more ridiculous fic/au ideas, mostly khr aus because that’s all i am lately. also copious humor/crack elements. i’m not including any plot ideas so if anyone wants to adopt/write these too pls feel freeee
i wanted to brainstorm a fantasy magic au too but i ran out of steam i’ll consider that one later. also still really want to write that eyeshield21/khr tsuna&agon friendship crossover that’s been floating around on tumblr fml beats fists on table. but instead of doing that i keep coming up with more things i want to write.
tsuna the delinquent au
tsuna with bleached / blond hair, also the worst try-hard delinquent to ever delinquent.
taking steps for Self Improvement but went about it entirely the wrong way. very self confident in his ability to run away and skip school.
ryouhei joins him, but also fails, because kyouko doesn’t want him fighting and what kind of delinquent doesn’t fight??
they are the worst delinquents. they really are. the addition of gokudera does not help their image at all.
Sixth year was Sansa’s first time staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas hols. Her mum hadn’t been happy about it at all, but after everything with Joffrey, she just couldn’t handle being around so many Gryffindors and Starks at once. It was already bad enough that Arya had sniffed that Sansa should have known, dating a Slytherin and all, and Robb had threatened to dungbomb the Slytherin common room. Apparently the Weasley twins had some sort of magical map that would help him and he could borrow it for the special low price of ten galleons.
The first house gave
us the first hospital band around our wrist, printed our birth
certificate and taught us to respond to the sound of our own name. It is
the house of the self, and emanates the expression we share with the
this is conscious expression, spiritual energy in awakened activity, and the extertion of the ego
the second house represents value and finances. the planets and signs in
the second house, including house cusp ruler, can indicate what we will
spend our second house fortune on. the second house is the container of heavenly resource, the beautification of the material plane, the voice, and comforts. Creative activity expresses through the 2nd house
The third house provides our first classroom experience. It’s our
primary school teachers who taught us to read and write, our parents who
responded to our curiosity, the relationship with siblings. Mercury switches on the light in the eyes, and
the world comes alive. It’s an invitation to run away into the magical
world of stories, or communicate something meaningful to the people
the 4th house is a sacred place inside us. tremendous, internal material
properties can be wielded in the 4th house. the bottom of the horoscope
symbolises where we come from, so every approach and expression of a
placement is conditioned in the 4th. it can symbolises how we evoke our
love, how we welcome those who reside with us also represents the mother or subdominant parent
expression of love and adoration can be ascribed to the fifth house, as
Leo is the ruler of the heart, matters of romance and dalliance are
demonstrated here. This could be courting romance, seductive flirtation,
or the thrilling chase. It can also extend toward the unconditional and
pure love we have for children or babies. Everyday is your birthday in
the fifth house. It is a cosmic Disneyland that opens just for you.
laughter is the prayer of the fifth house.
the 6th house constructs personal ideals and identifies with his craft
and skills. developing new areas of expertise becomes a 6th house
accomplishment. in seeking to better oneself, the individual can offer
more proficient and faultless service to the world.
there is a transformative process here, a transition from self
indulgence to generous servitude. something in the 6th house world is
very unsatisfied if in some way he is not on his knees washing feet
The seventh house is where two become one, in marriage, friendship, or relationship.
It’s by no mistake that the Libra symbol that illustrates the scales
also portrays a mirror resting on a vanity table. This is the Libra/7th
house reflective surface. ♎. The Venus glyph also reveals a handheld mirror ♀,
and this symbolism demonstrates the illusive and tricky seventh house
as the bewitching reflective surface, clear as the crystal air that
flows through Libra. The seventh house is how we become aware of
the eighth house is shared resources, wills, and psychological inheritences.
