#the other month i was teaching high schoolers and it's so useful to be like 'okay so in harry potter--' and immediately they Get It.

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER EIGHT - READER

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 Today has literally sucked every single last bit of energy I had left inside of me. Dark coffee with six packets of sugar and a fruit bowl could not have prepared me for the day I had. 

 I’m not sure if it’s because I stayed up late last night to put together lessons or how active my students have been during classes, but a bottle of wine is well needed right now. 

 Days like this make me want to quit my job and move out of the country. Usually, I would feel this way if I was teaching elementary school kids. Not high schoolers. 

 Sometimes they refuse to listen to you. Somehow, they magically forget about their homework, so they beg for an extension. And a lot of times they talk while they’re supposed to be silent reading. 

 It’s overwhelming being a teacher. Anyone who does it, is simply for the passion because the pay isn’t the greatest. 

  Thank goodness for my savings. 

 Anyways.

 I’m ready to go home. This parent-teacher conference is going on longer than expected, and it absolutely has nothing to do with the divorced single dad in front of me that won’t stop flirting. 

 Cons of being a younger teacher. Dads. Lots of them. Some are handsome, but I didn’t become a teacher to be hit on while trying to discuss their child’s grades and curriculum. 

 “Mr. Anderson, your son has been falling behind in class,” I begin. “He’s been on his phone lately and tends to talk over students while they're reading.”

 “I see. I’ll be sure to talk to him about that, Mrs. L /N.”

 I give him a tight smile— “Miss, —” correcting him. “Any other questions? I believe we discussed enough these past ninety minutes.”

  Even though the conferences are expected to last only thirty minutes, max, forty-five . 

 “Apologies thought a woman as attractive as yourself would be married,” he says with a smile that might’ve been charming if I was drunk, but right now—it makes me cringe. 

 I nod. “Well, I appreciate your compliment, Mr. Anderson. If there’s nothing else, then I do have to go-”

 “Dinner?”

 “Excuse me?” I stuttered. 

 He lets out a nervous laugh. “Sorry. That was my failed attempt at asking you out to dinner.”

 And here I thought I almost had him out the door. Like I said, some of the dads are attractive. I can’t deny that about Mr. Anderson. Tall. Smooth skin. Nice smile. Salt and pepper hair action going on. I would say he’s probably in his mid-forties. 

 However, I’m not interested in building a roster full of DILFs to keep in my bucket whenever I need sexual relief. 

 One should suffice.

 “Mr. Anderson, although I’m flattered, it’s best to keep this professional. I don’t want to get involved with my student’s father that way. So, I’ll have to decline.” What a hypocrite I am . “Come, I’ll see you out.”

 He gets up and follows me to the door. The woman in me knows he’s staring at my ass right now, so I turn to my side. And of course, I caught him in action. 

 “Apologies if I made you uncomfortable, Miss L /N.”

 “Apologies accepted. Enjoy the rest of your day,” I tell him, sounding sarcastic as ever. 

 Actually, two bottles of wine are much needed. 

 After two more excruciating hours at school, I eventually made it home. I think to myself one day I’ll leave work before it hits four, but I guess that’s inevitable when you’re an overachieving teacher like me. 

 To prepare myself for the next day, I usually stay later than usual to lay out all my lessons. However, I think it’s time for me to use one weekend to plan a month’s worth of lessons so I can stop staying so late. 

 Isn’t this what I complained to Nanami about? I remembered being tired of him staying after hours or bringing work to our home when all I wanted to do was read a book and lay under him. 

 It seems like his habits grew onto me. 

  The irony. 

 Probably if I had someone to come home to, I wouldn’t be thinking about work after I clocked out. Being single and thirty isn’t the worst thing ever, but I honestly thought I would’ve been settled down by now.

 That was the plan with Nanami. 

 I still can’t believe the nerve he had the other day during brunch. To ask me if we could try again after I already gave him two chances? Like I would ever sacrifice my happiness just so he could get his shit together. 

 My patience is high but not to that extent, and I refuse to wait for anyone to love me properly. I just hated that it had to be that way with Nanami. 

 We felt right together. He loved me. Made me feel beautiful. Extremely kind and gentle with me. I was one of those girlfriends that would “ my boyfriend” people to death because he made me happy. 

 Our way of meeting was such a cliché and it convinced me we were going to last forever. It’s only right to feel that way in a five-year relationship. 

 But after a while, what Nanami and I built became dull. Our relationship felt more like a chore than love between two people. It was transactional in a way that benefited him more than it did me. I didn’t want that anymore. 

 I didn’t want to become a wife and bring a child into the world with the possibility of being a single mother in a marriage. Nanami knew how much I wanted to start a family together, but he chose his principal duties over us. 

 I deeply sigh. “See what happens when you drink wine, Y/N,” whispering to myself. 

 Gosh, I shouldn’t even be drinking on a school night. I check my phone to not only see that it's eight-thirty, but also to be left with no new messages or missed phone calls from…

  Toji . 

 He’s had my number since yesterday, however, I have yet to hear from him. I mean, which is understandable. He works a late night job and has a fifteen-year-old son, so I’m not first of his priorities. Though, it would be nice to hear from him. 

 Thinking about Toji Fushiguro makes me feel like a high school girl who’s excited that her crush finally notices her. His gruffness, demeanor, how he carries himself. . . It’s different. I’ve had my fair share of relationships in the past before Nanami, but I’ve never come across a man like Toji. 

 At least, I don’t think so.

 A complete stranger Toji is to me yet the comfort he gives me is weird. Weird in a good way. I can only imagine how it’ll be the more we learn about each other. That’s if he doesn’t back out. 

 Only time will tell. 

 It’s time for me to go to sleep. If I stay up any longer, I’ll finish this bottle of wine and throw my mind into a frenzy for the rest of the night. But the minute I slipped into bed, my phone rang. 

 A number that I’m not familiar with calls me and I’m left to believe it’s only one person.

 “Hello?” 

 “. . . Hey .” I know that voice from anywhere. Deep, soothing, and spreads chills across my body. 

 “Mr. Fushiguro. Calling me after school hours? I’m not on the clock, you know?” I tease. 

 He chuckles, a little more faint than usual, but still a sound I enjoy hearing. “Remember you saying I can use your number however I please.”

 “I did say that didn’t I?” I can’t help but smile and stay up a few minutes extra to talk to Toji. “What’s up, big guy? You okay?”

  “Sounds like I’m not?”

 “A little.”

 He hums. “ I see. . . How was your day? ”

 It’s clear there’s something on Toji’s mind, but I’ll listen to him when he’s ready. 

 “It was… long. Draining,” I answer. “I was close to pulling my hair out.”

 “ Want to talk about it? ”

 I sit up in my bed.  “It’s just work being work. Not much to say that won’t cause you to get tired of hearing me talk.”

 The laugh he lets out this time has a little more life in it. “ I called you to hear you talk. . . Your voice is calming. ”

  He says things like this and expects me not to feel warm inside?

 “You need some calming?” I query. 

 “. . . Maybe .” 

 “Tell me, Toji.”

 I can only picture Toji staring into nowhere to see if he wants to open up to me or not. Whatever he shares, I’ll take it and offer my comfort. 

 He sighs. “ Was trying to have small talk with the kid about school and I guess that annoyed him. ”

 “What did he say?” I asked, knitting my brows together. 

 “ That he wanted to eat in silence, so he went to his room. ” 

 “He’ll come around.”

 Toji snorts. “ Yeah, I hope so. Took him school shopping earlier and he didn’t even want to be seen with me. ”

 “Did he tell you that?”

 “. . . No, I just assumed .”

 Although Toji isn’t physically here, I give him a reassuring smile like he could see me. “Assumptions will lead you to spiral. Next time try to be around him while keeping a comfortable distance,” I tell him. “I doubt it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen with you. I mean, Megumi is an exact replica of your face. It’s not like he can hide that you’re his dad.”

 “ You’re good with your words, Y/N. ”

 “I’m good at a lot of things, Mr. Fushiguro.” My tone came off way more suggestive than I expected but fuck it. I’ll blame the wine. 

 It’s like I can hear the smile on his face. “ You can’t say shit like that while calling me Mr. Fushiguro and expect me not to get turned on. ”

 “And what if that was my intention? Maybe to help get your mind off of things?”

 “ I can think of other ways for you to help. ”

 “You called me for some late night action?” I begin baiting. “What’s next? You’re going to ask me what I’m wearing?”

 “. . .  No... Well, if you want to share- ”

 I giggle, cutting him off. “Toji, anyways.” Hearing Toji genuinely laugh makes me feel better because I know how much mending his relationship with Megumi means to him. “I think you should continue with what you’re doing. I don’t know much about Megumi, but he seems like a kid that has to warm up. Even if you’re his dad, after years of neglect, comfort isn’t automatic because you’re blood. When he feels it, you’ll know.”

 “You’re right.”

 “Your mind feels cleared?” I try to contain my yawn, but it slips outs. I don’t want Toji to think he’s keeping me up because hearing from was actually the highlight of my day.

 “ After this walk and talking to you? Yeah. ” 

 “Don’t think it’s too late for you to be walking?” 

 “ Worried about me, Y/N? ” He asks, and I can hear the playfulness in his tone.

 I shrug. “Maybe. You’re a big boy, though. I’m sure you can take care of yourself.”

 “ I’m glad you know. ”

 I admire the comfortable silence Toji and I have sometimes whenever we talk. In a way, and hopefully he feels the same, it’s like we’re soaking in each other’s energy. And maybe Toji does feel the same since he decided to call when he needed help clearing his mind. 

 “ I’m keeping you up, Miss L /N? ”

 “Hm, I don’t mind giving you some of my time,” I pick on. “Just next time, schedule a conference.”

 He keeps the banter, saying, “ I’ll be sure to do that. . . I’ll let you go, though. Need your energy saved for Friday. ”

 “You’re going to put me to work on our date?”

 “ You’ll see, ” he says, smiling. “ And Y/N? ”

 I yawn again. “Yeah?”

 “ Thank you. ” An explanation of his admission isn’t needed. I know exactly why he’s thanking me. “ Night .”

 “Good night, big guy.”

 After we disconnect, I smile and internally feel giddy inside. It’s almost embarrassing how Toji makes me feel. I can’t help myself. 

 Going to sleep will be easier these next few days knowing I have something to look forward to on Friday. 

 As I described before, Toji Fushiguro will definitely be a beautiful catalyst that I’m excited to see. 

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discussion question #4 — reader has made it clear that she doesn't want to reconcile any romantic relationship with nanami anymore, do you think he will become an issue to reader and toji's developing relationship as the story progresses?

[augdawg888]

the office characters as teachers!

in honor of teacher appreciation week!

