#but girl you are still a fucking faculty member and no matter how he’s treated he is not
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our ld is being genuinely cruel to our stage manager (also my very good friend. also still a STUDENT) and it is so fucking exhausting and also i was shaking with anger after she tried to humiliate him during a meeting with everyone after the run today. i am so so so fucking over it. can people pls just be decent to each other
#it takes a LOT to piss me off#and i could not continue to be in the same room with her or i would have said something i regretted. i was so mad#i don’t know what her deal is but it might partly but that he’s an older student which makes them close in age#but girl you are still a fucking faculty member and no matter how he’s treated he is not#oh god and she also almost definitely said some vile antisemitic shit that was almost certainly directed at him#on top of so many things. get the FUCK over yourself and grow up#ted talks
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What happens at parent teacher interviews? Is Ethan obviously flirty or real smooth cat
Ethan Dolan was not a clean pallet. He wore tattoos like they were going out of fashion, and soon. A nearly full leg sleeve— a pant if you will, that he managed to cover with dress pants. Half an arm sleeve he never finished. Life got tricky. Kids came along. He did however have one tattoo he loved the most— he cherished it everytime he looked in the mirror after a hot shower.
A simple heartbeat of that who he loved and lost along the way. His fiancée. The mother of his children. The love of his life. Ethan knew he would someday move on, allow another woman to love his children, the very extensions of himself the same way he did. Unconditionally. But he never really made it a priority. Ethan was content, with his little family he raised with the help of their uncle Grayson and grandma Lisa. It sometimes takes a village to raise a child, multiple that and add Dolan genes into the mix and you’ll need an entire army.
But it was always going to be an inevitable part of Ethan’s life, he’d eventually move on. It wasn’t a matter of if he would, but when. And when he saw Pipper Reid sitting at a desk his kids were pulling him towards at parent teacher night he was shocked. She stood with a smile and a giggle, woundering why he wore a plastic pirate patch and patted down her dress. Reaching her hand out the shake Ethan’s. Registering after a week who he was.
“You must be Lexi and Le—oh my goodness it’s you! From St Anne’s, my son he uh—“
“Gave me the shiner?” Ethan smirked as he removed the patch his daughter insisted he wore. She didn’t like seeing her dad hurt. “I don’t remember ever introducing myself properly, I think I was too agitated and frustrated and just—“ he sighed, placing the patch back on as they sat. “Oliver’s a good kid, really he is! He just needs guidance and something to swing at beside other students and faculty members.” Ethan chuckled. “Pipper Reid.”
“You’re kids are blessing—“ she paused, only knowing his last name. Ethan filled her in with a smile. Pipper blushed. “Lexi is a phenomenal student, bright! I see a lot of my younger more ambitious self in her, Leo? He’s gifted. A little Artist.” It was Ethan’s turn to blush, holding his kids hands on either side of hims as they beamed up at the kindergarten teacher they idolised. “Lexi however, I’m concerned her social skills are falling behind.”
“She’s not the most socially interactive kid is she, huh Lex?” Ethan nudged her softly. Watching as her smile faded. “You’re not in trouble for being you Lex.”
“Absolutely not Lexi is never be cross with you, sometimes we all need to socialise though.” Lexi huffed. Leo watched on.
“I don’t even know what that means though—“
“it means that you have to try eat your strawberry jam sandwich with some kids in the playground sometimes.”
“I like staying in with you though miss Reid.” Ethan’s heart sank. He kissed his daughters head.
“Believe me, I enjoy the company.” Pipper reassured the little girl who just didn’t know how to make friends. “But we can work on it? I’m not gonna just tell you to do something without helping you! And your dads here too so we can work together on it. Project Lexi.”
Ethan watched as Lexi nodded along, turning his attention to his son. “An artist huh?”
“Can’t keep him away from the paint or crayons or something he can draw with long enough, I let Lexi use the good pencils at recess and lunch but Leo here, he makes anything look like a million dollar deal.”
“You holding out on me bro?” He chuckled as he messed up Leo’s hair. Bumping his hip as Leo laughed.
“No—“
“Well mrs Reid here says otherwise.” She didn’t mean to correct him so quickly or seem so desperate, it just slipped out.
“It’s Miss actually, Miss Reid.”
“So I wouldn’t be crossing a line here if I asked you to get a coffee with me sometime?” It was a bold move no doubt. Ethan hadn’t asked someone to grab coffee with him in years. But there was something about Pipper he couldn’t stop thinking about. He just wanted to get to know her more. Make her a constant in his life. Hell, if things didn’t work out she couldn’t fuck his children over that much could she. Piper smiled and leaned back in her chair. Her pen flip flopping in her hand. Tapping on the bench.
“I see a wedding band Ethan—“ pointing her pen to Ethan left ring finger. “I don’t—“
“S’not, I promise. It’s merely a remember that love still exists.” Ethan looked down at his hand, the silver band that surrounded the base of his finger. “It’s just a form of self tournament, but we can definitely talk about it more over coffee? Promise theirs no spouse waiting at home for her husband to return, if their was she’d definitely be here.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“Grab coffee with me and find out?” Ethan smirked. He knew he was winning. Leo pressed into his side tiredly. “Thankyou so much for your time Mrs Reid, I’m gonna take them home.”
“It’s Miss Ethan!” Pipper chuckled as she stood with Him. “It’s Miss.”