the 8th house is the gateway between worlds. it takes a surrender, but
not the sort of neptune hallucinogen surrender, but a surrender to the
Gods, to let demons and angels and heavenly forces breathe their
power into her, to lift her out of her body so she can feel infinity, to let her free fall into what she is most haunted by so she can confront her shadows once and for all. you can run from the 8th house, but you can never hide. because it’s where you hide
the ninth house suggests a mental conquest, as it does long distance
travel, it also desires intellectual excellence, not the recognition in
the tenth, but the nourishment of knowledge and wisdom so the individual
can achieve a higher state of spiritual awareness. the ninth house is a
temple, one which rests within but may be found through external
pursuits. all forms of scripture, gospel, cosmic law, and Akashic Record
are found in the ninth house
the tenth house is the complete symphony, the fantasy ‘me’, the ambition, the ideal image, the orchestra. it represents the dominant parent and the person we may fantasize about becoming, our public image, impression to strangers, social standing, and notoriety. the 10th house is where we are professional and inspired to succeed
the 11th house is the gateway to dreams. in sidereal astrology, the 11th
house holds the position of highest esteem. it is the doorway to light
and love, the fulfillment of ideals, and heaven’s blessing. the ventures
we undertake here are likely favorable and enunciate our social
persona. friends and connections are meaningful in the 11th. it’s a
parliament of pixies, all working towards a common goal
the twelfth is a moment of surrender. the body must be untied, like a
corset, so he may be embraced by the collective sea.
the 12th house is where we go to be alone, its how we comprehend solitude and oneness with the soul and universe.
while it relates to prisons and solitary confinement, it rather reflects
an internalized process in the individual, the experience of the sort
of disengagement from the world one who is being committed or is serving
The straps should have loosened by now, they seem to be regular fabric. The ends are floating and tickling my legs, but I can’t move enough to scratch or change it. I’ve tried not to urinate, but I gave up. I shouldn’t drink either, but I’m thirsty, I’m not sure if I can even cry anymore. Yelling wore me out, I gave up on that yesterday. If it really was yesterday. It’s dark and everything echoes. That steady drip that has been keeping time, maybe that’s my seconds-marker. I’ve counted, and given up, and lost which tens of thousands I’m in, or I guess fallen asleep. My ears are ringing and sore, I wrench my neck to keep them above the water but I’m hurting, and I don’t have the strength. The drips sound like a drum underwater, and I can hear my feet move. I worry about the air. It’s getting harder to breathe. I’m drowsy and aching and lost, I’m not sure I can feel my body except when it itches or hurts. This doesn’t seem to be a big place, the echoes are tight and constrained. It might be a hot tub. I just don’t know where. I always hated the smell of chlorine. Like public pools at gyms or at schools, it always felt so medical, the smell that covers up humanity and pretends there’s no sickness around, it becomes its own banner for denial. A hospital smell. Something to mask the revulsion we fear in the world, each other. Artificial purity. It burns in my eyes and soaks into my hair… Which is coming out. My scalp is burning the longer it’s submerged and I can feel little tickles of it by my elbows, my knees, I know it’s just falling out and I want to scream again and I can’t. My throat is raw. My sobs creak. I feel swollen and tired.
I’m not drowning, not yet, but that drip has been slamming into the water and maybe it isn’t filling so much as it’s keeping the levels even but I feel the surface tickle my chin and I don’t think it was that high before, and the gag is damp and my mouth tastes like chemicals and bile and I can’t scream anymore I just can’t I don’t know how. I shouldn’t breathe so hard because I don’t know if the air… If they thought I was dead, they wouldn’t gag me. Someone knows I’m in here. My head is pounding in its own rhythm, I guess it’s my blood and my heart and it used to be fast but now it’s slower than the dripping sound, sometimes it hurts so bad I clench up and it feels like my skin is bursting and scraping off against the straps, how can I feel so shriveled and bloated at the same time? I’m so thirsty but I keep choking on my own vomit and my stomach feels like there’s glass shards in there but I know I couldn’t be stabbed or else I wouldn’t still be awake in here after all this time. This is what rotting feels like, tight and distant and sick-sweet and salty with tears. My wrists burn, I wonder if they’re bleeding and it’s so dark everywhere, what if the water is bloody and red and I’m soaking it all in and recycling it back through myself, filtering in and out until everything equalizes, what if there’s nutrients in the water so I can’t die and they keep me here for a week like a body in a glass jar, waiting for me to move… I wonder how much of this water is my tears, how much of this water is me. Maybe I’ll slowly dissolve into a gelatin slurry and they’ll garnish me with parsley and dip in cups to taste how scared I am, like I’m dessert, like I’m art or else why would someone keep a person tied up in a tub like this? It’s dripping every second and the water on my chin is just a tickle, like I’m floating and I can’t tell what’s the surface or what’s the fabric or what’s my loose hair or if anything can be a way out, if I could simply float up and evaporate entirely, sneak out the cracks and corners and join the clouds somewhere. I just don’t know what this means.