(and also my math teacher was flirting with some other teacher and my brain immediately went to jim and pam)

enjoy!

the staff:

michael scott: the principal

dwight schrute: gym teacher & vice principal

jim halpert: also a gym teacher

pam beesley: art teacher

holly flax: counselor

oscar martinez: personal finance teacher

angela martin: math teacher

phyllis lapin-vance: language teacher

kelly kapoor: fashion / interior design teacher

andy bernard: music teacher

& creed bratton: janitor

(other characters are mentioned, but i didn't have enough to say about them)

general headcanons:

michael scott: mr. scott

super laid back and chill

he never gets people in trouble

'yk, when i was your age, i did that all the time'

stops in classes just to distract people

assemblies all the time !!!

theyre always super fun though, lots of games !!

he's always recognizing the teachers for their hard work

he has a lil bulletin board (that pam designed) for spotlight moments

hangs out in the art room with pam a lot

'pamcasso' 'pamanardo dibeesley'

his office is littered with toys, pictures of holly, and pictures with his kids

he also brings his kids to work every so often

when he visits the gymnasium he always tries to impress the students

dwight schrute: mr. schrute

takes being vice principal way too seriously

also takes being a gym teacher way too seriously

he and jim participate in all the games and activities

but dwight is always trying to one up some high schooler

loves dodgeball.

he tries to 1v1 jim in basketball (and he fails miserably)

he instructs a health course once a year and jim always has to cut it short

he's the best hype man though

feeling insecure in gym class ? dwight is def hyping you up

not like a quiet, off to the side pep talk, like whooping and yelling

'let's go !! you guys are doing fantastic'

he also gets to do a karate course during the school year

has an agriculture club after school

jim halpert: coach jim

chillest gym teacher ever

unlike dwight, he does the quiet off to the side pep talks

its all very appreciated and sweet

he's looking out for all of the students

and they all have a crush on him too (who wouldnt????)

he's always goofing around and trying to have fun

he's the basketball coach too !!!

always going to the art room for any reason

he needs pam to design some flyers for friday's game, or his pen ran out of ink (he uses a laptop)

he's always pranking dwight

the pictures of the pranks always get put in the yearbook too (it's like a special section)

pam beesley: ms. beesley / ms. pam

shes so sweet.

all of her lessons are really well thought out and passionate

she loves teaching about claude monet and impressionism

shes doing art with the kids too

michael is always taking her finished pieces to hang up somewhere

shes also a volleyball coach !!! so shes constantly going to the gymnasium to make sure theres enough equipment or to check on the players in gym class

shes really there to see jim (but thats besides the point)

she's apart of phyllis' book club (yes phyllis has a book club)

all of her students ask if she and jim are going to date/are dating

'you guys are aware i'm engaged right?'

anytime roy visits shes always stressed afterwards

jim brings her lunch !!!

holly flax: holly / mrs. flax

shes so sweet and understanding omg

when a student needs something to fidget with she just steals a toy from michaels office

has a yoga club after school (michael is always there)

her office is so cozy and lighthearted

shes one of those teachers with memes printed out on her wall

has lots of knicknacks

knows every students name

loves loves loves helping kids pick out their schedules for the next year

shes super close with all the teachers too

very inclusive !!! she has an assembly every month for different cultures and information about different heritages

has a lot of stuffed animals in her office

and every single one of them have been named

shes also apart of phyllis' book club !

oscar martinez: mr. martinez

he takes his job super seriously and is a little strict

but everyone still loves him and respects him a lot

no matter how strict he is, he cannot stop gossiping with all the students

'okay, but did you hear about jim and pam?'

his classroom is so boring though, super bland

gets a lot of kids coming to him

super comforting teacher !

always plays music in the background

its like fucking classical music though

also in the book club !

he and pam always have a lot of gay kids in their classes

they're both just prepared for people coming out to them

angela martin: ms. martin

super strict and serious

but has her fun moments

everyone knows her cats names

she has the lil baby poster hanging up in her classroom

theres literally nothing else in there

she noticed how some teachers left out bowls of candy, so she did the same thing, but with mints

advocated for class pets, but kept getting shut down

when asked her opinion about other teachers it's usually negative, but when it comes to dwight it's always slightly positive

phyllis lapin-vance: mrs. vance

gets called mrs. vance refrigeration a lot

doesnt talk too much

always asking for help with her computer

her lessons are short and sweet

has a candle burning during class

but it's like a grandma smell

everyone loves watching her and bob

they're so sweet together !!!

she runs a small book club with teachers and students after school

loves when they all choose mystery books to read

she tries to teach different books every year

her classroom is right next to angela's and that can lead to some unpleasantness

funky sweaters !!!

kelly kapoor: kelly

hates hates hates being called ms. kapoor

it's just kelly

most of her lessons are just rants, but theyre educational !!!

loves working with everyone in her class

asks if ryan ever mentions her

wears the clothes that students make

designs merch for the school

desperately wants the schools colors to change

'theyre just so old looking !'

always so energetic in the mornings

besties with the students ofc

wants to hear ALL THE TEA

also keeps everyone updated on jim and pam

her classroom is sooooo cool too

like pink everywhere, comfy seats, and hello kitty

she loves hello kitty and i will die on this hill

andy bernard: mr. bernard

he's like the perfect music teacher

he brings instruments into class that no one has even heard of

and plays them perfectly

all the music they sing are show tunes

they watch musicals in the class when it gets slow

talks about cornell a lot

the rants about here comes treble get so old after a while

'it's funny you guys mention that song, did you know when i was in college i performed that with my acapella group?'

yes he's really trying to get an acapella group started

when students are frustrated with something he uses the same techniques he learned in anger management to calm them down

when asked if he wanted to be the golf coach he turned it down immediately

he was too busy trying to make sailing club a thing

but, he is the theater club leader (idk what theyre called)

loves directing everyone

has to kick michael out a lot

he wears funny ties !!!

creed bratton: creed

omg hes so mysterious and cool and no one knows anything about him

but also we know everything ?

he knows all the kids names

celebrates their birthdays

know one knows how he knows their birthdays though

shows up simultaneously in every class

plays guitar in andys class

tries to crash a fashion show in kellys

he was just wearing sunglasses and a blazer

plays basketball in gym class

and then he tries to convince dwight he is in fact a student

and why does it almost work ?

everyone's pretty sure he lives in the school

the lunch ladies are always complaining about food going missing and then creed will talk about how much he likes that food

he sells fake weed to the students

and fake ids

pam is still looking for her laminating machine

has an mp3 player still (its 2024 creed, get a phone)

his music is BLARING

air guitar in the hallways

everyone loves how he dresses up during spirit week

i was thinking of doing more in depth ones about spirit weeks and assemblys, but that's a lot of work lol

lmk if you want those !!

also the timeline is really random. i wanted holly to be in here and her and michael to be married, but i didn't want jim and pam to be married yet, sorry about that !

[alkaline-wtr]

Skipping Class

teen!Konig x stoner!reader Description: Reader teaches Konig skip class. Konig smokes weed for the first time. Genre/Warnings: Konig and reader are high schoolers, anxious!konig, stoner!reader, high school AU, fluff, angst, Mentions of drug use, silly. WC:1k

My Masterlist

AN** Just a silly little Konig imagine, not my best work. Thank the lord for Grammarly. I was high when I wrote this and the autocorrect was working overtime. It was so bad I said, 'fuck it' and paid for premium. Anyways, enjoy.

Konig stalks through the halls as the other kids shuffle into classrooms. Konig looks around, making sure to go unnoticed as he pushes through the metal doors at the end of the hall. He walks across the courtyard to the field and heads over the farthest bleachers. Behind the bleachers is a metal wire fence separating the School from one of the main roads in town. You are sitting under the bleachers, legs crossed, as you lightly pack a pinch of marijuana into the bowl of your pipe. You look up when you hear the heavy footsteps pass you. You watch Konig curiously as he begins to climb the fence.

"Hey! Where you going?" You call over to him.

Konig freezes in fear and turns to you. A look of relief washes over him as he realizes you're just another student, not a teacher ready to punish him for ditching class.

"Home?" You ask, digging through the pocket of your backpack for your lighter.

Konig's eyes dart nervously around the field.

"No," He shakes his head.

"Usually, I just walk around. Or sit at the park." He responds, his thick Austrian accent coating his words.

You nod, humming in response

"So, why are you skipping?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Konig shrugs,

"I've just got some stuff on my mind."

You didn't need to ask the question on the tip of your tongue. The look in your eyes was enough for Konig to continue.

"I'm enlisting in the military after graduation. I'm just nervous about it, and I can't focus." He admits.

You nod your head understandingly. You were no stranger to anxiety, and with graduation coming in just a couple of months, you could see why he would be stressed.

You gently hold the pipe to your lips, covering the carb hole with your thumb. Konig watches you place the lighter carefully over the end of the Glass. His eyes stay on your hands as they sync effortlessly to time your hit. You toss the lighter down and drop your thumb, inhaling the smoke. Sitting back, you hold the smoke in your lungs and look up at him. Konig's fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt nervously. You exhale the smoke, his eye glancing back to the glass pipe in your hand.

"You want some?" You ask, holding the pipe up.

Konig hesitates but shakes his head. You shrug it off. Placing the pipe to your lips again. Konig watches, stepping further beneath the bleachers. As you exhale your second hit, You notice Konig standing closer now. You pat the ground beside you. Konig sits beside you, his knees close to his chest like he's trying to make himself smaller. You side-eye him. His eyes are still fixed curiously on the pipe. Finally, you break the silence.

"Have you smoked before?"

He shakes his head.

"Would you like to try?"

You can see the conflict in his eyes as he considers the question. Konig hadn't been around weed smokers and wasn't entirely educated on its effects.

"You know it's useful for anxiety." You say, noting his fidgety hands.

Konig perked up at this. Anxiety? he was always anxious. He glanced at the pipe and flicked his eyes up to you. You were looking at him. You were so relaxed and patient. Konig admired that and agreed to your offer, hoping to achieve a similar state.

He scoots a bit closer as you lean over to dump the bowl of ashes.

Konig watches your hands again. You pack the bowl with a small pinch, remembering your first time and wanting to spare him the struggles.

"Okay. So, you're going to hold this-" You grab Konig's hand, placing the pipe into it.

"Put your thumb here." You instruct, guiding his thumb over the carb hole.

"I'm going to light it. When I do, suck in lightly." The lighter clicks, and you hold the flame over the bowl in the same careful way you'd done before.

Konig watches intently, his eyes gazing down the pipe, touching his lips. After a couple of seconds, you diminish the flame and drop the hand holding the lighter. Your free hand cups Konig's hand he is using to hold the pipe. You watch Konig. He follows your instructions. The smoke fills the chamber, and you stop him.

"Okay. Take your thumb off, breathe in, and hold your breath for a few seconds."

Konig does as you say. Holding the smoke in his lungs while you take the pipe from his hand. He only manages to keep it in for about a second before the burning in his lung becomes too much, and he breaks into a coughing fit. You pat his back, letting him cough.

"Here." You lift a half-empty water bottle to him.

Konig takes the water quickly, downing a sip. You sit with him in silence as the coughing dies off. Konig stares ahead blankly. He can feel his head grow foggy, and the world around him slows as the smoke takes effect.

"How do you feel?" You ask him.

Konig thought about it for a moment. How did he feel? Turning his head to the side, he felt dizzy. Konig looked down into your eyes as you awaited his answer. For the first time in forever like his mind was quiet. He felt focused but completely unfocused at the same time. A warmth washed over him, and he smiled.

"Good." He responds simply.

Many thoughts were swarming his mind about how Konig was feeling, but 'Good' was the only word he could muster. He was tired, but not the kind of tiredness where he could sleep. Frankly, Konig just didn't feel like moving at all. Even his lips felt heavy, like it would be hard to lift them if he spoke. You must have felt similarly as you just responded with a soft nod, looking forward. Konig looked forward too. You both sat silently, staring ahead at the now fascinating metal fence. Konig wasn't sure how much time had passed when he looked back over to you. All he knew right now was that he felt a strange new sense of Calm. He liked it.

Konig realized that you were right about what you said before. This did help with anxiety. 'I should do this more often.' He thought to himself. 

[hanazou]

— 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

It’s common sense for Odasaku that he has to take small, necessary steps steps for them to build up to a bigger pivoting change, and he wants to live up to that principle by proving to himself that good results do await at the end of the journey, no matter how painful the stones of this boulevard make his feet feel.

Teaching literature at a small local cram school, in a building hidden by its taller and brighter peers, isn’t what has been wearing down his body. It was the inhuman schedule he has to discipline himself into following. From early morning to sunset, he does the junk jobs no other rugged mafioso men in Port Mafia would do, and when the day ends, he has to rush to the cram school in town to teach literature (after making sure he doesn’t reek of gunpowder).

He was lucky they don’t run background checks on teachers as they’re short on talent. In fact, this was the only reason he could teach there. To live up to the luck and gratefulness, he fights the exhaustion weighting him down in the morning, and it was partly because he doesn’t have time to waste, though it’s also because the grade schoolers are so pleasant to teach that he forgets about what he goes through to stand on the podium in front of them. The salary isn’t much, but if he’s diligent about this just for a few more years, he build a decent experience to make a living without dependance on the mafia.

The students from his class were already dismissed and he just finished helping the student who wanted to consult about his homework with him. He could use a good glass of whiskey right now, drinking with Dazai and Ango at Lupin’s as usual, but he’s too exhausted to walk back to Port Mafia’s headquarters’ direction. The chilly night air of Yokohama greeted him at the exit. He took in a nice, heavy, breath, and released it with a long sigh, hand inside his pockets. For once, the folder under his arm doesn’t line out any illegal transactions but are about next week’s syllabus. It’s the fresh atmosphere like this that kept him going with this new routine for three months. He can handle this much.

Some students from his class walked pass him and waved goodbye at him with gratefulness on their faces. “Thank you for today, teacher.” They bowed.