“I think I’d remember that a lot easier if you just had a coffee with me? There’s a really nice cafe down the street from my place, my treat?” Ethan pleaded with Pipper, it was rather pathetic. However she didn’t mind the chase. Pipper had never experienced this before. “Look.” Ethan sighed as he picked up Lexi. Her eyes tired. Leo’s hand in his. “I won’t lie, besides my brother? I’m a lacking a little in the friend department, you care about my kids not because it’s your job but because you have a good heart, I’m working my ass off for your son not because I’m trying to get to you but because he needs help and everyone was so ready to give up on him. He’s like you said, a good kid.”
“I really appreciate what you’re doing for Oliver.” Pipper was quiet as she spoke. “He’s unique.”
“I’ve been spending two hours a day with that kid in a pirate patch, he would hate it if he knew you got coffee with me so please, for the love of all that’s good in this world I promise I’ll make sure they make you the best coffee in the world because I really need to knock this kid down a few pegs and I’m outta ideas.” By the end of his little rant Ethan was breathless. His eyes just watching as Pipper giggled. She thought about her options. Ethan was sweet. He seemed about the same age as her. Funny. What could one coffee do? Beside he couldn’t mess up Oliver any more then he already was right?
“Okay, okay yeah—alright I’ll grab coffee with you.”
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Piss Off your Parents
Shigadabi week day 5
AO3 Link
Summary: Tenko is tired of being treated like a kid. He knows that his dad is worried, but he is an adult and it's time his old man understands that. Luckily, he has a hot new boyfriend who is more than willing to help him.
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Civilian / Steampunk / Teamwork
"YOU GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Tenko cried as a moving company placed his furniture on the UA teacher's dormitory.
Tenko had always been an unlucky bastard. He was born with a destructive quirk that made him dangerous to others and valuable to villains. Or, more specifically, one villain. All for One. The man wanted to grab hold of him since he was a child and had his first accident with his quirk. He had luckily been found by a hero instead of the super-villain though. Loud Cloud, or Shirakumo Oboro had come across the scared, skinny, bloodied child and helped him out. The two, along with his friends Aizawa Shota and Yamada Hizashi, had learned that he was the grandson of Nana Shimura, the mentor of All Might.
Suddenly, he had gone from murdering his family to being adopted by the cloud hero and gaining three hero uncles and one hero aunt. His life had gone from nightmare to dream-come-true in a matter of seconds. And after years of taking care of him and being the best possible dad he could have asked for, the man who saved him was stabbing him in the back.
"Tenko, this is only temporary," the cloud haired man says trying to calm him down. "You only have to stay here for a few months, until it's safe for you to live alone again," the hero teacher explains.
"I have my own life now, dad. I have art classes and friends and a life outside of UA, unlike you," Tenko hadn't followed on his new family's career. He didn't want to be a hero. After everything he had gone through, he just wanted a simple life. And he almost suceeded.
He might have gone to UA, but only because his father and uncles worked there and he went to General Studies. Once he graduated, he got a scholarship for an Art course of studies in a good university, he sold commission pieces of his drawings on patron and got his own apartment. It was not the luxury and excitement of a pro-hero, but he was happy. He had a great neighbour, Twice, who introduced him to his gang of misfits and outcast where he fitted perfectly.
There was Giran, Twice's boyfriend, who ran a Personal Manager office. Magne, one of the girls who worked there. Toga, an upcoming idol who the office represented. Spinner, a friend of Toga's. Mustard, Giran's intern. And Dabi, another one of the represented clients of their office and his boyfriend.
How had he gotten that? Don't ask him. One day, Jin was introducing the two to each other, and the next Dabi was taking him out on dates. Tenko had never had a boyfriend before, and his relationship with Dabi was rather new, so he hadn't told his dad yet. For the most part, he didn't want to freak him out. Oboro had grown very protective of him with having a crazy super-powerful villain going after him. But with how things were going, he was starting to not care that much about it.
"It's already been decided, Tenko," Oboro sighs. "You have to stay here..." Oboro tried to place a hand on his hair, but he quickly moved away and stomped inside.
"Fuck you!" he cried at his dad first. "And fuck all of you too!" and he continued with the rest of the faculty members hanging around in the Common room before heading upstairs to what will be his new place.
If he was honest, he didn't care much about living for a few months in UA. He loved his dad and his uncles and didn't really mind spending more time with them. But they couldn't keep treating him like a child. They couldn't take such a big decision for him believing that they knew better. He was an adult now. They had to talk things over with him and understand that he could make his own responsible choices. Usually Shouta, Hizashi and Yagi would have his back, but with their paternal instincts turned on again with the arrival of Midoriya and Eri, there was no such luck.
He stomped all the way to his room and once inside, flopped face down on his couch. Unlike the students dormitories, UA faculty members had bigger quarters. Instead of a one-bedroom, they had a private bathroom, a separate bedroom and a main lounge area. It was better than his apartment, but the fact that it had been his and this wasn't, made the entire thing pale in comparison to his eyes. But maybe it was just his anger. He was still pissed at his father, and it frustrated him that screaming at him wouldn't help the situation. He wanted to get back at him somehow, teach him a lesson. But how?
His answer came in the form of text message. His phone pinged in his pocket, and when he checked who it was, he couldn't help but smile.
Dumbass <3
Why are ppl taking stuff out of your home?
Are you moving out?
No
Dad is worried and made me move with him
Well, Fuck
And I had a plan to surprise you with cooking and a nerdy movie...