My feet are burning, and my knees are burning and my stomach is on fire, it feels like I’m being broiled and popping, oily bubbles of my skin like buttery bread, the shifting doesn’t help and I must have been asleep but now there’s another smell. It’s not the same at all. The denial of death. Those chemicals like science class with scalpels on limp piles of what was once a frog or a pig but is now a mutilated mess of labeled bones and soft organs, I know this smell and I know that feeling. It’s a preservative. The sharp smell of something yellow that lasts. My torso is stinging and the first bits reach my chin and I’ve still forgotten how to cry, but I’m trying, I’m trying to feel anything that isn’t a classroom experiment and I’d welcome being spread out on a table with a knife in me just to know that I once identified as a human being instead of a pickled mass of limbs and why is this happening now? Why can I smell the onset of death when it could have been over so much easier, so much earlier, what if there’s other things in here with me, what if that wasn’t my hair I was feeling and my tears I was floating in all this time? What if I’m just the newest one…?
My eyes are stinging, they might be open or closed I can’t tell anymore, but the drip is faster or maybe I’m slower, and the water is reaching to my lips or I’m sinking and not fighting anymore, maybe I’m not special but I’m just the next one, the fresh one, the experiment of how long until someone stops fighting. And I’ve stopped crying, I’ve stopped screaming, and maybe after this rest I’ll stop trying. I can burn underwater, I know that now, and I think I might stop fighting. The taste of humanity and denial in my mouth and maybe I’ll just stop fighting.
How big is hartvig nissen and how many students go there? I've seen people who apparently go to the school being excited about/surprised at seeing Tarjei (like his performance at the school that someone shared on insta/twitter)... is it because different programs are very separated or is it just a v big school?
wikipedia tells me the school has 685 students this year, which i guess isn’t that many students? nissen has three different programs, which are general studies (studiespesialiserende), drama and a “special education program” (i know they have at least one group of students with disabilities per year, for example). the largest one is definitely general studies, which offer specialisation in different subjects, like natural sciences. from what we’ve seen this season, sana and isak are probably doing that. the drama program in nissen is quite well known i would say, I’m not from oslo, but i knew they had a drama program before i ever moved there. tarjei sandvik moe (isak) and david sjøholt (magnus) is in this program in their second year, and ruby dagnall (emma) is in her first year. I think ina svenningdal (girl-chis) used to go there too.
the school itself is mainly three buildings with 3 or 4 floors (one of them is mainly the cafeteria and offices though), and i dont think the programs are that separated, or at least not drama and general studies. drama has to do the core subjects, like norwegian, english, history etc. and use a lot of the same classrooms, in my experience. i feel like you would run into most people at the school either outside between the three building (where isak is walking in returned) or in the stairs after a few weeks at the school.
as for why they were surprised, maybe they just hadn’t heard him sing before? also, while i dont think the school itself separates the programs, i think socially they might be separated, in a way?? at least in my school (not nissen, a few years ago and outside oslo) i did a music program, and we were kinda separated socially, we hung out with the other people from music and dance from all years, not the other programs really.
(I went with nb laf because I love that trope so much. All french is from my 4 years of classroom experience, so if something is incorrect, let me know.)
Lafayette and Herc were relaxing on the couch together. Lafayette had their legs casually draped over Mulligan’s lap
Lafayette looked up from the book they were reading. “Hm?”
“Do you have a favorite French word?” Herc asked.
“Do you have a favorite English word?” Lafayette refuted, turning back to their book.
“Yeah,” Herc stated simply.
“Oh.” Lafayette closed their book once more and looked over at Herc. “In that case, my favorite french word would be baiser.”
“baiser?” Herc mulled the word over. “What’s that mean?”
“Well,” Lafayette started, teasily dropping their legs to the floor and sliding closer to Herc, “It could mean kiss.” Laf draped an arm over Herc’s shoulder. “But there’s another meaning.”
Herc straightened up, leaning into Lafayette slightly. “Is there?”
Lafayette’s eyes danced over Herc’s lips. “Fuck.”
Herc raised an eyebrow. “So it could mean fuck or kiss?”
“Exactement.” Lafayette ran a finger down Mulligan’s arm, causing him to shiver slightly. “Me basie, s’il te plaît could mean ‘kiss me, please’ or ‘fuck me, please’”
Herc put his arm around Lafayette and pulled their bodies closer. “Which is it, then?”
