Due To Demand, I Had To Make Him Human (but Not Really)

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

Yes.

my take on shipping aromantic characters is that if you're aro you get to do whatever you want and if you're not you have to write me a three page essay 12 pt font times new roman double spaced explaining in detail why you believe entering a romantic relationship would be an interesting and worthwhile storyline for the character and how you believe their aromanticism would affect the way they experience said relationship

Do u need therapy yet

Started the magnus archives recently!!! Aaaaaaaaaa

Google Docs

Jonmartin Week 2025 Prompt Submissions

Hello and welcome once again to Prompt Submissions for Jonmartin Week! If you'd like to see a prompt used for the event, this is the place

Hello all! Our new mod team welcomes you once again to Jonmartin Week Prompt Submissions, this time for 2025! If you have a prompt you'd like to see as a part of this upcoming year's event, please submit it to the form.

Reminders & Rules:

>No prompt repeats from this past year event (2024) will be accepted.  For reference, the 2024 prompt list can be found here: https://jonmartinweek.tumblr.com/post/738881725683384320/jonmartin-week-2024-prompts-announcement.  Again these prompts will NOT be accepted.

>There will be a dedicated Ace Day and a Free/AU Day. >As AUs are accepted anytime during the event and with the AU Day happening at the end of the week, no specific au prompts will be accepted.

>Following the submission period, prompts will be voted on. The 14 with the most votes will become the official prompts for 2025.

The Submission Period will be open November 14th-December 6th

bunch of flustered nerds

Hah. WE ARE BACK, BAYBEEE!!!

How nobody is calling out this post clearly feeling eye power related is shocking to me…

For some reason when I was first listening to tma, I didn't process that Elias was the head of the Institute. So my first introduction to him was that Jon was going to ask him to increase security (because worms).

I thought that Elias was just the security guy. He was the one security guard in the place or something. And so I created this picture of him in my head where he was this semi-spiffy blond 30yr old guy who was super laid back and smoked weed.

And then I figured it out, and I was sad bc I had to change my brain picture of him.

BUT THEN

I WAS ACTUALLY R I G H T

AFTER MONTHS OF THINKING I WAS JUST BAD AT LISTENING

TURNS OUT I'M ACTUALLY JUST PROPHETIC

SO TAKE THAT

UPDATE: Butch Stan Pines was just under this post.

*fictional male character who’s old and shitty and emotionally constipated and has a dedicated fanbase of people that lust after him*

you know I just don’t see the appeal, personally. not my thing I guess but I’m glad y’all are having fun

*the exact same character but as a butch lesbian*

oh.

@pscentral event 20: antagonists ↳ THE LORDS IN BLACK in NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE

Something about FNAF that we don't talk about enough:

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, but I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You're not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them, none of you will. This is where your story ends.

And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although for one of you, the darkest pit of hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting old friend.

My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms, the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you? I should have known you wouldn't be contempt to just disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now.

It's time to rest. For you, and those you have carried in your arms. This ends, for all of us. End communication.