Guess we'll have to wait
X(
Don't cry, babe
We can sneak you out.
I am an expert, after all
An expert?
What? Did you sneak out of your house late at night to go to some concert or some shit?
Like the rebel that you are?
Hell yeah,
I'm the disappointment your parents don't want you near
That's right...
You are a disappointment
Okay... Rude
Do you still want to help me with my body-art project?
Sure
Are you free tomorrow? It might take a while
I thought you were going to paint over me and take some pictures.
How long can that take?
A lot
We might get distracted~
And I want to reward you after such a long day of work~
...
I have a clear schedule on Friday.
Good
It's a date!
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"What the..."
School had just finished, and the teachers were just returning to their dormitory. Thought the sight that welcomed them wasn't one they were expecting.
It had been a couple of days since Tenko had moved in with them. The rest of the staff didn't see a problem with it. They knew the kid, and he was a polite and responsible young man. That morning, for example, he had asked all of them if he could use the Common room of the dorm for one of his art projects and if they were alright with somebody else coming too (Apparently he needed help with the project). It was a good change, though. Lately, the art student had been in a foul mood, ever since he moved. But that morning, it had been as if he was a whole other person. Oboro had been glad his son's mood had improved. He thought once he could focus on his art, it would happen. Boy, was he wrong...
When the teachers entered their new shared home, Tenko was there with a plastic rug covering the floor, some paintbrushes scattered around and kneeling in front of a half-naked person. It was definitely not what they expected.
"Oh, hey," the nudist greets them with a nod.
The sound makes the man kneeling turn around, revealing the other was not fully naked, but wearing underwear thank god and Tenko was painting near his crotch area. Aizawa, who was holding Eri and covering her eyes, and the rest of the teachers, let out a relieved sigh, except Oboro. He is still staring in disbelief and surprise, not understanding what is going on. Why is his son with this stripper stranger? Why was he so close to him?
"Sorry about the mess, I didn't know this would take so long," Tenko apologises as he goes back to painting on his live canvas.
Said canvas was a tall red-haired man with blue eyes who couldn't have been a few years older than Tenko. The guy had painted on patches of black ashy paint on half of his face, his neck, arms and shoulders. He probably had more on his back and legs, but the teachers couldn't see that. His front was left bare, but Tenko was making a weird patterns that were rising through his abdomen and chest, leading to a giant rainbow heart in his left pectoral.
"What type of classes are you taking?" Yamada asks.
"This is for my Alternative Art and Style class," Tenko explains. "Now, could you not bother me? It's a delicate process, and I don't want to start over again. Pretend we are not here," he calls them off.
The teachers do, and so he continues. Once he finishes with the chest, he takes a weird tool with a round end and dips it in water. He gently starts to trace patterns on one of the black patches, revealing a multitude of colours behind it. It's rather magical, seeing the colour come to life on the other's skin. Eri, who had become too curious and escaped Aizawa's censoring, even asks if she could try. Tenko lets her, and she does a small heart in the behind the redhead's ear.
An hour later, Tenko is done, and he and the live canvas start to take pictures of his work. The teachers are not paying it too much attention now, letting the student finish in peace as they grade papers, sometimes glancing back at them from the corner of their eye. All of them but one, who was too busy glaring daggers at the canvas. Oboro can't help but notice the weird tension between his son and the naked man. There's something in the way their gazes cross, and their touches linger that is making him mad. He used to be able to read his son like an open book. There weren't any secrets between them. But now, he is not so sure.
After a few shots with the guy spread-eagle against one of the white walls, the two left towards another room to take more pictures. Oboro fought against all his instincts telling him to stop them, to go with them, to not leave them alone for a second, and stayed with the rest of his co-workers and friends. He didn't know why, but he felt as if he had let his son walk straight to hell.
"Finally," Snipe sighs relieved once the two younger adults leave.
"Yeah, Shirakumo-san, you didn't tell us your son had a boyfriend-," Thirteen comments.
"He doesn't!" the delusional man interrupts. "That guy is not- he isn't- Tenko would tell me if he had a boyfriend, alright!?" he tries to convince them or himself, he isn't sure at this point. Shota hums by his side, in that ' I agree, but we both know you are wrong' tone.
"Honey, the only reason why they didn't jump each other is because we were there," Nemuri goes straight for the punch, covering Eri's ears and giving him a little wink.
"No! No, no. NO." he splutters before going back to paperwork. Shota hums again.
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They don't see Tenko again until after dinner. They were cleaning the table when the young man came down wearing a new set of clothes. Instead of the dirty sweatpants and tank top he used for painting, he had a black pair of pants and a black hoodie that was too big for him. The neckline didn't cover one of his shoulders and the sleeves pooled in his wrists. The hoodie also had a fire design on the back with blue flames.
"Hey, you missed dinner," Oboro tells him as he dries while Yagi cleans. "There's some leftover the fridge, if you want them," he tells him.
"No need, there's still some pizza left from my lunch with Dabi," he says and starts taking out what he needs.
"Dabi?" Yagi asks. "That's the name of the model who wore your art today? He seemed familiar,"
"Yeah, he's a professional model, maybe you saw him in a billboard or something," Tenko explains and starts heading out of the kitchen.
"You might wanna take another shower, Ten, you still have paint on your neck," Oboro points out.
"That isn't paint, dad..." Tenko grins as he disappears upstairs.
