I'm Ryn. I'm seventeen, a writer, and an artist. I'm young, I'm old, I'm impossible, but I don't care. I'm in over my head and I've got nowhere to run.
i like to think that hogwarts has a really strong wi-fi signal, but like the stair cases, it keeps moving around. just muggleborns, chillin on their laptops all suddenly stand up together, dash madly to a different corner of the school, and sit down wordlessly like some kind of mind hive flock of pigeons while the purebloods are just so confused
So I needed a way to alert the class that I was going to be showing graphic pictures of genitals on my presentation so I decided that putting this on the slide before would work
I want this on a shirt.
Please, I want this on underwear
At Stanford there was this Professor who was a total bitch and she taught British Literature, which was cool. Except she taught only her opinions of the books and it didn’t help me as a writer. I went to school to learn new things to improve my craft, not have someone else’s opinions carved onto my forehead.
So anyway, for our final project, she asked us to write a ten page paper on why the color symbolism in Othello was so significant. I did some research and it turned out that she did her entire graduate thesis on this very subject. I was mad. This wasn’t teaching, this was boosting her ego. SO I wrote a ten page essay on why color symbolism in Othello wasn’t significant, satirizing it to the point of no return, saying that her opinion was an opinion and shouldn’t be taken seriously.
SHe failed me, needless to say. So in retaliation, I responded by baking a batch of brownies laced with weed and laxatives and delivered them myself to the professor hours before her big graduation speech. I told her that it was a peace offering, my way of apologizing and asking if I could do anything to fix my grade.
She refused to fix my grade.
In the end, she shit herself on stage.
I didn’t regret it.