“You’re welcome,” The corners of his lips twisted up in a smile, waving at the pair of boy and girl.

The front gate ahead was where the students chatted and gathered for a while for them to decide where they should go next. The arcade or straight back home? Hence, the area was a bit crowded.

“Can I talk to you, teacher? Just for a moment.” A student called from behind Odasaku.

“Of course,” He turns around to his student. He teaches a lot of them that he hasn’t memorized whose voice this one belongs to, although this one was very familiar. “What do you need–”

He was faced by your smile, the person leaning against the stone pillar, arms crossed while waiting for him.

“Evening, Odasaku.” You approached him. “How’s this new routine treating you? You must be more exhausted.”

“Apparently,” He sighed after taking in your surprise visit, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s bearable–and enjoyable. I kind of like doing this.”

“Of course you do. Teaching literature to high schoolers. That’s so you. Right?”

“Maybe,” He smiled slightly. “But what are you doing here?”

“To consult with you, teacher, what else?” You joked with the nickname. You looked around the area. Most students have left during your brief chat with Odasaku, leaving you and him with not many other people around. “Do you have time to spare?”

“Do you need anything from me?”

“Your company.” You stood in front of him, having to look up to the tall man. “So? Will you walk with me?”

Odasaku blinked, his usual accommodating expression on his face until he nodded. “Of course.”

Down the lane, Odasaku walked together with you in silence for the first few minutes. Your hands are inches away from brushing pinky fingers, but the distance was maintained and kept teasing for more contact.

“Dazai-san has found out ever since you started,” You broke the silence by revealing the answer to the question he hadn’t asked yet. “He was proud of you, and still is.”

“That makes it three months ago, huh,” Odasaku thumbed his chin. “Then why didn’t you nor he come earlier?”

“I can’t speak for Dazai-san since I don’t know the answer, and even if I do, I can’t talk about my superior in that manner.” You chuckled. “But I didn’t bring it up because first, you always look so exhausted every time we meet,” You flex out a finger to count “–and I didn’t want to stress you. And second, I like surprise visits.” You tilted your head mischievously to match the end of your answer. “Did I surprise you?”

Odasaku nodded, and to avoid your inquisitiveness that alerts him, he turns his sight back to the road in front of him, dimly lit by the lampposts around both of you. “In a good way though.” He admitted. “Did you really come all the way here just to see me?”

“I wanted to see with my own eyes how you’d fare in a normal society like this,” You confessed, putting your hands inside your warm pockets. “It’s a pleasant view, actually. Your students like you, and you seem to teach them well. You belong to this kind of routine and life.”

Odasaku stared at you, eyelids lifted. He felt encouraged. “You really think so?”

“You’re made to live a peaceful life, you don’t belong in a sombre environment like the mafia.” The words were heavy to be spoken. It was a smooth way of saying that you don’t deserve to be friends with someone as kind as him.

He weighed his options of whether to confess his plans to you or to stay quiet, keeping you in the dark about it. His eyes shifted to your face whose eyes were looking at the road ahead, not noticing the way he looked at you. He didn’t think he can handle the guilt of being dishonest about it. He decided that you deserve to know.

“I’ve made up my mind, actually.” Odasaku started. It gained your attention and you turned to him.

He confessed about the roadmap he drafted for this future, how he’s saving up as much as he can to gather enough money for him and his five children. He wanted to afford a deserving life for them, so he’s making the small steps of saving money to escape from Port Mafia and move somewhere else where it’s safer for the children, somewhere like Tokyo or Osaka, somewhere the Mafia doesn’t have the resources to blackmail him. He plans to secure a fulltime job as a literature teacher to earn stable wages. He came clean about it all without looking at you, as he never does well against guilt, while you didn’t know what expression to put on when he ended his talk.

After taking in a silent minute to process the flood of new information, you opened your mouth to speak softly. “You’re actually actively planning to escape?” You widened your eyes. “For good? With all of your children?”

Odasaku winced. Each word you spoke elaborated how much he had been hiding from you. “I should’ve told you and Dazai earlier.” He said. “I have no excuse. I’m sorry–”

“This is perfect!” You beamed up. Odasaku’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t expect this reaction, he thought you would be disappointed and betrayed about this sudden news of his future departure. “I’ve always feared that you would be too stagnant to make any real changes, but I’m relieved I was wrong.”

You were honest about your relief, you just didn’t confess everything you felt, about the disappointment of having Odasaku leaving you in several years. He was a good man and a good friend, the only light that shines in Port Mafia. You never regret dragging your drained body to the strayed, unlived bar in the alley years back in the night you first met him, although you never drink in your life.

He was sitting alone with his untouched whiskey with a face full of stories. His posture was burdened with confinement and hopelessness, yet he gleamed with authenticity and light. You were enchanted by how ambiguously welcoming he was, and made the first conversation.

You couldn’t picture a future without that light’s company, but you didn’t want that light to stay in the darkness either, because the darkness is forever while light is fated to fade out soon if it didn’t return to where it belongs.

So, you hold his shoulder firmly with an optimistic smile. Odasaku stopped walking midway too, looking at you in anticipation. The sensation of your grip on his shoulder was new to him.

“I’m very happy for you.” Your smile reached your eyes. You’re genuinely happy for him.

Odasaku smiled, his hand reaching up to touch yours on his shoulder. His palm was rough, but it was warm on your cold hand. “Thank you,” He smiled tenderly. “I mean it.”

Your smile doubled as you removed your hand from him. “This is the end of the time I’m borrowing from you.”

“Sorry?”

“Look at the other side of the road,” You gently pushed his shoulder so he’d turn forward to look at where you pointed.

At the other side of the crossroad, a young man in black, his right eye hidden under the bandages, stood and smiled at Odasaku, energetically waving at him and calling his name like a boy. Next to him was a taller and lean man, dressed neatly in a suit with gelled down hair, wearing circular glasses. Only then Odasaku realized that he and you stopped right underneath the traffic light that shone red, mingling with ordinary civilians who waited for the light to turn green. In this crowd, neither of you bore any significance.

“I took it upon myself to bring you to Dazai-san and Sakaguchi-kun.” You suppressed your laugh from the expression Odasaku made. Washed in red light, you can’t tell if he’s confused or surprised. Despite his manly appearance and age, he looks so innocent when dumbfounded like this. “It’s been a while since you drank with them, right?”

Odasaku turned at you. “You… were bringing me to them?”

“What’s wrong? Is there something you don’t like?”

“No, nothing, everything is perfect.” he shook his head. “I’m just grateful for you.”

You muffled your giggle to smooth out the tingles he made you feel. “Don’t mention it.” You patted his shoulder twice, turning on your heel to walk the other way, further from the crowd. “See you later,” You waved.

Odasaku watched your figure walk away before joining the crowd of pedestrians. He turned forward where he could see Dazai and Ango waiting for him. Ango was calm and collected as usual, while Dazai was being fidgety, impatient for Odasaku to cross the road and join him to make the group whole again.

Meanwhile, you sighed as you walk to the emptier side of road. Odasaku will leave in several years, you ought to plan some memorable activities to do with him so he can have a good memory of you when he departs. It would be good for your side too, you’d have pleasant memories to outmatch the bitter loneliness that is to come.

Your mind spiralled for ideas. You thought about taking Odasaku to a cat cafe where he can read novels while playing with cats, or to a Japanese-Italian fusion restaurant for a change of scenery, until somebody caught your hand from behind.

You swirled, fist ready to meet your intruder, but you froze when you see the man.

“Why are you here?” You asked Odasaku in pure confusion. “You’ll miss the green light.”

“I can’t leave yet when I haven’t spend proper time with you.” He answered, slightly panting.

You wondered if he ran to catch you here, you haven’t even walked far. You look back at the traffic light behind him. The red blinked green, and people made haste to cross the road while there’s still time.

“Would like to drink together?” Odasaku proposed. “Just for a moment.”

written on February 21, 2021

[joseispiral]

CRUISIN’ 4 A BRUISIN’ (Gokusen)

by Kozueko Morimoto | 156 chapters | 1999-2007

9/10

Gokusen is your typical relatable Josei manga: The protagonist, a mousy-looking girl, embarks on a quest to find love while trying to balance work life and home life. Except in this case work life is being a grade school teacher at an all-boys school, and home life is being a Yakuza heiress. This manga balances drama, comedy, and action, and oh my god, it’s so good. I started this review several months ago and I’m just finishing it now, but is it crazy for me to say I want to go back and re-read it already?

There is an unstoppable joy in Morimoto’s characterization of the protagonist, Yankumi. It’s honestly pretty cathartic to watch Yankumi bring her Yakuza know-how to public school, because lord knows the power structure of the educational institution could use a good ass-kicking. Yankumi’s teaching style can only be described as tough love, and none of the romance drama interferes with her ability to persevere and show a great deal of love to her students, family, and friends. It is so delightfully refreshing to read a manga where the protagonist is a compassionate, loyal, unfuckwithable, cop-hating teacher practicing non-hierarchical pedagogy! Emphasis on the cop-hating. I take issue with people who complain about “weak and annoying” female characters (that just sounds like a personal diss to me, ouch), but if you really just want to watch a girl utterly and completely fuck people up, Gokusen is the way to go.

What makes Gokusen so strong is how well it sticks to our Yakuza princess’s moral integrity: Nobody is irredeemable, not even mob bosses and snot-nosed teenage boys. Despite violence being her preferred solution for any problem, Yankumi isn’t hungry for power, nor does she slap people up because she wants to eradicate them. She acknowledges that her power, be it as a Yakuza heiress or a schoolteacher, can be used to improve the world, which very much appeals to me as a believer in transformative justice. I always recall my roommate telling me, after I relayed my firm stance on nonviolence, that some people really just need a punch to the face to really make them stop acting a fool. Gokusen effectively pulls off this ethos by using its buoyant and crisp tone. This manga is about beating people to a pulp and then helping them get back up again.

The second half of the series had moments that made me explode with laughter which I think is pretty hard for a comic to do! If you like Daria or even Beavis and Butthead I think this definitely scratches that itch. Just a note that there are some jokes made about pedophilia in the story, so that’s something to beware of if you’re sensitive to it. Beyond just jokes though, the main love interest is one of the high schoolers, but I actually found that plotline pretty sweet and interesting - Yankumi shows little to no romantic interest in him and most of their relationship is about him trying to prove himself to her as an adult, which hits home for me. Does that make me messed up? Did other people fantasize about a teacher or two when they were in grade school? I found that Morimoto handled that emotional landscape with serious honesty when it could have quickly become rocky territory.

Why do I see so many people complaining about Gokusen’s artwork online? Even in the first volume, when the proportions are a little funny and the lines aren’t as confident, I found the expressions and character designs irresistibly endearing. It’s got a simpler slapstick artstyle common in these older mangas that reminds me of a mix of Stop!! Hibari-Kun! and Urusei Yatsura but with a Josei twist. Ultimately the art style works in service to the writing style, which has serious moments treating characters’ intentions with levity; but also is riddled with hilarious scenarios. The sparse backgrounds allow for the focus to facial expressions and character gestures. 

Just go read this manga, it’s so kickass and sweet and there is so much cop hatred. It’s for the kids who have bottomless amounts of both love and violence burning a hole in our hearts.

[quietlywatchingwritingreading]

hey do you think that only children can go to school and get an education? what about about adults who were held back a couple grades, or adults going back to high school because they never graduated? do college students just not exist anymore?? please use your brain

Adults can go to school and get an education. It's just that they usually take classes with other adults, or private lessons, and not in a classroom with children who match their education level. Adults might go after their GED or a High school equivalency diploma, but they don't' actually go to high school with the high schoolers. (After the school year where someone turns 21, that person needs to enroll in Adult Education. So that's the Age Cutoff of an adult in Highschool. )

There are definitely stories where an adult might take a class with children, though. Stories like Billy Madison. So its not unheard of in a fictional setting. When it does happen though, its usually the focal point of the story. It is both obvious, noteworthy, and made explicitly clear to the audience.

Still, at no point do they say that Strawberry Cream Cookie is older then everyone else in the school. I would assume that the story would have brought it up if that was also a factor. So I personally believe Strawberry Cream Cookie is probably within the same age brackets that the school teaches.