CRASH
"Oboro-san! The plates!"
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Saturday morning at UA always started slow. The weight of the week was still present, and the usual energy was not there yet. The staff of UA began their day with a quiet morning and a cup of coffee. Not all of the teachers stayed though. Some returned to their homes for the weekend, like Hizashi and Shota with Eri. They would take turns to stay with the students during Saturdays' and Sundays'. This weekend, Oboro, Nemuri, Snipe and All Might stayed.
"Fucking married fools..." Snipe groans as he arrives at the Common room.
"What are you complaining about now?" Nemuri asks, confused as the rest of them also come down.
"Last Night, Yamada and Aizawa," he grunts and spreads on the couch. "I know that they are married and that they love each other, but can't they keep it down?" he moans tired, making everybody confused.
"What do you mean? They left yesterday with Eri, they didn't even spend the night here," Oboro tells the hero, voicing everybody confusion.
"But then who were the ones having sex yesterday in the room on top of mine?" Snipe asks baffled.
"Sorry about that," a low voice comes from the kitchen. The teachers all turn towards it and find the model from yesterday leaning against the kitchen door with two steaming cups of coffee one was Tenko's favourite one, Oboro noticed and no shirt.
"What- Why- What are you still doing here?" Oboro asks, fearing the answer.
"My baby was lonely, and he never says no to Daddy's attention," Dabi grins and walks back upstairs.
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"So, how long are you going to torture your dad?" Dabi asks his boyfriend, giving him the steaming cup in his new bed before he lays down next to him.
"For a while," Tenko hums and sips his sugar monstrosity he referred to as 'coffee'. "I'm guessing in a month, he'll finally get tired of it, learn his lesson," Dabi hums as he sips with him. "You don't have to follow along if you don't want to. I know what I'm doing is stupid," he says, lightly scratching his neck.
"Are you kidding me!? I love every second of it," Dabi chuckles. "How about on winter holidays you came to my family's home, and we do the same to my old man?" he suggests, a mischievous grin forming in his face.
"Are these going to be our dates from now on? Pissing off each other's parents?" Tenko rolls his eyes at his boyfriend's daddy issues.
"Hell, yeah. We are a team, aren't we? If you succeed, then so do I," he kisses him in the cheek, making the younger man's cheek turn pink. "Speaking of which, I need to leave more marks on you, babe," The brunette traces a path with his lips to the crook of his neck.
"Dabi..." the artist moans. Suddenly, the body besides him steps away from the bed, taking the heat with him. "No, don't leave..." he pouts and watches as his boyfriend rummages through his overnight bag. A second later, the taller male drops a dozen lipstick tubes on the bed and a box of make-up removing tissues on the bed. He then sits in the mattress again, in front of him, making the new objects bounce. "What are those for?"
"A game I know. Pick one," Tomura looks between the object and his boyfriend, trying to decipher what he was planning on doing. With a shaky gloved finger, he takes the tube nearest to him. Dabi takes it from him and spins it open, displaying a hot pink colour and applies it rapidly on his lips.
He is about to ask him something else, but he is interrupted by a pair of wet lips connecting with his. After his mouth, Dabi kisses his cheek then his jaw, his neck and collar bone before once again returning to his lips. He then separates from him once again and reaches for one the wipes, leaving Tomura panting. "Pick another one," he is instructed as the brunette takes off the pink lipstick. Without taking his eyes off Dabi, grabs another tube and hands it to him. The man on top opens the new one, a deep red, applies it and goes back to Tenko's lips. This time though, instead of continuing on his neck, the other dips down lower and tugs his shirt upwards. He starts to outline a straight line from his hip to his heart before returning to his lips again. "Another one and take that shirt off, I plan on making you a masterpiece," Dabi softly whispers in his ear before wiping off the make-up.
Colour after colour, Dabi stayed true to his word. His collar and neck ended up pink, his chest had three lines of kiss marks in red, purple and blue, his shoulders and wrists got green and yellow on his right and left and his crotch covered in black. He would start and end with his lips, making them swollen and full of colour. Dabi kissed him slowly and sensually everywhere, tearing him apart with every touch of his lips, smearing make-up all over his body. He felt his affection and care, leaving him breathless and dizzy. They didn't do anything overly sexual, his bottom was still sore from yesterday, though Dabi did blow him.
As the two laid next to each other after it, Tenko couldn't believe how happy the other made him. Dabi was his first relationship, and the man had been nothing if not patient with him. He let him set a pace he was comfortable with, teaching him the ropes and calming his anxiety whenever he got nervous. He even went along with his petty scheme. Tenko knew he was falling for the guy and it terrified him and thrilled him at the time. The fact that he could just be next to a person and be happy and content was new. He could stay in this bed forever, staring back into those blue eyes, and be in peace.
Suddenly, a phone rings in the background, interrupting the moment. Dabi huffs annoyed and picks up the phone on the nightstand. "What, Giran!?" he answers the call. "What? No, I'm busy. Can't you postpone it?" he says after a second. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. But I'm with Shirakumo right now," he moans and sighs once he gets an answer. "Alright, alright, I'm going. I'll see you there," he hangs up the phone and sighs again.
"You have work?" Tenko asks him.
"Yeah, the photoshoot for that new perfume brand, 'Angel's Tears', got moved to today. They want to release the product earlier, to win against a rival brand," he explains annoyed. "I don't wanna leave..." he moans and hides his face in the crook of his neck.