Lafayette planted a kiss on Mulligan’s jaw. “That is up for you to decide, mon amour.”
Another kiss on his jawline. And another slightly lower. Lafayette peppered kisses along Herc’s neck, each one more intense than the last, sending electricity down his spine.
“Could it mean both?” Herc decided.
Lafayette dotted kisses on their way back up to meet Hercules’s eyes. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, pupils blown wide.
Laf smirked. “Baisons,” they said before leaning in to close the gap between the two of them. Herc placed his hands on the back of Lafayette’s neck, pulling them closer. Lafayette whimpered into Hercules’s mouth, and he responded by letting one of his hands travel from Laf’s neck to the small of their back.
Herc broke them apart. “Wait,” he said breathlessly. “Baisons. What’s that mean?”
This is the kind of crap Koreans have to put up with on a daily basis from tourist teachers. This capture is from a Facebook group full of white dads. I’ve posted from it before. It’s often a very sexist and offensive forum. I have friends who send me the worst bits.
Korea Expert Dad above works for a university* and like so many tourist teachers here, he doesn’t really like to do any work at all. He gets four months paid vacation. He’s been on vacation for a couple of weeks already and he’s beginning to receive email about next academic year, which begins the first Monday in March. And as so many Freshman English teachers do every year, he’s complaining about “demands”.
The universities, spurred on by the poor job market in the US, now have the ability to hire very experienced teachers for lower pay. However, they’re stuck with all the old, shitty employees, too. You may not know this, but employers here prefer not to fire employees. It’s much different than in the US. If an employer doesn’t like you there, or if all your colleagues think you’re unqualified and incompetent, you’ll be gone before too long. The employers here will keep you around. Clearly, this asshole’s university has had it with teachers who don’t really teach and is now requiring proof of work and curricula from its employees. Good for them.
I love the privilege in this post. He’s flabbergasted that they want him to work, want to teach as well as he can, and want him to prove he knows how to teach well. They want him to explain his practice. And teachers can do this. We can easily do this. It’s obvious he doesn’t know how to handle the task.
Since 2008, the schools in Korea have benefited from better Korean English teachers and younger teachers with new ideas as well as a better foreign teachers. Students can get better classroom experiences. For this process to continue, Korea has to continue shedding itself of foreign teachers who aren’t really here to teach. It’s a slow process, but it’s happening. And it’s great. People like me and Praise are more the norm these days than we were six years ago when there were still a lot of teacher tourists.
I wish they’d fire guys like this. Can you believe it? He doesn’t think it’s legal for a school to insist he make lesson plans. He thinks it’s a sign of their bureaucracy. We know it’s a sign that his employers know their teachers aren’t doing work everyday. And this is a problem in the freshman college classroom here. Students complain all the time about incompetent foreign teachers. It’s consistent and sad, quite frankly. We’ve all worked with unqualified colleagues and they just won’t fire them.
*Unigwon is a university’s language institute where mostly foreign teachers teach writing and speech classes and possibly work at not-really writing centers. Most foreign teachers work at unigwons because they are not qualified to teach in departments. Many unigwon teachers like to call themselves professors. Their namecards all say “professor” on them. It’s gross. They often aren’t even as qualified as adjunct composition or speech teachers in US unis.
“How was your first day of school Jordyn?” “I’m tired…”
I had officially lost it. I knew I had been a wreck last month about upcoming change. But when I had dreamt that I was picking Jordyn up from the bus stop half naked, anxiety had kicked in full throttle.
I hopped out of bed and began straighten like a mad woman. I refilled my potpourri plug-ins, cleaned glass, emptied the dishwasher and vacuumed the carpet for the fresh carpet marks. It’s a rule of thumb that NO one enters the living room after that.
Today was the day that Jordyn and I received a home visit from his teachers. I learned about this last week during open house. Registration was a bit longer than I had expected due to his Texas birth certificate- in the end, the family and I got a chance to visit his classroom. A very exciting experience for all of us.
My thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. Walking to the front door made me nervous. The front door seemed reserved only for special guest. Family and friends always enter the side door closest to the kitchen and laundry hall.
“Hello ladies, welcome to the Smith residence.”
“Hi Mrs. Smith, what a lovely home you have here.”…
…”So what’s it like moving from the beautiful weather of Texas to Wisconsin?”