We do not know what ages the school teaches. It's possible it could be an all-ages school like the fictional Academy in Pokemon Scarlet/violet, but that doesn't really seam to be the case. Pinehog's language implies that they're all children, and that things like a student in trouble is something for the 'grown ups' to deal with.

So I personally believe that most of the characters in the story are probably between 11-16 years old. Basically Middle school to early high school ages.

Although if you would like to assume that Strawberry Creme Cookie is an adult, then he is probably under 21.

(The epilogue had them both in school for a new semester a few months later. So the oldest any of the students could be is 20 years old. Otherwise they wouldn't be able to continue enrolling, unless there are special rules to the Fictional Holiday School. )

[airasilver]

MALVERN, Pa. — In February, Patrice Motz, a veteran Spanish teacher at Great Valley Middle School in Malvern, Pennsylvania, was warned by another teacher that trouble was brewing.

Some eighth graders at her public school had set up TikTok accounts impersonating teachers. Motz, who had never used TikTok, created an account.

She found a fake profile for @patrice.motz, which had posted a real photo of her at the beach with her husband and their young children. “Do you like to touch kids?” a text in Spanish over the family vacation photo asked. “Answer: Sí.”

In the days that followed, some 20 educators — about one-quarter of the school’s faculty — discovered they were victims of fake teacher accounts rife with pedophilia innuendo, racist memes, homophobia and made-up sexual hookups among teachers. Hundreds of students soon viewed, followed or commented on the fraudulent accounts.

In the aftermath, the school district briefly suspended several students, teachers said. The principal during one lunch period chastised the eighth grade class for its behavior.

The biggest fallout has been for teachers like Motz, who said she felt “kicked in the stomach” that students would so casually savage teachers’ families. The online harassment has left some teachers worried that social media platforms are helping to stunt the growth of empathy in students. Some teachers are now hesitant to call out pupils who act up in class. Others said it had been challenging to keep teaching.

“It was so deflating,” said Motz, who has taught at the school, in a wealthy Philadelphia suburb, for 14 years. “I can’t believe I still get up and do this every day.”

The Great Valley incident is the first known group TikTok attack of its kind by middle schoolers on their teachers in the United States. It’s a significant escalation in how middle and high school students impersonate, troll and harass educators on social media. Before this year, students largely impersonated one teacher or principal at a time.

The middle schoolers’ attack also reflects broader concerns in schools about how students’ use, and abuse, of popular online tools is intruding on the classroom. Some states and districts have recently restricted or banned student cellphone use in schools, in part to limit peer harassment and cyberbullying on Instagram, Snap, TikTok and other apps.

Now social media has helped normalize anonymous aggressive posts and memes, leading some children to weaponize them against adults.

“We didn’t have to deal with teacher-targeting at this scale before,” said Becky Pringle, president of the National Education Association, the largest U.S. teachers union. “It’s not only demoralizing. It could push educators to question, ‘Why would I continue in this profession if students are doing this?’”

In a statement, the Great Valley School District said it had taken steps to address “22 fictitious TikTok accounts” impersonating teachers at the middle school. It described the incident as “a gross misuse of social media that profoundly impacted our staff.”

Last month, two female students at the school publicly posted an “apology” video on a TikTok account using the name of a seventh grade teacher as a handle. The pair, who did not disclose their names, described the impostor videos as a joke and said teachers had blown the situation out of proportion.

“We never meant for it to get this far, obviously,” one of the students said in the video. “I never wanted to get suspended.”

“Move on. Learn to joke,” the other student said about a teacher. “I am 13 years old,” she added, using an expletive for emphasis, “and you’re like 40 going on 50.”

In an email to The New York Times, one of the students said that the fake teacher accounts were intended as obvious jokes, but that some students had taken the impersonations too far.

A TikTok spokesperson said the platform’s guidelines prohibit misleading behavior, including accounts that pose as real people without disclosing that they are parodies or fan accounts. TikTok said a U.S.-based security team validated ID information — such as driver’s licenses — in impersonation cases and then deleted the data.

Great Valley Middle School, known locally as a close-knit community, serves about 1,100 students in a modern brick complex surrounded by a sea of bright green sports fields.

The impostor TikToks disrupted the school’s equilibrium, according to interviews with seven Great Valley teachers, four of whom requested anonymity for privacy reasons. Some teachers already used Instagram or Facebook but not TikTok.

The morning after Motz, the Spanish teacher, discovered her impersonator, the disparaging TikToks were already an open secret among students.

“There was this undercurrent conversation throughout the hallway,” said Shawn Whitelock, a longtime social studies teacher. “I noticed a group of students holding a cellphone up in front of a teacher and saying, ‘TikTok.’”

Students took images from the school’s website, copied family photos that teachers had posted in their classrooms and found others online. They made memes by cropping, cutting and pasting photos, then superimposing text.

The low-tech “cheapfake” images differ from recent incidents in schools where students used artificial intelligence apps to generate real-looking, digitally altered images known as “deepfakes.”

While some of the Great Valley teacher impostor posts seemed jokey and benign — like “Memorize your states, students!” — other posts were sexualized. One fake teacher account posted a collaged photo with the heads of two male teachers pasted onto a man and woman partially naked in bed.

Fake teacher accounts also followed and hit on other fake teachers.

“It very much became a distraction,” Bettina Scibilia, an eighth grade English teacher who has worked at the school for 19 years, said of the TikToks.

Students also targeted Whitelock, who was the faculty adviser for the school’s student council for years.

A fake @shawn.whitelock account posted a photo of Whitelock standing in a church during his wedding, with his wife mostly cropped out. The caption named a member of the school’s student council, implying the teacher had wed him instead. “I’m gonna touch you,” the impostor later commented.

“I spent 27 years building a reputation as a teacher who is dedicated to the profession of teaching,” Whitelock said in an interview. “An impersonator assassinated my character — and slandered me and my family in the process.”

Scibilia said a student had already posted a graphic death threat against her on TikTok earlier in the school year, which she reported to police. The teacher impersonations increased her concern.

“Many of my students spend hours and hours and hours on TikTok, and I think it’s just desensitized them to the fact that we’re real people,” she said. “They didn’t feel what a violation this was to create these accounts and impersonate us and mock our children and mock what we love.”

A few days after learning of the videos, Edward Souders, the principal of Great Valley Middle School, emailed the parents of eighth graders, describing the impostor accounts as portraying “our teachers in a disrespectful manner.”

The school also held an eighth grade assembly on responsible technology use.

But the school district said it had limited options to respond. Courts generally protect students’ rights to off-campus free speech, including parodying or disparaging educators online — unless the students’ posts threaten others or disrupt school.

“While we wish we could do more to hold students accountable, we are legally limited in what action we can take when students communicate off campus during nonschool hours on personal devices,” Daniel Goffredo, the district’s superintendent, said in a statement.

The district said it couldn’t comment on any disciplinary actions, to protect student privacy.

In mid-March, Nikki Salvatico, president of the Great Valley Education Association, a teachers union, warned the school board that the TikToks were disrupting the school’s “safe educational environment.”

“We need the message that this type of behavior is unacceptable,” Salvatico said at a school board meeting March 18.

The next day, Souders sent another email to parents. Some posts contained “offensive content,” he wrote, adding: “I am optimistic that by addressing it together, we can prevent it from happening again.”

While a few accounts disappeared — including those using the names of Motz, Whitelock and Scibilia — others popped up. In May, a second TikTok account impersonating Scibilia posted several new videos mocking her.

She and other Great Valley educators said they had reported the impostor accounts to TikTok, but had not heard back. But several teachers, who felt the videos had violated their privacy, said they did not provide TikTok with a personal ID to verify their identities.

On Wednesday, TikTok removed the account impersonating Scibilia and three other fake Great Valley teacher accounts flagged by a reporter.

Scibilia and other teachers are still processing the incident. Some teachers have stopped posing for and posting photographs, lest students misuse the images. Experts said this type of abuse could harm teachers’ mental health and reputations.

“That would be traumatizing to anyone,” said Susan D. McMahon, a psychology professor at DePaul University in Chicago and chair of the American Psychological Association’s Task Force on Violence Against Educators. She added that verbal student aggression against teachers was increasing.

Now teachers like Scibilia and Motz are pushing schools to educate students on how to use tech responsibly — and bolster policies to better protect teachers.

In the Great Valley students’ “apology” on TikTok last month, the two girls said they planned to post new videos. This time, they said, they would make the posts private so teachers couldn’t find them.

“We’re back, and we’ll be posting again,” one said. “And we are going to private all the videos at the beginning of next school year,” she added, “’cause then they can’t do anything.”

On Friday, after a Times reporter asked the school district to notify parents about this article, the students deleted the “apology” video and removed the teacher’s handle from their account. They also added a disclaimer: “Guys, we’re not acting as our teachers anymore that’s in the past !!”

c.2024 The New York Times Company

The whole damn school needs to be taught a lesson. Not just the ones who were caught or fessed up. The whole school. Actually the kids need to be held back and have it on their records for the rest of their lives. I’m saying this because if they are doing this now, what will they do in the future and be able to get away with? Or think they should? Give them consequences so they learn now and not later.

Technology is so helpful but it can be harmful also, as this shows.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

My name is Kofi Montzka, I'm an attorney, wife and mom to three boys, two of which are high school.

This bill requires that schools teach ethnic studies starting in kindergarten, and I'm against this.

You might ask why in the world would a black person speak against ethnic studies. Because not everything that sounds good is good.

The definition of ethnic studies right there in the statute says that there's a connection between a person's race and their stratification. The bill tells kids of color that they are stuck in a caste system based on their race.

It also tells kids, and I quote, "that institutions chronically favor white people and disadvantage people of color."

I'm sick of everyone denying the enormous progress we made in this country, acting like it's 1930. We used to have a race-based system. We got rid of it and now you're all trying to bring it back.

This curriculum will not help kids of color succeed. All it does is remove any reason to try. And I repeat that: it removes any reason to try.

And this is not some theoretical crap, this stuff happens, these messages are very harmful.

Just last month in my high schooler's band class, the teacher took 20 minutes at the beginning of class to talk about "antiracism." He told the kids to look around. And then he said the black boys in the school would likely not live to retirement because of racism and the police.

Another furious kid of color recorded this conversation, and so I was able to hear for myself with my own ears.

If this law is passed, teaching this hopelessness to kids of color will be mandated, starting in kindergarten.

And I can see why you white proponents of this bill might support it. It's not your kids being told that they can't succeed. And you get to shed some of your white guilt in the process.

But you legislators of color, how can you? You made it despite the invisible boogeyman of systematic racism. You were voted in by a majority of white people. You hold some of the most powerful positions in this state. Yet you want to tell my kids and other kids of color that they can't succeed?

It's shameful, it's terrible. I ask that you please vote against this bill. Thank you for this opportunity.

==

Aside from the pretentious academic buzzwords, how do you even tell the difference between woke activism and the policies of the KKK any more?

Like everything woke, what's on the package and what's in the box are very different things.

[grandwretch]

ok pudding pops. i figured we were all jonesing for some fanfic really bad rn so here's what i actually have written for 'only i must wander' ch 3. i'll be deleting once ao3 is back up, and i'll try to have the rest of the chapter up soon. kisses.

Steve and Robin weren't exactly best friends. 

They tried. Or, well, Robin did. Steve kinda did what he had always done at work, which was keep out of everyone's way and try not to fuck up too hard. Robin, though, was putting in the effort. Not an hour went by without Robin popping out of nowhere to try and start a conversation. Usually about some gossip she'd heard about their classmates or one of the few movies they'd both seen. Steve usually did his best to keep up with her, never being the first to stop talking and walk away, but it felt– 

It felt a lot like high school did. Robin's smile never reached her eyes, and it only put more pressure on Steve to follow suit. Be normal, the weight on his shoulders whispered, and everything will be okay. So when she spoke, Steve answered, a smile on his face. 

No matter how plastic and saccharine it tasted.

The kids didn't exactly make it easier. Dustin was even more desperate for them to be best friends than Robin was. It was hard to begrudge the kid the connection, though, when he had spent the longest in isolation. He'd been alone amongst humans before El and Steve even had any words for what was wrong with them. What was Steve supposed to do, tell him to stop showing up and asking questions? 

Max was worse. She forgave a lot less than Steve and Dustin, and still showed up at least once a week for her shift of threatening glares. Steve had tried to warn her off of it, and Max had snorted. 