"You can come back later, I don't want you to miss work," he tells him, stroking the model's naked back. Dabi groans in protest and cuddles closer, hanging on to hin tighter. "Come on, you lazy bum, get up," he tells him and tries to get out of his hold.
It takes him a minute, but he is able to get out of bed and go into the bathroom. When he is in there, he gets to look at the end piece of Dabi's game. His body is a battlefield of lip marks of different colours in a chaotic yet very eye-catching way. He had a lot of issues like a LOT of issues and his dislike for his body was one of them. But looking at himself like this? With the clear evidence that someone loved his frail, pale form, it made his stomach flutter. Taking advantage of his new-found confidence, he goes for his phone and takes a picture in the mirror. As the camera goes off, Dabi appears behind him, placing his arms in his stomach and his chin in his shoulder. He takes another one.
"I told you I would make you a Masterpiece," he whispers in his ear and then kisses it.
The two try to get presentable, or at least Tenko does, covering the lipstick with clothes. The make-up is dry now, so the wipes don't take much of it off. He might need to take a shower once Dabi leaves. Once the two are ready, they go to the gate hand in hand to wait for Giran. The manager is going to drive the model there, since he doesn't have a car.
They depart with a kiss and a promise to call the other once they're free again.
Once he is gone, he makes his way back to the small dormitory-apartment, where he sees his dad sitting in one of the couch with his face in his hands. Yagi by his side, was trying to comfort him. He ignored them, but he can feel their eyes in his back and neck. Especially on the make-up he yet had to remove. He is feeling a little bad for his dad. He knows it's very pitiful what he is doing. But he guessed for now he learned his lesson. He could back down a little and attack once he went back to his habits. He was prepared if that happened. Unlike his dad, whose strategy was unplanned and sprung in the moment, he had a hot-blooded boyfriend he could use as very effective ammo.
He took a shower when he got to his room, which took him while. The lipstick was a pain to scrub off, and it made him question how worth it would be to do it. But then he remembers how good it was to be kissed stupid by his boyfriend and how he would love to do the same to him, and thinks that maybe it's worth the mess. He steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist but stops in his tracks.
"Dad!? What are you doing with my phone!?" he yells when he sees his dad there, messing with his phone.
'Quick, Oboro, act stupid!'
"...what's a phone?" the older man utters. 'Not that stupid!'
Tenko feels like he's about to explode with anger. Screw going on the defensive! Screw his dad and his overprotective nurture! Screw being treated like a child or an innocent teenager! This meant war and his dad was going to relive hell on earth!
Tenko takes a deep breath to calm down first. He isn't wearing his gloves right now, and while his control is pretty good, he doesn't want to accidentally decay his phone or his possessions in a fit of anger. Or worse, his dad.
"I'm going to change, and then you are going to apologise for disrespecting my privacy," he tells him in his meanest and darkest tone. "Also, if I were you, I wouldn't open the camera roll," he warns as he enters his bedroom.
The scream he hears once the door is close is strangely satisfying.
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hi, can I request the same What if your parents had died yandere bully x reader Headcanons but the teacher's reaction?
Of course, cupcake!
🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭
What if your parents had died [Yandere!Teacher x Reader]:
Both of them have the capacity to take care of you, honestly.
They wouldn't mind just-
Taking you to their home, ya know?
Madeline Allen:
Best girl. Best momma. Best woman.
She wouldn't let any of her students be on a difficult situation, especially you.
She would know about this a lot earlier than you think. Well, all teacher would hear about this a lot earlier, actually.
Whatever happened to your parents, would of course get into the university faculty's ears.
It's pretty much invasion of privacy, but what can you do?
It's better to have them knowing why you're not showing up, than having them expell you for your lack of presence or something like that.
It's in your face, you're exhausted, you're sad, you're crumbling down, and that hurts her so much.
She wants to help you feel better, feel like you aren't alone.
She remembers when she felt like she was alone. It wasn't a family member, but it was the closest thing to a best friend she ever had.
But you're not alone, she knows that you're not, and she hopes that you know that as well.
She would be there for you not matter what happened. If you need any form of comfort you can count on her!
She is known for giving the best hugs after all!
(Please, fucking hug her-)
If you need to let something out of your chest, talk with her. If ya need something from her, just ask.
She can be a little bit smothering, hope you don't mind. It's just the way she deals with things. She can give you as much advices as you want, but the only way she knows how to comfort someone is by hugs.
This form of sweet and friendly interaction can escalate really quickly. If you ever let her think you need someone to they care of you, she will take care of you. No questions asked.
Actually no, she would be walking all over her bedroom thinking what she can do to help you, and the best solution is obvious.
You need to leave with her, dear. Be smothered and treated like a precious gem everyday, that's what you need.
Matthew Robinson:
It's not easy loving ya, it's really not.
Matthew is a serious man, normally he puts his work on top of every priority.
Except when it comes to two people in his life.
Those he can't put not even a God a above.
Seeing you so, unhappy after your parents death is giving him his own state of grief. Yes, his mother is still alive, but the truth it's unavoidable. She's an old woman now.
She can barely hear him anymore.
Seeing you like this makes him reflect on his own life, which is honestly the first time he ever thought about it.
Of course he loves her, and misses her, but he tries not to think about her too much. It hurts him to think she could ever be gone.
But although he has his own issues to resolve, he can't let his mind get off topic, the real issue at hand it's you.
