ONCE UPON A WARLOCK ✓

THIS WHITE NUTSACK OF STDS

"JULIUS FOR THE LAST TIME, will you stop that in my class?"

Old woman Guetta is out of her gray-haired mind if she dares to think Julius is going to spit the gum out the window. If anything, it's going straight to her face but Julius is almost that bitchy. He gives her a look and a reply even flatter than her buttocks, she seems to only inflate the more.

"Nope." Few giggle, the rest shake their heads. Julius can bet with them those heads won't be there in the next two seconds if they don't shove their judgemental guts back to their bellies.

"Ok then, why don't you escort this young man to detention?"

He pops the gum louder this time. 

It's nothing new; Julius Sullivan dragging his teachers into filth. Nobody can explain how he does it, they don't just punish him. Even though it happens, it's rare as snow in Africa. He says what he wants, does what he desires like he's the king of the fucking world. Of course this has earned him lots of fans; his mates looking forward to ways in which their infamous boy cheerleader pokes and combusts the next teacher and be rewarded brownies by said teachers.

This has a name, and it's called hypnotism, mesmerism.

Besides, Mrs. Guetta should've just ordered him to detention straight up. Not that he couldn't decline on the spot but the class is as boring as that vitiliginous pitbull playing a piano on Pinterest.

"Batiste, didn't I just tell you to box this nuisance out of my class?"

"I thought I paid for this education. Are you kidding me, ma? I'm American and I have rights, you know."

Batiste is such a hunk, Julius thinks, but sometimes a very awkward mess. A pure white Caucasian beefcake but a klutz and nerd. Batiste brushes his thick mop of ginger dreads while swaying playfully on his soles. The exchange between the problematic student and exasperated teacher is clearly making him uncomfortable. Who even made him class governor anyways?

"You're a funny student, Julius." Miss Guetta shakes her head. "But a runt. And runts like you deserve to be punished."

"I second that, ma," Elijah adds from the back of the class.

Julius rolls his eyes before turning them glaring at his twin brother. "No Eli, now sit the fuck down and mind your business."

Half of the class whistles in response to his response. Woop woop, point one for the gays.

"The clock is ticking, young man," his history teacher reminds him with a sneer stroking her face like a monosyllabic Chinese kanji. "You have somewhere to be for the rest of the day."

Julius buttresses his chin with elbows planted on his desk. He's almost yawning. "Dude, I think the detention room is getting fumigated from hair lice or bedbugs or something."

"We'll just have to find something else--"

Sighing, he cracks his fingers then stands to his feet. Everyone is watching him with an unnerving interest. Julius frowns at this and snaps his fingers.

The birds flying outside the window, the panes flitting lightly in the breeze, the ticking of the clock above the whiteboard, the incessant blinking of their fuming teacher. Like someone pressed a pause button on nature. Everything freezes in mid air.