"If I can take down my brother, I'm not worried about a bitchy fox demon, or whatever," Max said, as unimpressed by monsters as only a pre-teen could be. Steve wasn't even sure when El had told her about the Wesen thing, although he couldn't exactly pretend to be surprised. They'd never been very subtle around her. 

So, yeah, they were both under a lot of pressure to be besties. Enough pressure to guarantee they would never be anything even approaching 'close'. Which Steve was fine with. He was finally getting used to all his friends being nerdy middle schoolers. What would he even talk to a friend about? … Basketball? Steve hadn't watched a game in months. March had flown by without Steve even catching a single game. Not that Robin would even be interested in basketball, and– 

Steve shook his head, and focused on wiping bits of ice cream off the glass counter.

He did not want to be friends with Robin. 

Dustin didn't care, though, as he came in and slammed his backpack down in an empty booth. "Steve!" he greeted, if that could even be called a hello. "Where's Robin?" 

"I don't know," Steve said, even though Robin was in the back room, where she'd spent every other break since they'd started working together. That wasn't the point, though. "Why do you care?" 

"I've got news!" Dustin crowed, "Big news!" 

"What's he talking about now?" Robin asked from the door, arms folded. 

Steve rolled his eyes. One day, the universe would teach Dustin that his antics wouldn't always get him everything he wanted. One day. Steve hoped he was there to see it. "I've got no idea," Steve said, throwing his towel down on the counter in resignation. "He came in and started screaming." 

"So El was telling me and Max about your big plan," Dustin said to Steve, and Steve watched Robin's eyebrows shoot way up behind her bangs. 

"Jesus Christ," Steve muttered. "You guys gossip more than every cheerleader in our school put together." 

"What 'big plan'?" Robin said, an appropriate amount of sarcasm behind Dustin's emphasis of the phrase. 

"There's no big plan. There's a–" Steve turned to Dustin, trying to get the words through his thick little skull. "There's an agreed upon procedure between me and Hop, should there ever be a threat large enough–" 

"What the fuck do you think procedure means?" Dustin asked, every inch as bitchy as Steve had trained him to be.

"Yeah, well it sounds a lot less fucking ominous than a thirteen year old going around talking about my big plans with the police chief, doesn't it?" Steve hissed. He knocked his knuckles on Dustin's shoulder, following him as Dustin tried to squirm away from the rapping. "Did you even think about trying to explain why Hop would be working on a plan with a professional ice-cream scooper?" 

"Can someone please explain this plan to me?" Robin said, volume increasing to be heard over Dustin's squawks of protest. 

"Steve's going to be a good Grimm!" Dustin said, cheerily, dodging Steve's swiping hand. 

"Jesus," Steve cursed again as Robin turned a disbelieving stare onto him. "It's not like that! I was talking to Hop about what happens if my parents show back up. We decided we should have a plan in place if they or any other Grimms start sniffing around Hawkins. That's all." 

Robin looked at Steve for a long moment. "You said that Hexenbiest friend of yours was Chief Hopper's daughter, right?" 

Steve winced. "Kinda. She was part of a case a couple years ago, and she hasn't been allowed outside much, but–" 

Robin shook her head. "Believe me, I don't want to know. Hexenbiest blood can be used in all kinds of potions and shit. The last thing I need, as a Fuchsbau, is to get involved with whatever all that's about." 

Steve didn't even know what to say to that, so he turned to Dustin. "Why are you here, Henderson?" 

"I'm calling the plan into action!" Dustin said, his limbs flailing as if he'd been saying that this entire time, Steve, you idiot.  "I would have called in a Code Red, but it's not…" His eyes darted to Robin, then back to Steve. "You know." 

"There's a Grimm in Hawkins?" Steve asked, his voice flat with disbelief. 

"I don't think so?" 

Steve rolled his eyes. "Henderson…" 

"No, come on! There's– Look," Dustin said, holding one finger up as he reached for his backpack. He pulled out one of last semester's folders, green with 'English' crossed out on the front. Underneath, he'd written 'Wesen stuff'. 

"Really subtle," Steve said. 

Dustin ignored him, pulling a stack of newspaper clippings out of the folder. They were rather large, for clippings, not at all like the small sports write-ups that Steve's mom used to clip out for him. No, these were big, front-page articles, with big black-and-white pictures accompanying them. Dustin's handwriting was in the margins, tiny scrawled notes and circles and arrows and– 

Steve shook his head, trying not to let the sudden wealth of information overwhelm him. He felt like this should be the kind of thing Nancy would work on, probably was the kind of thing she had done in the past few years. Definitely not the job for him, who had trouble pulling together a decent book report. 

"So I was spying on my mom's phone call," Dustin began, which inspired a new round of cursing from Steve. "Shut up, Steve, this is important." 

"Your mom not killing us is important," Steve hissed. 

"My mom is a middle-aged beaver woman, and you're a nineteen year old killing machine," Dustin said, ignoring Steve's flinch. "I think you'll be okay."

Robin came around the counter to stand on Dustin's other side, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the collection of wrinkled newspapers. "Focus, boys," she said, her hands smoothing out the topmost clipping, which featured a large black and white photo of a kid. He was about the age Dustin had been when Steve first met him, grinning wide in front of Fort Worth Elementary. "What is all this?" 

"This is what my mom was talking about," Dustin said, his gaze snapping back to his research. "He went missing last week." 

Nausea roiled in Steve's stomach, and he forced himself to look away from the bright grin as he struggled with his own gag reflex. It was a little silly, since he hadn't even known Will when it happened– had been a fucking shit about it, even –but he hadn't been able to stomach missing kids since '83. Not even in movies. That was one of the reasons O'Donnell hated him so much– She'd tried to make him read some awful book about a missing little girl, and he'd refused. Hired some nerd to write the report. She knew it, and he knew she knew it, but he couldn't read it. Couldn't think about some mom, sick to death with worry, and a bunch of men who thought she was crazy. It made him want to crawl out of his skin, made him want to launch the book through the police station window with Lucas's slingshot, made him want to make every teacher who'd whispered behind the Byers' backs eat the pages the words were printed on. 

It made him want to pay for the words he couldn't take back with blood. 

"Dustin, not every… Kids go missing all the time, buddy." Steve tried to be calm, the reasonable older brother, as his own hands started to shake. "Will was a special circumstance, you know that, right?"

"Oh, shit," Robin mumbled. 

"This isn't about Will," Dustin said, although Steve could tell from the way that Dustin's eyes were suddenly big and round with grief that it had, at one point, been very much about Will. "My mom called her friend in Fort Worth, and they were talking about the investigation, and they– He's a klaustreich."

Steve had no idea what that meant, but the German was enough of a giveaway to get the gist. "This kid is a Wesen?"

Even as Dustin nodded, Robin was snorting and shaking her head. "If he's a klaustreich, it was the dad. It's always the dad." 

"Hey," Steve said, weakly. It was hard to fight Wesen prejudice when he had absolutely no idea what the stereotypes were supposed to be. It certainly didn't sound flattering, though. 

"It's almost always the dad for humans, too," Robin said, a flush of embarrassment across her face. 

Steve and Dustin exchanged a look. "Dads aside," Steve said quickly, because talking parents never went well for him, especially with any of the kids present, "it doesn't matter who did it, because this isn't any of our business.The police will handle this, Dustin, I don't know why–" 

"Because he wasn't the only one!" Dustin moved the newspaper to the side, revealing another black and white photo of a smiling child. And then another. And another. More and more pictures were revealed, until the children devolved into a blur of grey and sepia. "In the past four years, more than 38 kids have gone missing in adjacent counties alone." 

"That's impossible," Robin said, immediately. "Someone would have done something, eventually. They would have caught the guy. There would be– There would be fucking dogs and search parties–" 

"Oh, like there was for Will Byers?" Steve said, his tongue numb. He almost didn't mean it, didn't want to be saying it, but all he could think about was that fake body of Will's. His own voice, asking if Jonathan had killed him. "Kids go missing all the time," he repeated. 

Robin was quiet for a moment. "So the guy who took Will…" 

"No," Steve and Dustin said at the same time. 

"That was completely different," Dustin said, "and it's handled." 

"One of us would have noticed if there were that many kids involved," Steve said, trying to make himself believe it. "And they wouldn't still be going missing." 

"I thought they never caught the guy who did it?" Robin asked. 

Another glance. "I made sure of it," Steve said, his voice firm enough to broadcast that he would not respond well to pushing. Not exactly stellar for his new serial killer reputation, but there was no way in hell he was telling Robin about the Upside Down. She wouldn't believe it, anyway, Wesen and magic and shit notwithstanding. Whatever created the Upside Down, it wasn't a furry little guy. It was something sinister, and the last thing he needed was it to get its claws into Wesen society. 

Robin's eyes narrowed, her gaze analyzing Steve's face, before she nodded and looked away. "Alright, so what's your theory, beaver boy?" 

Dustin sighed. "After I left the library, the trail went kinda cold. It's not like a thirteen year old can call grieving families and expect answers, you know?" 

"That's why you should bring this to Hopper," Steve said, tapping the folder. "You know, an actual adult? And a cop, by the way. The people who would actually have a good chance of–" 

"A wesen family would never talk to a human cop," Robin said, then shrugged at Steve's sharp look. "Sorry, man, it's true. We have a thing about handling our own disputes." 

"Alright, well…" Steve huffed. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the sentiment, but he was pretty sure that when Robin said 'handling it', she was using a definition like his own: Beating the shit out of it with a bat and then setting it on fire. "That's one family that won't talk, but that leaves almost two dozen–" 

"More are Wesen," Robin said, and then leaned over to tap at a picture on the table. The kid was older than Dustin, probably around Robin's age. He beamed out of the grey, proudly wearing his letterman's jacket, a football tucked under his arm. "That's Carter Ridley. Goes to school in Jackson. His dad comes into my mom's shop sometimes. They're jagerbars." 

"Hunter bears?" Dustin translated, his nose wrinkling. 

"They used to be beserkers, in the old country. Now they're mostly yuppies," Robin said, shrugging. "Still built like a fucking mountain, though." 

"Huh," Dustin said, looking thoughtful. 

"Alright, so two families…" Steve tried, but Robin shot him a look that left him feeling small. 

"If someone is hunting Wesen kids, two is enough." 

"Hunting any kid is bad enough," Dustin corrected, but his face was still unfocused in deep thought. "It does take a special kind of person to capture two predator kids, though…"

"What?" Steve frowned doubtfully down at the picture. "He's, like, fifteen, sixteen? He's big, but he's not going to take out a full grown man." 

"He's a sixteen year old jaegerbar," Robin repeated. "They used to hunt humans for sport at that age. No dad with a beer gut is going to be able to take a jagerbar raging on teenage hormones." 

"So what?" 

"So it's a Wesen that's doing this," Dustin said, determined. "Something powerful. Something evil." 

"That's your job, right?" Robin said, turning to Steve. 

"I'm not a fucking–" Steve paused, frazzled. "I mean, I am. But, like… ethnically. I'm not going to start hunting criminal Wesen and killing them! That's insane!" 

"So we're just supposed to let them keep doing it?" Dustin said, whirling around. 

"No! Or… maybe? I don't fucking know, Dustin. Why didn't you take this shit to Hop? He knows about this Wesen shit, now. I'm sure if he knew about this, he would do something about it." Probably not as much or as fast as Dustin wanted, but Steve had never known Hopper to just sit around and let a kid hurt like that. He would stop this. He would. 

"You really want to send your father figure after a monster that'll tear him apart?" Robin asked. She didn't even sound upset about it, just… curious. Which Steve thought was rather rich, considering she'd never even met Hopper in the context of Steve. Rich and cruel. 

"Steve," Dustin said, before Steve could even gather his thoughts enough to tear into Robin like he wanted to. The kid's voice was solemn, deep in the way he only got when he was on the edge of tears. "I know. But when has bringing an adult into this ever fucking solved anything?"

Steve wanted to protest. They'd helped– Hopper and Joyce and even those stupid science guys, they had all helped. Been instrumental, really. But Steve couldn't deny that sometimes it made things harder. They just didn't understand, sometimes, why things had to be done a certain way. Whatever help they would give had to be wheedled out of them, piece by piece, usually at a cost greater than originally revealed. And that was only if they didn't die; Steve hadn't known Bob, but he had watched Joyce cry into Hopper's chest about it, which was more than enough to solidify the danger in his mind. 