You're suffering. And he may not know what he is going to do yet, but he won't let you deal with this burden alone.
My man over here can be a little bit naive, he is trying to think on how to help you, while accidentally helping you. He is trying to come up with a one big solution, while making little things that makes you feel a little better each day.
He would eventually remember that, no, it isn't so simple to ""cure"" someone's grief.
(Help this man, he is lost-)
He still is the same serious man, but with a hint softness around those sharp edges. It's honestly obvious how you get a special treatment coming from him.
He isn't one to show affection through words much, so yeah, he is really, really touchy.
Just like Madeline, if you ever let him believe that you can't take care of yourself (which they would think either way, they just want some excuse to kidnap you), he will take you dear.
I hope you like the countryside, nature, humble people, hundreds of stories about werewolves and a sweet old mother In-law, cause you two are paying her a visit. He'll invent some story about you being his… Someone, he doesn't know who yet, it's a completely new experience for him.
He needs to spend some time with her, and you need to relax from the stresses caused by your daily life inside the big city.
🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭
#yandere#sheep stuff#yandere x reader#yandere oc#special delivery headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere teacher#yandere teacher x student reader#yandere teacher x reader#yandere teacher x student
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Entering the Final Act || Akira || ATTN: All Passengers
His smirk grew slowly as everyone reacted. He was glad to see Airi put the knife down; getting stabbed would really put a damper in this moment he was savoring. The anger, the fire everyone was spitting out… He’d even gotten Billy to snap. And here he’d thought the guy was too foolhardy to actually crack. This was beautiful, honestly. If only there were more people to see it.
Would applauding a little overdo it? It would probably overdo it. Still, it wasn’t like he was going to be regularly interacting with these people after this. Just some things for the police, maybe a little for HPA, and then home free. And jegus, the urge to clap was just too strong right now.
So, he did it. He brought his hands together, his slow claps echoing throughout the trial room. Congratulations, everyone, you found the mastermind. You found the one who put you on this train and didn’t stop until the station of living hell. Bask in your glory.
Here he was, and he was about to talk your goddamn ears off.
“So, why’d I do it?”
“I’m sure you’ve all been waiting long enough for some sort of answer. You’ve watched your classmates die around you, send some of them to their deaths by your own hand, and for what? Why would anyone want to do this? And especially to us, just innocent little HPA students?”
He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath. “Well! You’ve heard of the Reserve Course, right? I’d hope you would have, given that I’ve been here this whole time. So I’m not going to explain it for you if you don’t. Too bad.
“What you might not know is what sort of treatment the Reserve Course students get. Long story short, we’re like the red-headed stepchildren of the establishment. Even though we pay the outrageous tuition that funds the whole place, we’re treated like substandard by pretty much everyone on campus. We’re students, but we don’t get to use any of the fancy equipment our money pays for, we don’t get the benefit of ‘guaranteed success upon graduation,’ and we don’t get any goddamn respect.
“And it’s not even like we all wanted to be here! Sometimes, it’s just your parents assuming oh he must want to go! Let’s uproot him from his friends and isolate him with the person he’s known since forever and see how they improve, hm? Oh, this is gonna be great…”
He paused for a few seconds, then cleared his throat. “But I digress. Anyway…
“The one thing I despise most about HPA? It gives kids false hope. They sell this narrative about talent, how if you work hard enough, even you, you pathetic little Reserve Courses, you too can join us in the Talent Course! The goddamn Land of Milk and Honey. It's all bullshit. Like, seriously, that's not cynicism, that's just reality. You come from all over the world, have experiences all over the world. Talia’s from Australia, at least, and this is just a sample group. There's so many more. There's no way any average Reserve Course student would be able to replicate that sort of world experience and recognition. No matter how much they want it, no matter how determined they are, no matter how much money their parents funnel into them. But the academy puts this shitty idea in their head, that maybe if they work hard enough, they’ll be able to compete with these ridiculously lucky people who had all the right opportunities!
“And some people actually believe it. That if they can run a kickass newspaper on campus, they're sure to become a Talent Student, the SHSL Reporter. But they can't. There's no way that can compare to someone else who's had better opportunities. It'll get overlooked, in spite of all the effort she pours into it. They just won't care.”
He paused again, but for less time than before. After a deep breath, he balled his hands into fists, thrust them down at his sides, and continued.
“So, pretty damn clear I hate this place. But, I'm not alone. Far from it! In fact,there's more than one organization that'd love to see this academy go down in flames. One particular organization -- though I'm not going to name them, I'm sure they don't want the authorities on their tail -- had the perfect idea to do it. Create a scandal so devastating, something that would be such a blemish on the academy, they just couldn't stay open. And it should be pretty obvious to you what this scandal is: the mutual killing game.
“So, they have the plan, and they have the means! There's just one thing they don't have -- an in. They have no way to get in and legitimately gather some HPA students for this, without the academy getting suspicious.” At this, he chuckled. “That's where I came in. What better place to find a like-minded individual than on the internet? They find me, a genuine student, and with pretty good standing thanks to the student-run paper I'm part of, the Reserve Hope Shimbun. I have the connections, they have everything else they need, it's a perfect match.