I get this question all the time. I suppose it’s an opening for casual conversation. The (2) teachers were adorable. They appeared my age, (if not younger,) and as the conversation went on, they seemed to be two old friends that I would of hung out with in my mid-twenties.
Mrs. Anderson slid me over a form releasing permission for Jordyn to appear on the local channel for plays, commercials and what not. I mentioned that I was a graphic artist who has contributed to TeachersPayTeachers and also volunteered for helping their class. Both of their eyes lit up simultaneously. Mrs. Anderson jotted my online site and information in her phone. I gave them a tour of my craft room and they joked about my gel polish collection and how they would be stopping by every day after school. Jordyn sat back and observed it all.
Ms. Alpaugh then presented Jordyn with a small gift. It was a little red back pack that included a folder, a fresh box of Crayola Crayons, and a glue stick. His eyes gleamed as he reached for it while saying thank you. Which reminded me to grab his Mario backpack full of his school supplies to pass to his teachers. I hadn’t labeled a thing. Luckily for me, I was informed to just label his backpack.
We began passing ideas back and forth for the classroom and I decided to donate a Silhouette Cameo Machine to the class. Before I knew it, 45 minutes had passed and it was time for them to head to their next appointment.
“Mrs. Smith, this has been one of the most pleasant home visits ever!”
“Thank you! I’m so glad you two stopped by. See you Tuesday.”
I walked them back to the front door and Jordyn presented them both with their Teacher Appreciation gift. Two small Bath & Body Works Gift sets with: foam soap, hand sanitizer, and hand lotion in the new scent, “Sunlight & Apple Trees”…of course.
Teacher appearance: Credit goes to wildlyminiaturesandwich for her adorable dolls. (Who happen to resemble Mrs. Anderson & Ms. Alpaugh very well.)
**Disclaimer** Good Company is is about a mother’s comical aspect of
holding down the fort with three fellas at home. It’s about parenting,
motherhood, companionship, family and a married couple’s wing-and-prayer
approach to balancing it all. ♥**
So some of you might remember that I applied to the 2014 JET program and was dubbed an alternate and was never upgraded. Of course I was devastated at the time and spent the next 2/3 months in a panic trying to figure out wtf I was going to do and how I was going to get to Japan. I also wasted a lot of time trying to figure out why I was made an alternate and not shortlisted. And for a while I was convinced it was because of my boyfriend. I thought they thought I would flake/wasn’t dedicated to the job and only concerned with getting back to Japan so that I could be with Kazuki again.
I wanted to do the JET program for years. Before I even knew Kazuki existed, I had my heart set on the program. But then when I met him, my whole world changed and my priorities shifted and yeah, last year my main concern was getting back to Japan by any means necessary because being away from the person you love is unbearable. If I had been shortlisted, I seriously doubt I would have been placed anywhere close to Kazuki. And while being in the same county is better than being on the other side of the world, distance is distance and we both didn’t want that. So I did my research and found another way to Japan so that I could be with him AND pursue my dream of teaching in Japan.
But for awhile I was angry at myself for even mentioning my relationship with him in my JET application and interview. I still don’t know why I wasn’t shortlisted, and honestly, now I’m glad that I wasn’t, but if Kazuki was the reason then I can’t blame JET for their decision. Before coming to Japan I got certified to teach English, but before that I had 0 classroom teaching experience. So I had NO IDEA how difficult it is and how stressful and draining and demanding my job would be. Teaching is HARD! especially if you’re teaching kids.
So I guess my point here is that if you’re not thrilled about teaching, don’t fucking teach. I’m not saying you have to be IN LOVE with every second of your job, but you should at least care about your students. And I guess my bigger point is that if you were lucky enough to be accepted into the JET program, please realize that it is an actual job and not a one year renewable pass to do whatever the hell you want in Japan. I realize people in JET have pretty great benefits and aside from teaching a big part of the job is cultural exchange, and travel helps you do that, but you’re mostly going to Japan to teach kids English. So if that’s not where your focus is, or where your heart is or whatever, maybe you should reconsider.
Obviously I’m not in the JET program, so take all of this with a grain of salt or whatever. But after cruising through the JET tag (because there are some awesome peeps in the program and I love reading about their experiences and stealing some of their lesson ideas), I just felt like this needed to be said.