He loved Joyce and Hopper. He did. But they weren't the reason they were all still alive. Nancy was. El was. And, sometimes, when someone needed to take the hit, Steve was. 

"Okay," Steve said, his shoulders going lax in resignation. "Alright. But if we're going to look into this, we're going to do it right. Now…" What would Nancy do? he asked himself. "We need to know how many of these kids are actually Wesen. Any ideas?" 

"You could show up to their house and see if their parents woge?" Dustin said. 

"No." 

"I might have an idea," Robin said, "but you both have to promise not to fucking touch anything."  

"There is no way you can make me promise that without telling me what it is I'm not touching," Dustin said, extremely seriously. "That's entrapment." 

Robin sighed, chewing off all the lipstick on her bottom lip. "Okay," she said, finally, "my dad's shop is the only Wesen apothecary outside of Indianapolis. If any of their families have ever needed anything a human shop wouldn't handle, they'll be on his ledger." 

"Alright, so…. " Steve shrugged. "Would he let us see it?" 

Snorting, Robin replied, "Absolutely not. But if his darling daughter were to accidentally leave the back door unlocked the next time it's her turn to clean…" 

"Oh, good, another crime," Steve said, rolling his eyes. A quick glance at Dustin proved he would be no help in finding an alternative. Glee was written across the kid's face so patently that even Steve didn't have to puzzle it out. It's for the kids, Steve reminded himself. 

"Since when do you care about what's legal, Harrington?" Robin said. "You've been drinking since the cradle." 

"Like you said," Steve said dismissively. "Police chief. Father figure." 

"Steve has, like, chronic parental issues," Dustin informed Robin, sotto voice. 

"Dustin…" 

"They're fucking terminal," Dustin continued, ignoring Steve's sighs of complaint. 

"When are we fucking doing this?" Steve cut in, voice harsh with frustration. 

Robin's face went blank in thought for a moment, running through the days in her head. "I'm supposed to clean up after inventory on Thursday," she said, shrugging. "That's the earliest I'll be able to get you in." 

Six days. That was more than enough time for the more rational parts of Steve's brain to take back over, more than enough time to talk Dustin out of this heroism kick. He found himself nodding, more than willing to put this off for another week. 

"It'll just have to wait, then," Steve said, and tried not to sound too pleased about it. 

Despite Steve's efforts, the next six days didn't lessen Robin and Dustin's insistence on playing the hero. In fact, Steve found himself on tenterhooks every night. He watched the evening news with an intensity he had given very little since graduation. 

The six o'clock news, then the ten– The morning news on the weekend, anchors and time slots that Steve usually slept through. He watched them all with his heart in his throat, every cell of him focused on the prayer that he wouldn't see another sunny, ignorant smile on the screen. Every night passed without a new addition to their list, but that did nothing to soothe the mounting frenzy in Steve's chest. Instead, he could only wonder what they were missing, if there were kids slipping through their fingers unnoticed. 

Saturday morning when the anchors said goodbye, the local channel started reruns of old episodes of Batman. Steve, numb with anxiety, stayed curled in his father's pristine armchair and let them play. Primary colors and musical stings blurred together in his bleary mind. 

He'd never been a huge superhero kid, not like Dustin and Mike, but there had been no one in his elementary school who didn't sometimes watch Batman. There wasn't much that he remembered. The characters were all unfamiliar and cartoonish, but the apathy made Adam West's booming voice softer. It soothed the shake of Steve's hands. 

In one scene, Batman rushed onto the docks, a bomb in his hands. There was nowhere to go, no way to save the unbothered masses around him. It was supposed to be funny; Steve recognized the slapstick body language, the sigh in West's voice. There were baby ducks in the water, for fuck's sake. He had thought it was hilarious, once, in the way sheltered little kids always did. 

Steve pulled his legs a little tighter against his body, watching the fuse burn down. The exaggerated resignation had grown too familiar to be laughable. He sat and he watched Batman accept that this bomb was going to go off in his hands, so it wouldn't go off on anyone else's, and it didn't make Steve upset. It didn't make him uncomfortable. 

It made him nod, approving. Because Steve knew that if he found himself with a bomb in his hands, he would keep holding it. Would curve himself around it, letting it go off. 

"Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb," Batman told him, and Steve clicked the television off. Maybe it was time to go back to bed.

The rest of the week wasn't easier. Work helped, the distraction as good for Steve as it had ever been, but Robin didn't. Her obsession had gotten its teeth into Dustin's little mystery, and there was very little else she was willing to talk about. Even when Steve managed to change the subject, he could see the missing smiles in the shadows behind her eyes. In time, she would lapse back into theories and ramblings about some story she had heard, once-upon-a-time. Steve was never sure how many of these stories were facts and how many were legends. The both seemed equally real to Robin, and by Thursday night, he had heard every word the Buckley clan had to offer.

He wished he could blame her. That terrible feeling got its claws into him every time, the paranoia and the guilt and the shame, and it would feel so much better if he could take it out on her. Steve knew it would. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He could feel the frustration bubbling up in his chest, taste the bitter words on his tongue. It didn't matter how long she rambled, though, every time he turned to face her, his voice refused to cooperate. Maybe it was too easy, he thought as she rambled through another legend too horrific to listen to. Even as Robin spoke, she broadcasted her fear louder than her voice. Every curiosity revealed another nightmare she'd never beaten. It wouldn't feel as good now, when he knew she was so fragile. 

Or maybe he didn't want to be an asshole anymore. 

So listened to every awful theory she had, and then drove home to find Henderson on his doorstep with his own set of ideas. Dustin's were at least a little less gory, but he had even less to work with than Robin did. Most of his 'theories', if they could even be called that, were cribbed from cop shows and nursery rhymes. The kind of thing his mother filled his head with so he wouldn't talk to strangers. They had never worked, because Dustin had never met a problem he didn't want to interrogate to death, but they left their mark all the same. So Steve soothed his fears, did his best to not sound too  sarcastic when he assured Dustin that the bogeyman didn't exist, and then shooed Dustin off to bed. 

Every night was the same, a shift of horror movie plots followed by a thirteen year old's best attempt at paranormal theory.

When the sun finally set on Thursday, Steve expected to feel relieved. After a week of fending off the worst of Robin and Dustin's impulses, he would finally be able to prove this wasn't their problem. All it would take was a quick look at Mr. Buckley's ledgers, and all three of them could finally move on.

Steve tried to remind himself of that, blocking Dustin's chattering voice out as he turned the thoughts over in his mind again and again. They did little to help the rising anxiety, though, the edges worn smooth with handling like well-eroded stones. Steve's fingers flexed against the steering wheel. The closer it got to go-time, the worse Steve felt. The air felt heavy around him, so thick he could imagine it darkening like in one of Dustin's movies. 

"You are, like, the worst criminal in the world," Dustin said, halfway through shoving a Twizzler into his mouth. 

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" 

"You literally look like you're about to throw up," Dustin said, poking at Steve's cheek with his licorice. 

Being able to grab the candy out of Dustin's hand without looking was probably the only thing Steve's Grimm abilities had ever been good for. He tossed it through his open window, his other hand covering Dustin's mouth– Well, the kid's entire face, really. Steve wasn't trying to shut him up as much as annoy him into submission. 

"You know, you could stand to take this a little more seriously," Steve said, frowning. "Jesus, where is Robin? She said eight, right?" 

"It's only 8:15, man," Dustin said, leaning his seat back. "Chill." 

"How is it that I'm the only one who believes there isn't a fucking serial killer on the loose and I'm still the only person taking this shit seriously?" he muttered to himself. He needed a fucking cigarette, but he knew Robin would bitch incessantly if she smelled smoke on him. Steve had no idea how he'd picked up another nerd to tell him what to do, or why he even cared about what she said– 

"Steve, seriously, fucking breathe." 

Steve heaved, realizing his lungs had stopped working a thousand thoughts ago. "Thanks," he wheezed. 

"No problem."

[mondaymelon]

ehehe sorry for the confusion, melon..my actual school learning time starts at 7 am- I just had to get there at 4 for early basketball practice and then I had to practice for 2 hours after school eugh my back hurts and my face hurts too bc I absolutely hate teaching 5th graders how to shoot into the hoop and meanwhile instead of the hoop. They aim for me.

but anyways, I only play basketball for the fun of it totally not so my college application looks good such as you and so I can take my pent up anger out on random kids that I’m supposed to beat the crap out of in ball and hOW TF ARE YOU STILL ON WINTER BREAK!!? MINE LITERALLY LASTED FOR 2 WEEKS 😭 AND THEN AS SOON AS I GOT BACK TO SCHOOL, MY MATH TEACHER DECIDED TO BE OH SO NICE AND GAVE US A FOUR QUESTION QUIZ. AND SHE KNOWS THAT I SUCK AT MATHHHHGDGSHXHS

but leaving all that aside, I actually am learning more abt you.. not creepily dang- but. I can speak two languages..am fluent in two :DD Chinese/Mandarin and English the second ones obvious but wtv and I have to eventually learn Spanish in my school in order to graduate high school-..and I’m currently working on Italian (￣▽￣) but uh, I don’t really know all that much in Italian- the most useful phrases that I currently know? ‘Un cappuccino con latte’, a cappuccino with milk, ‘Un cappuccino con zucchero’, a cappuccino with sugar, and ‘Che e un banco’, where’s the bank.

ANYWAYS, imma stop bothering you w my personal life issues and leave so I can start studying for my test although I more than likely won’t

- 🥦

so. like. hows your sleep schedule lookin 😀

OKAY I KINDA HATE ALL GRADE SCHOOlerS BUT JUST LIKE CHILDREN. idk if you saw it but i got A T T A C K ED By them during a social gathering good lord i despise children. there are a select few that are actually tolerable and sometimes even little angels but honestly those only exist in fiction (GIGGLES AT MY ADOPTED CHILDREN AKA NAHIDA N DORI N YAOYAO N COuntless otheRS)

these little bitches were banging down on my door and licking my books and throwing things behind the tv and honestly throwing everything that wasn't fucking bolted to the floor SIGHS . worst part is they may or may not be coming back saturday and if thats the case i will SOB. i was actually so close to crying the first time lmao cause oneo f them put their chair on my foot and then sat down on it and like girl yowch thats my foot youre sitting on 😀😀

ANYWAYS LMAO A COMPLETELY LEGAL WAY TO THROTTLE CHILDREN?? sign me up !!! annnndd i think your winter break started waaayyy earlier than mine since mine is only two weeks too, but im only a week in... i suffered knowing some of my mooties started like weeks and even a month prior SOBS

ngl i dont wanna be all "hohoho im so smart" but i got that shiny sparkly 4.0 gpa and math is one of the higher ones?? my teacher hasnt even put in my exam grade yet lmao it was on dec 20 or smth but i cant have done thhhhhaaattt bad right. (ILL MANIFEST GOOD GRADES FOR YOU ANON !!! just like how i manifested my navia pulls graahh)

and omg!??! im collecting mandarin-speakers like pokemon !! and woahhhh i dont know anyone that speaks italian, thats super cool!!

byebye 🥦 anon, wishing you the best of luckkkk !!

[writergod0]

WEAK-tober | Day 9: Bloody

How Late? 6 months, 12 days

AHahhaaha, still keeping this up-- Mostly because I'm avoiding my homework.

Category: M/F

Pairing: Kenny Ji/ Reader

Tags: #Angst

Words: 2,297

Current TW: Author Chose Not To Use Warnings

Author's notes: So there's this one person on discord that I just know likes Kenny angst, and another who hates it. Lmao, so here this is. I'm very happy to be part of the discord, because damn, it is hilarious to watch from the side lines.

The first time he sees you, it’s at some shitty ass convenience store where he and the fucks he takes care of decided to hang. It was one of those days where he takes his subordinates out for something small, just a couple of beers and some chicken, because it’s a lazy day where one could just sit outside on the pavement and smoke.

Some days, one just has to say fuck to that high-end bar that Manwol frequents. There’s a calm about hanging around shitty 24/7 convenience stores; it brings back memories of times when things were simpler.

Kenny watches you walk inside while he drags his cigarette, he’s leaning back on his chair at the outside patio of the store.