“So we make a deal. As satisfying as it is to bring down the shitshow that is Hope’s Peak Academy, it's not something I do for nothing. And I have this friend, you see -- the other founding member of the Reserve Hope Shimbun. She's a good girl, earnest, hard-working, and wants more than anything to be a reporter. And for some stupid, bullshit reason…” He took a moment to glare out at the students in the trial room. “...she thinks she needs to go through HPA to do that. But now, that doesn't have to be the case. Her getting a job as a reporter at a news station somewhere in Japan was one of my conditions. And since I've held up my end of the deal, they're legally bound to hold up theirs. She'll get what she's wanted all her life, and she won't have to stake everything on some shitty school that can't even protect its own students from themselves.
“As for me? I want a life away from all of this. From all this chaos, all this snubbing, all this talent. After I get the fuck out of HPA, I’m angling for an average job. That was the other part of my contract. I'd love a job as an accountant, but, y’know, I'm not picky. Any sort of salaryman job’ll do. Then maybe I can pick up life where it left off. Move up on the corporate ladder, build a nice family, make a good life for myself. I've got simple dreams, I'm not asking for much.
“As for you guys? Heh. It's been pretty damn fun watching you all fall apart, and it's gonna be fun watching what happens next. This organization I'm working for has their eggs in a lot of baskets, including the media. Useful for getting my friend that job, and useful for making sure Hope's Peak Academy burns. Once we get out of here, just about every network is gonna wanna know the details. What toils you went through, what depravity your captors subjected you to. You'll never be able to get a moment's peace! You'll never be allowed to forget what happened here. And you'll never be able to say who did this to you.
“But, at least you'll be able to live your lives. HPA won't be so lucky. They send their students off to see the headquarters of a newspaper, and then they do nothing when they're kidnapped along the way. I really did take the time to schedule a field trip, by the way. I asked the faculty for permission, set up the outing with the newspaper itself, it all checked out on paper. They had no idea it was just a front. Until we failed to show up, of course. Naturally, the organization in charge of this set up the train and the venue. They even set up the conductor!”
The mention of the conductor seemed to remind Akira why they had all gathered here in the first place. With a peeved sigh, he looked away, then shrugged.
“Oh yeah. Speaking of Jenova. Guh, the fucking wimp. Yeah, I killed him, you're welcome. He was right, I was sort of planning to kill him, but not from the outset of all this. He was doing fine at first, but...honestly, if you're going to start a dirty job, you finish the dirty job. He was getting soft, wanted to wrap this up because ‘he couldn't take it.’” He scoffed. “Couldn't take it… You do what you need to do. Beggars can't be choosers, he ought to have know that better than I did!
“So… Are we ready to wrap this up? Ready to get back to the rest of our lives in the real world, for better or for worse? Because I'm sure as hell ready to see what arises from all of this…”
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loss
Today was the first round of the Cello Concerto Competition at the Juilliard School. This year’s piece was the Elgar concerto in e minor - the one that everyone knows Jacqueline Du Pré for - and I entered among 12 other students. 9 of us studied with the same teacher - Mr. Joel Krosnick, former cellist of the Juilliard String Quartet. Needless to say, he is the powerhouse of the cello faculty here - I delightfully named our studio group chat ‘the only cello studio that matters.’ As some might say, it was funny because it was true.
The results of the first round were announced at 10 pm. Six students were accepted into the finals. I was not one of the six.
And so began my descent back into the rising tide of what was normally my underlying sense of self-doubt and complete inability to view myself positively.
I had first heard of the competition from Mr Krosnick before summer began. After my acceptance to Juilliard, I had had a lesson with him to start things off, and he had informed me that the concerto for the fall competition would be the Elgar. Just having performed half of it in concert and being in the middle of preparing it for another competition during the summer, it was almost too perfect of a time for me to enter. I looked Mr. Krosnick in the eyes and said:
‘Yes, I’d be excited to enter the competition. Thank you for telling me about this.’
He smiled at me wistfully like a loving grandfather. I’ve grown to regard him in that way - a gentle, guiding grandfather figure.
I wanted to do him proud. I wanted for him to look at me and think: ‘Wow, I really made a good choice with this kid. I’m glad he’s here.’ I wanted to be his rising star - the eager freshman brimming with talent and ability, standing as something unique amongst the others.
I wanted him to be proud of me.
I didn’t expect to win the competition - fuck no. I was up against literally seven other classes of amazing cellists above me in the undergraduate and graduate levels. But I put every ounce of myself that I could into shaping something that would make the finals. Every ounce. I forwent eating all of my dinners many nights just so I could get every passage right - I’d set a timer for ten minutes, and whatever food was left over after those ten minutes I went and flushed down the toilet. It was in the way and it needed to go.
I forced myself, every morning, regardless of how tired or hungover (on the occasional night that I treated myself to a break) I was, to get up at 7 AM and bang out at least an hour and a half of slow, quiet, focused training.
I caught the Christopher Nolan film Dunkirk in theaters expressly as study for this piece. Edward Elgar was an Englishman who had witnessed the horrors and despair wrought by the First World War, and had written the concerto as a response to that loss near the very end of his life - it’s regarded as his ‘last notable work’. I studied the film intensely, drained it of every emotion that I could wring from it, anything to get close to what that poor old man was feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw his countrymen die senselessly by the hands of faceless soldiers storming the beaches and scorching the skies.
I watched it two more time afterwards in my room to relive those moments to inform my playing and I ended up writing a complete narrative for the piece.
