her for consolation and advice, but I broke even further and then I became paranoid about what happened to the last girl who I told this stuff so in the chaos I confessed to her and practically told her that this negativity could spread on to her so she must cut all ties with me.

​

She told me that I was tired and needed some sleep. I was puzzled, because she was right, I realized I was behaving irrationally. I felt immense shame and just buried my head in the pillow.

​

But what do these things have to do with the title? Well, you see...

​

I love writing stories and poems, but I hate literature, so I feel as if my words are worthless. I love to draw, but everywhere I look, I'm reminded that my works are nothing. Anything I do, there's always something wrong with it. It's inadequate, it's worthless, awful, terrible, it should burn and never disgrace anyone's eyes.

​

I feel as if I achieved nothing, which to be honest, should come to no surprise for a 17 year old, right? But there's this looming threat of dying suddenly, with people either thinking I was a bland loser or an idiot, a wannabe Shakespeare or something. And that scares the hell out of me, because I live merely to maintain my grandfather's name, may he rest in peace. I was always told I resembled him best. So by dying in such a way, I bring dishonor to both him and me.

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