Pretty, the leather jacket is definitely a plus in his books. You browse through the store, easy smile on your lips as you talk to someone on your phone—A friend, perhaps? It’s as big contrast from the bad girl outfit you pull of seemingly… which is nice.

Definitely his type.

Fucker #1, who Kenny Ji reluctantly takes care of because of his position, snorts; pulling his attention away from you when he glares at the shit.

“You got something to say, you bastard?”

The bastard still has the audacity to look smug, “She has braces on, and they’re pink.”

“And you…” Kenny drags out as he flicks his cigarette away, stomping on it when he stands; he dusts himself off and pops a mint. “Have no taste.”

He could do charming.

He could also use the excuse to tell his subordinates to fuck off and leave him alone for the rest of the night. It’ll be a nice change of pace, and he’ll get a date out of it.

…

It’s seven dates later, the last date being you teaching him all the ways one could make a gun using a 3D printer, showing off all your stuffed animals you had since a child, and barbecuing at your place because it was cheaper, that he realizes:

Holy shit, that is definitely my type.

It’s also when he realizes that he’s been dating you without realizing it.

What the fuck.

…

“You have a brother?”

Kenny doesn’t know if you told him that before, because it felt like you told him that before and he just forgot. Which would be bad, very bad, because—

You blink, “I never told you?”

“No.” He says, “I don’t think so.”

Your eyes narrow, because for the past several minutes you were talking about this annoying dude that you know, what he did not know that it was you talking about your brother; and Kenny can feel his soul preparing to leave his body.

“For real?”

“Pretty sure.” Well, not that sure, but whatever. Wait… “I would have told you about my own brother if I did—”

“You have a brother?”

Wow.

It’s a full circle.

…

Things with Manwol start falling to shit. Changyeon Lee, the bastard, is being more ruthless than before; but Kenny owes him.

So he goes out and gets his hands dirty.

Kenny doesn’t want Jake to follow in his steps.

Kenny doesn’t want you to know this side of him.

But Changyeon Lee is owed.

…

You find out.

He doesn’t mean for you to find out, but life is shitty enough to throw you right in front of him when he’s doing the shit he does for Manwol. Kenny doesn’t even does this type of job often, he hasn’t bothered with high schoolers for an entire year until now because some fucks called the Un—

It doesn’t matter.

You find out, and he doesn’t follow when you leave with an expression he dares not describe. Manwol and every other fucker out there is watching him for a weakness he cannot afford, he reasons, and keeps the charade up long enough until he’s alone.

He vomits just before he manages to reach your place; the disgust builds itself, and maybe he deserves it.

So he leaves before he could knock on your door.

…

You ask him too meet at a restaurant; one of those Japanese food places that provide private rooms. You like things like that, you enjoy the privacy and kicking off your shoes and sitting cross-legged; though maybe you just want the privacy of breaking things off.

He can’t help but smile and let his shoulders sag in relief when he sees that you’re okay.

You smile.

Any other day, it would have been comforting; Kenny would have been mentally patting himself good job, definitely not blushing, and he’d be able to smile right back.

But he remembers what he did, and now that smile feels less than it ever should be. What would life be like if you decide to look past the deeds he’s done, because you’re kind enough for that. Truly.

Kenny doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness.

Not when he knows he can’t leave Manwol; knows that if he stays with you, then it’ll be some kind of fantasy that could be torn down at any moment.

“The kid.” You say, “Did you at least know his name?”

Of course he doesn’t fucking know, he just knew that it was a job that he was assigned to save face; the closest thing to a name for the kid was Motherfucker.

“No, I never really bothered with that.”

Your eyes widen at the admission, and your nails dig into the table; a habit of yours when you’re holding yourself back from being angry or from being excited.

Kenny could guess which.

Fucking Changyeon Lee.

Fucking Manwol.

Fuck all this shit to hell.

And Kenny isn’t one to shy away from accountability, isn’t one to deny that is position in Manwol is a burden his to bear; so he’ll make this easier for you.

“Let’s break up.” He says, determined—

Then you laugh and it’s so much crueler than he ever thought it could be; and Kenny deserves it, and it’ll be so much easier this way to.

“I can’t stand this anymore, fucking bastard.” You sigh, reaching into your purse to toss over one of those cute pink and plastic whatever the fuck they’re called folder envelopes. Your gaze is cold, “Here, read this.”

He takes it, opens the folder and—

There’s a million of things he could have said then, but the words die in his throat. He doesn’t know he’s shaking until you’re holding onto his hand.

Comforting?

No, of course not.

Your nails dig into the back of his hand, it’s too sharp; and when he finally composes himself to look at you, all there is is detachment.

“I had to move the schedule up because of your little stunt.” You say, kissing the back of his knuckle, “But that’s alright, better for the truth to come our sooner than later, right? Better to cut than to hold on.”

The folder drops, spilling its contents throughout the entire floor.

“It’s everything about Manwol.” You tell him as if he didn’t know that two plus two equals four. “You could double-check it if you want. Though I highly doubt you won’t find anything that’s missing.”

Kenny stares at it, he knew the folder was heavier than it should be, but to see the amount of it spread across the floor is another thing entirely. Several pictures, he knows instantly.

He swallows.

“How many copies?”

You let him go with a hum, leaving his side to pick up the files which has fallen. This was planned, he realizes, for a long, long time.

“I have plenty of copies.”

“Why?”

You look at him as if you want to laugh, as if the his questions pains you so that you are torn between hysterics and being furious; you glare at him and in the same breath you smile, and it’s the pain from where your nails dug till it bled that keeps him seated.

“Why do what you do?” You mock, snarling. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous? Don’t you know you hurt people? That the ones you hurt are loved? What did you feel when you hit that kid? What did you think?”

And the disgust builds itself.

“Did you really not know?” You ask him, pleading for what he cannot give; because apologies are useless when it cannot be fixed. “How bloody your hands are because of it, and you don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

You sigh.

He stays seated.

“You’re going to destroy Manwol with this, won’t you?”

Because Kenny doesn’t quite care anymore for what happens to it; and it’s justice at it’s finest. It’s also him, remembering the sea of the nameless and the named of those he hurt; and not knowing who was the one so important to you.

So, yeah.

He’ll deserve everything coming to him; he won’t even care if this was planned since the beginning. Doesn’t have the right.

“No.” You say, “I won’t.”

The confusion must have been evident, that you laugh at him; you’re holding back, he knows, from screaming and crying—

“I won’t, and it’s not because I love you. I don’t.”

Your smile is wry, your smile is sad.

“But because I know that you dug your own grave, that one day that that gang of yours would be the death of you.

Even if not that, I’m not going to go to the press, to the police, or to whatever authority out there that can deal with you fucks; because every week I will do a little thing.

When I do that, these files won’t be sent to every news outlet and to every station. I would do that every week, constantly saving your ass and you’ll know the reason why you’re still walking the streets is because of me.”

And you’re no longer smiling, but absolutely furious. There’s no excuse he could say, no explanation— And all he could do is watch as you break down in front of him and his choices.

“But you’ll be stuck with the knowledge that I could decide any day that it’s not enough, that one day I couldn’t stand the thought of you out there and I just let it happen. Maybe I could forget, maybe there was an accident and I just couldn’t.

How long do you think it will be? A week from now? A month? Several years?

You’re going to live with the knowledge that whatever you build from now could be torn down at any moment. Because this is about you and what you did that cannot be fixed.”

And the long monologue ends, leaving nothing but silence; He doesn’t know who he harmed that made you like this, but knows that it’s on him. If it were any other day, had he been younger or had he not known you, then he would have done anything in his power to burn away all that proof you had thrown in his face and snarled.

But he’s old enough that the awe of joining a gang had worn off into bitterness, and he’s far too fond of your smiles and your company, far too much in love, to take anything more from he than he already has.

And he’s already taken something from you that he cannot remember.

“Sorry.” Kenny says, as if it would change anything. It won’t. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I wish I didn’t.”

That startles a laugh out of you, who has fallen to your knees, who’s crying as quietly as you can because this is not a revenge plan but a shitty attempt at closure; it’s wet and broken laugh.

“You could have been great, you know.” And those words of yours will haunt him more than your monologue of lies; because he knows when you lie, knows that there’s no copies and no carefully crafted long con for his demise.

Yes, the proof your threw in his face took a long time. Yes, he knows that you knew what he did ever since; but he knows that you long since gave up on using it. Because if you really planned on doing that, he wouldn’t know it until it was already over.

“You’re such a lovely person, truly—”

If he had left behind all those things that made him worse, if he had left Manwol, if he had left Changyeon Lee to rot, if he hadn’t hurt someone that you loved; Kenny wonders if you would have stayed with him.

“—But your hands are too bloody.”

You leave him there.

He takes care of the bill.

…

The first time he saw you, it’s at some shitty ass 24/7 convenience store; you’re definitely his type, and he made his move the moment one of his jackass subordinates made some type of snide comment.

It was a good idea at the time, perfect excuse to ditch his subordinates and the leather jacket you wore that day provided an even better on.

You frowned when you paid for the candy you brought to the store counter, thankful while also unimpressed at the same time with how your eyebrows were raised.

It was fucking hilarious.

He had asked you on a date then, doesn’t remember if his clothes were clean or dirty but knew that he smelt of smoke and alcohol, you had asked in return: “What if you hurt me?”

“A pretty face like yours? Never. Plus, I think you could crush me anytime you want and no one would be able to find the body.”

There was a lot of talking after that, plenty of jokes; they were morbid jokes, and before the night had ended, it had led you to ask him this:

“You know, what if I really did hurt you?”

He grinned.

“I would have deserved it.”

[distant-velleity]

just shut it, will you? you know it all

Summary: It’s not that there isn’t any good in the world. It’s just that everything feels so constrained and bad that Deuce doesn’t care about the good anymore.

Warnings: it’s really just him getting into fights off-screen and taking damage for it, but a little bit of self-harm ideation? i guess?

Pairings: none

Word count: 850

A/N: Sigh. This one’s for “Bruises”. Look at the things I do to my favorite characters. I’m about to lose custody of them in fandom court

Another day, another several classes skipped. Already exhausted, Deuce hops the fence lining his school not long after the bell and meets up with his gang elsewhere, hands shoved in his pockets and bleached bangs hanging over his eyes in spiky strands. Where they go doesn’t matter as long as it’s somewhere other than this dump, they all agree for the most part, so into town it is.

Tough guys don’t engage in small talk, so these junior high schoolers argue and jeer over whatever just seems coolest and comes to mind. This one got a real pretty girlfriend who’ll probably last no more than a week, that one’s got new beef with the other junior high across town. Deuce is in the middle of it all, punching shoulders and cursing and laughing boisterously with the rest of them. Never talking about himself.

Everything goes in one ear and out the other. It still doesn’t feel like he belongs, even though he’s the leader.

To be frank, he’s not actually present in the moment right now. No one cares enough to pay attention to him, so he can’t be bothered to care about them. And so like every day for the past few months, Deuce feels detached from his body—like he’s witnessing every moment from the seat of a movie theater he snuck into, there but not really there. Wishing he was there, wishing he wasn't there.

It’s not a big surprise, then, when some ballsy guy from that other junior high tries to jab at them in an alleyway and the coldness of “anger” rushes under Deuce’s skin. Not heat, just freezing numbness—he can’t find it in himself to give half a damn anymore. Especially not when those jabs are more directed at the fragile egos of his guys.

So they suitably scare away the dude.

…Wait, scare away? Not jump and beat the shit out of him?

“What the hell?” asks one of his gang, saying aloud the question Deuce is asking himself. “Dude, what is wrong with you today?”

“First it’s being late, now this,” agrees someone else. “S’not like you at all. What happened to the Duke?”

Deuce scowls. “Back off. It’s none of your business.”

Another guy shakes his head furiously. “It is our problem if our top dog’s being a little bitch today.”

Now that someone’s been cocky enough to go straight out and say it, more of them are willing to nod in agreement and mutter things of their own. If Deuce had thought the teachers telling him to try harder and work towards a goal were annoying, then these guys are like yapping summertime insects, a buzzing nuisance that just keeps getting louder and louder.

It’s so irritating.

“Oh, yeah?” He bares his teeth in an even fiercer scowl, cracking his scarred knuckles with his palm. “You want me to teach you your place, is that it?”