The first movement, I decided, was a young man parting from his family on a steamboat as he was taken to the front lines. He reflected on what it was he was about to do, and carried a pocket watch, on the inside of which was kept a photograph of him, his wife and two children. There was a specific motif in the first movement that I assigned this pocket watch. At one point the young man, after a night of sitting around with his mates making small talk, drops his watch and upon picking it up, sees the photograph and is plunged into despair. He shouldn’t be here - he is certain now that he will die and never see his family again. He pleads to God to grant him mercy and strength, and the chance to return home safely to those that he loves most. But there’s no answer - in this hell of war there is no God. So the man quietly retires to his cabin, sets aside the watch, and goes to sleep. He must steel himself for the hardships to come.
The second movement starts in a reverie - dreams of glory on the battlefield, the quick draw of the gun and the flair of bullets that would meet their marks, take down the opposition, do Queen and country proud one at a time. But the dreamer is jolted awake - she is no soldier, but rather a typist in a communications room, receiving word of troop movements and casualties from the front lines in the din of phones and the clacking of typewriters. On the infrequent occasion that news of victory came through the typist would tear the paper out of the machine, stand up and wave it in the air, exclaiming in joy, and the rest would join in the gladness. In the end, the jobs and lives these men and women carry out are safe and inconsequential - every night they return to their homes and into the embrace of whoever awaits.
The third movement is a dream, seemingly as real as real life, of home. The open fields, the fresh air, the freedom from fate and consequence filtering through the sunshine. It is a small heaven compared to a soldier’s reality - to which he quickly returns.
The fourth movement: the soldier - the same man as in the first movement - comes back to consciousness. He awaits battle, side-by-side with his fellow troops. The wind blows through the still, thick air as tension mounts. Then - the alert - fire. The battle commences and goes on and on, perspective changing from the horrific front lines to the command room with the top brass, pushing around miniatures on a map and bickering about strategy to the radio room where operators shouted out new developments in the battle.
At last, the fighting subsides a little. The soldier lets down his gear and elects to take a brief walk in the nearby field. It’s cloudy and getting dark, but this is the only reprieve he’s received in who knows how long. He looks up to the sky, where God isn’t.
He feels a jolt, in his left side. He looks down - his ears are ringing - he touches his uniform and comes away with slick red. He turns around, as though submerged in water, and falls back as his companions rush to him in slow motion. As they pull him back and fight off the surprise attackers, the wounded soldier recognizes that this is the end for him. He will not see his family again. Despair and anguish - the pain of not holding his wife close to himself and looking in the eyes of his daughter again - wells up inside of him.
Why? he asks. Why like this? It could have been so much different.
He arrives at death’s door. And, in some kind of penultimate delirium, he sees the vision of home that he had dreamed of - the rich fields and open air. His wife, loving and by his side, and his child, rushing about, full of promise.
He sees that vision of home as he dies.
The end of the fourth movement includes a sort of postscript that nearly identically mimics the opening of the piece. I see that as yet another young man, much alike the one that we watched dying, being pulled away from his family by the call of war. In the end, Elgar seems to say, they are all the same and they will all die the same in this chaos, and the most we can do is push on and hope that one day the war comes to an end.
I poured this into my performance. Every single last drop of what I had inside of me went into this one moment.
I tried so hard.
And I still failed.
I let down Mr. Krosnick. I failed to be what I so desperately needed to be. I was no success. If I put every bit of my being into something and I still couldn’t even place in the top half of the contestant pool, I doubt that I even belong in his studio.
And then came the shame and humiliation. Members of the judging panel came up to me, as they did to everyone else that failed just as I did, murmuring vague words of congratulations. They didn’t mean any of it. ‘Beautiful playing’ -- obviously not beautiful enough to make the cut.
Every single empty-hearted consolation was like a new shard of glass in my stomach. Every explanation of ‘Oh, I didn’t make the cut - yeah, it sucks - haha yeah, hopefully next year’ felt like another scorching brand in my side.
It is not enough to question my right to live, but it is enough to convince me that I have no place among these great talents at Juilliard.
I feel horrifically out of place and I dread facing them tomorrow in classes and in the hallways. Inside we will all know that I don’t belong here.
I didn’t even make the fucking final cut.
Don’t you understand?
I FAILED.
I LET THEM DOWN.
I LET HIM DOWN.
I WAS SO CLOSE TO FINDING REDEMPTION.
Maybe once, I could be confident in myself for achieving just ONE fucking thing.
I only ask for one thing.
Just one thing to pull me out of whatever it is that I’m stuck in.
I hate it here.
I hate having to stare into the blackness of the night as I’m falling asleep and finding every stain and imperfection and failure within myself staring back.
I hate pinching myself whenever I feel connected to someone - a potential friend or the pretty girl I see by the elevators on Thursday evenings - because I know they’ll never accept me. I know this from having tried to reach out to them and being blocked out, being avoided.
I hate seeing the pity in people’s eyes as I explain that I’m mostly deaf, or that I can’t process solid foods, or that I started the cello when I was nine years old.
That look is so disgustingly transparent and denigrating that it almost makes me cry every single goddamn time. The look of - ‘I’m so sorry you have to live your life as a burden. I’d take some of your pain, except... you know. It’s yours. I’m sorry, really I am. I wish I could help.’
It’s the same look from everyone.
Sometimes even from Mr. Krosnick.
And that’s the one that really breaks my heart. When he looks at me like the rest do.
That’s when I feel the complete inescapability of my circumstances.
I think I’m going to stop.
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