The self-thinking ringleader scoffs at him, then flashes an unwarranted grin. “It’s, what, ten or so of us here? Against your one? You’re not gonna be doing any teaching of places.”

The current formation is split pretty unevenly, the odds far from in his favor—or so it’d look to an outsider.

Deuce just barks out a laugh. “Bring it on.”

Another day, another scrap with idiots who don’t matter.

Deuce comes home that late afternoon victorious, dubbed the Duke of Cauldrons or some shit by the townspeople, but bruised and tired and apathetic. His mom still isn’t home, and there’s an unanswered call or two on the phone in the dining room from school. It’s silent and lifeless but lived-in here, like any other day. Like it’s some kind of temporary ghost town.

The opposite of his guys’ yapping, but equally awful-feeling.

Deuce makes a beeline for the bathroom so he can wash his face and maybe slap some disinfectants and bandages on his new cuts and scrapes. When he closes the door behind him and shrugs off his coat and shirt, he can already see the fruits of his most recent fight. Splotches of green, black, and blue are spread unevenly over his bare skin.

It’s seeing the cuts too that make him think of red ink on all his tests and the red he sees when he loses his temper.

“You can’t solve all your problems with violence and anger, Deuce.”

He scowls at himself in the mirror and presses on a bruise to feel something, anything other than this frustration. To make someone hurt, even himself.

“I know you can do this, Deuce. Let’s calm down and try again.”

So annoying. Fuck that. Why should he care about getting better? It’s not like things ever do. He’s stuck where he is, an all-brawns no-brains idiot, so why should he ever even hope?

A few minutes pass. Deuce is probably imagining things, but it seems as if the bruises have only spread even further. It was cathartic at first, but now it’s just an eyesore.

…Ugh. I wish it’d all disappear already.

And he’s not just talking about the bruises.

[arrestedforhomestuckcrimes]

Thoughts based off of last reblog since I didn't wanna derail just talking about my experiences with no real PointTM

I had the best homeschooling options I think you can really get.

My mom wanted to grow up and be a stay at home mom, but grandma made sure she had a degree and could work if she needed to. My mom went to college FOR teaching and then had me right away so that degree was put away until dad got laid off sixteen years later

I went to preschool and kindergarten and even before my mom knew homeschooling was a real option she was helping with my education.

Thanks to this book I was WAY ahead of my peers in kindergarten.... With Reading Only. TERRIBLE social skills, I preferred grabbing from our tiny in class library during free choice time over ever playing with anyone.

From first grade to college, I was homeschooled.

And like, I knew every type of family that post described. We had C**** who was never going to go to college, she took over running her family's coffee shop. We had J****, who I think married his girlfriend when they were 16 and 17 if I remember correctly. Or both 17 but I know they weren't 18

(She had cancer and probably wasn't going to make it to the end of the year, for the record. It was very much circumstantial, but I knew more than one other couple who DID get married at 18)

I can look back at the people who went to the co-op and point out the anger management kid, the extreme autism kids, the Weird food allergy kids, the Severely Christian kids, etc.

I knew a family with nine kids where the girls were Not Allowed to wear pants. All dressed, all the time. High collars, sleeves to the elbows, skirts to the ankles.

My mother was told she was training me and my siblings to be sluts for letting us wear two pieces. The kind of two piece that covers the entire stomach and looks functionally like a one piece.

Half the kids I knew weren't allowed to read Harry Potter.

There is a third type the post doesn't mention though. The families who hate the government and are SUPER neglectful. That was my best friend's family growing up.

It's interesting like. Being Homeschooled definitely made me the person I am today. If I could go back I would have stayed in public school and hopefully would have learned to 1 Realize Deadlines Are Real. 2 Study. 3 Socialize with people I don't already know.

If I popped out a kid today (horrifying) I would NOT let them into the public school system.

I grew up SO PREJUDICED against public schoolers lmao. "Those poor idiots, getting pushed into overcrowded, underfunded buildings that are designed to make you a Good Factory Worker not to teach you to learn"

Which isn't the full truth but isn't inaccurate either you know? Like there's a layer of that I don't think I'm ever going to be able to get rid of but I'm also not letting any future kids I'm never going to have go to public school b/c of school shootings.

And if I had gone to public school I wouldn't have gotten to do half the things I did! Civil air patrol, violin lessons, drama club, dance lessons, karate, I did EVERYTHING and if I went to public school there just wouldn't have been time in the day!

I didn't know gay people existed until our Friday Forum (big homeschool co-op that met once a month) people said our state had just failed two intelligence tests. They were talking about how the state was legalizing gay marriage and weed.

I just. Idk. It was the best thing that happened to me. It was Absolutely a cult but one I was on the fringe of. You need a parent who's willing to do a LOT of work to make it work. I never got a high school diploma. I have two college degrees.

I hope my old friends are okay. I haven't talked to any of them in at least three years, closer to 6 for most of them.

[crunchybees]

goal setting for projectors:

instead of setting goals for physical, external things and burning yourself out or beating yourself up because you gave up before the finish line, try to set goals for ways of being. we've all come across something interesting that has improved the way we live, whether its for efficiency, health, understanding, or literally anything that makes life more enjoyable for us. i say, work on those things that will make your personal life better. i am a splenic projector, and recently i have found success in improving my bodily health. this has been in the works for several years (im also heavily saturn ruled and saturn rules the channel connecting to my throat center!). it started with a simple intention -i want to be healthier. but there was a lot of trying with no sticking to it. the main issue was that i could not find the right type of excercise. projectors are really iffy with excercise - we cant do it too often or too much or we get tired, and splenic projectors can get sick. i also did not have any generator to excercise with! and wow, trying to consistently exercise by yourself as a projector feels like seppuku. i have my heart and root centers defined so i could do any routine i had for about a month or so but after that i just completely lost interest and ended up feeling bad about it. like damn why cant i do that? well. thats just not how i work and thats okay. at that time i had a lot of other stuff going on, stuff that was more important than gainz, like going through the motions of being a high schooler who lives in her aunts crumbling basement. and yes i was trying to excercise in this crumbling basement - me, with taste cognition, crazy. so it wasnt the right time. but now it is. now i do have the energy to focus on directly improving myself and my life. it all started when i graduated. i immediately had a weight lifted off of my chest and i could function properly. well rested and able to focus on whatever came my way. i am a 1/3 profile as well, which means that the way i reach these goals is by first doing research (1 line), and then using my authority to choose what to take into my life and go through that trial and error process with (3 line). so from the beginning, i knew that the three things i wanted to work on, the three things that i knew were the most important, were sleep, food, and excercise. so here comes the research. and sometimes its unintentional. i didnt google search "poisons in food". but the state of food in the us led me to wonder what exactly these ingredients are doing, what effect are they having on my body? also saw stuff on twitter that triggered me to do research. i just get twinges to look further sometimes. and i saw a documentary last year about the effects of sugar and its substitutes. over time the knowledge builds up. i became pescatarian. i know what the nutritional content of almost every food i eat is. i found a partner to go to the gym with, just about once a week (i have wet kitchens environment as well). im still finding a good way for me to do reps and sets, cardio and strength, without me being absolutely obliterated by the end, but i am pretty close to finding that sweet spot. and rest has been so, so important to me over these last few months. ive been putting my foot down and saying NO if im tired, if i know something will wear me out. and my bed... after a long time of sleeping on a futon i now sleep on a beautiful cloud that begs me to stay. this is an indicator of success to me, as a projector. i didnt have a tangible thing that told me ive completed my goal. and its still not over - there is much, much more to life. but now i am able to take on the responsibilities and benefits that come with being this type of person and knowing this type of knowledge. master what you know is good for you. what benefits you, will benefit anyone who seeks your guidance. youre the one who is teaching people right from wrong here. youre the one giving them the map youve drawn from the lessons youve learned.

[1d1195]

No i completely agree with having some drama in the plot! I love the chaos,the hurt, and drama in general! It’s what makes everything in the end so satisfying to read bc who can see how the vision came together! And you absolutely aren’t being dramatic! It’s okay to feel some type of way when you have people voicing their opinions on your stories because you’ve said many times that the themes you wrote are deeply personal to you! So of course you’ll get some emotions going and that’s okay I mean it’s your blog so you’re allowed to express yourself freely ya know!

And bahah omg of course I’ll go to therapy for the both of us 🤪

There have been so many instances throughout your work where I have felt SEEN whether it be tiny quirks that you give your characters or there deepest struggles/desires so of course when topics like what the MC of Dolcezza struggles come up, I don’t “hate” it or find it “annoying” because it’s a genuine struggle that I personally deal with just like others! It’s a very raw thing to portray and it’s hard to understand from an outsiders perspective how it may look like an easy fix but unless you have/do struggle with it, it’s not that simple.

And you’re too sweet! I try my best not to have too much typos since I mainly answer on my phone and I just get too excited sometimes when responding lol

ITS BEEN SIX MONTHS?!?? WHAT?! Crazy bc it doesn’t feel like that at all😭 I have been definitely reading/following for a bit longer but I always just interacted by send feedback through your asks and it just now occurred to me to ask for an emoji lol anyways I’m very happy to have you in my life too, my long distance bff/penpal🥹🤧 you are just so sweet really and I love you so much! I hope you know how much you and our convos mean to me❤️-💜

Wait omg I forgot to mention that the fact that you teach high schoolers is CRAZY! Not because I don’t think you’re capable but because TEENS ARE CRAZY! High school is wild time so yeah lol but I just know you’re an amazing teacher! You give off such caring vibes! -💜

—

Our convos mean SO much to me too! I’m living my super secret spy fanfic writer life so I have to stop myself from saying “my friend from California” (even tho I’ve never been ☠️) ALL the time 😭

You’re so sweet to me, thank you for being so understanding and kind 💕💕 it means the most to me. It’s nice I don’t have to explain myself to you, I feel like our brains just wirelessly relate and you just get it.

Oh teens are insane. I do love them honestly. But there’s a couple that are horrible and full offense want someone to punch them in the face 👀 whoops. It’s my own fault for trying to teach them math too. Like idk what I was thinking some days.

Most importantly!!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

🎉🎈🎁🎂🥳💕

I hope you’re having the best day, your psych exam went well and you have the best drink tonight!!!! 💕 I love you so much and can’t wait to hear all about it!!!

Xoxo

[teatoohottohandle]

high schoolers/gen-z

I have been teaching high schoolers in a dual enrollment class for the past 4 months now. Dual enrollment meaning they are able to earn both high school and college credit.

I started out with 11 students and it's since whittled down to 5 -- these 5 are seniors and going various routes and pathways, but they are 5 close friends. It's endearing to have 5 close friends in class. It's something that you won't find too often in college at least. I appreciate them and I like having them, I think they're hilarious in their own little Gen-Z ways.

One time, I had walked into class, late, and I saw that one of the students was crying. There were 2 other students I had never seen before who were comforting this student. She had looked up at me and resumed crying. I was about to start class but noticed she had her face buried in her hands still, her elbows on the desk. So I paused and I asked, "Are you okay? Do you need to see a counselor?"

I kid you not she was faking it. She then launched into a verbal attack against a fellow classmate and claimed, "He fucked my boyfriend for the 4th time!" To which some of the class exploded in unstoppable laughter and I, being an adult who wasn't sure to take this seriously or not, repeated again, "Do you want to see a counselor?" They then proceeded to "pretend fight." It was one of the worst classes I had with them. They later apologized for having a "Fake Jerry Springer episode" but I wasn't pleased with that at all.

I've noticed over the past 4 months that they enjoy opportunities to touch each other.

The student who was fake crying for their fake Jerry Springer episode has attempted to squat several of her classmates.

Today, another student wrestled another student to the ground.

There was another pseudo, less dramatic Jerry Springer-esque fight that took place but because I had given those students 0 (zeroes) for participation and attendance that last time, they had quickly stemmed it before it became an episode.

And maybe touch is a way to communicate. Touch through an act of playfulness, touch as an act of recognizing each other, seeing each other, attempting to connect with one another.

I wanted to write about this and reflect on it because I saw someone I went to middle school with post on their IG Story, "Remember how in middle school you used to hug everybody you knew."

In high school we stopped and then in college I resumed my freshman year and then I became cognizant of touch and became uncomfortable with touching, with hugging, with any display of affection.

I long to hold my friends' hands, to give loved ones kisses on their cheeks as greetings. I just don't know where to start.