#(and then i did not do it. and instead wrote an essay about how of mice and men can be about societally-required caretaker neglect)

[dbphantom]

Hate having adhd went to go work on my fallout modpack, got distracted while going to disable the steam overlay, ended up in the points shop, went to go edit my profile, decided to change my pfp, found a buried folder I forgot existed, found some old Veneer art I forgot existed, spent 45 minutes looking at all the old photos, STILL HAVE NOT TOGGLED ONE SIMPLE OPTION THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN 30 SECONDS AT MOST

[kalashtars]

i need professors to start including their late work policies in syllabi again. i'm trying to make strategic decisions here

[sith-shenanigans]

[tumblr wouldn’t let me edit only the tags for some reason and i had more to come back and say with them]

"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).

Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (four)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

a/n: a big big BIG thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this fic! I love seeing everyone’s comments and inbox messages dissecting the story and making predictions! I wrote for OBX back in 2020 when the show first came out under a different blog (in case anyone here remembers a blog called jjmaybankx, HI! Though that’s just a generic username, it might be hard to remember that specific iteration ahaha), but i had just created this blog the same day i put out this fic… and i am in awe of how well received and how much you guys are actually invested in this little world i have conjured up whilst dreaming of bf!drew. I am very honored <3

Masterlist | < part three | add yourself to the taglist

ᯓ⟢

How you were supposed to just get up and go to your afternoon classes after what had just happened was beyond you, but you had an important peer workshop in one of your writing courses and then straight to the tutoring center for you. 

Day one was hard, as you navigated the complexities of whatever the hell had just happened. You were angry: angry at the car for hitting Zach, angry that he had even for a second thought that Zoey Miller had been you, angry that she let him think that knowing it was wrong, angry that she did any of what she did at all. And most of all, angry that you were even angry with Zach for it.

Tuesday rolled around and you had to go to the class you had with Zoey Miller, with anger seething in your veins but the inability to cause a scene. You hadn’t told anyone, not even your roommate Bree, what had happened. You felt like if you made a big deal and spoke about it, then you would likely never get over it. 

You felt her eyes on you as you typed your notes during the lecture, having sat a few rows and seats to the left in front of you. Could she like… not? Face forward and pay attention to the class, stop staring at the girl whose boyfriend you tried to steal after trying to steal his cousin, thanks. 

Your next shift at the tutoring center was on Wednesday. Instead of having assigned tutees for the day, you had a five hour shift in the tutoring center where you mainly did your own homework, helped student athletes figure out why the printers wanted to act up and not print their assignments, and help the few random people who would come up to the reception desk to ask you for help on a writing assignment or to proofread their essays.

You paused as you set your coffee up and laptop down on the desk, looking across the tutoring center to see Zach hunched over his own computer in one of the middle tables, typing away. He was one of the few athletes who wasn’t assigned to mandatory study hall hours after he had gotten his grade up, thanks to your one-on-one tutoring sessions and then, once his girlfriend, study dates together in his dorm or yours. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead in the tutoring center if he wasn’t required to be there, preferring to do his homework on his own anyways.

But there he was, regardless. 

A week passed and Zach didn’t try to talk to you at all, just like you had asked. You also never saw him walking around with Zoey Miller, a recurring minor nightmare you kept on having. Thank God, you thought every time you’d see one of them around campus without the other. Zoey Miller came to class looking miserable every time, and each time you worked a shift at the tutoring center, whether it be study hall monitoring or a few hours of one-on-one tutoring, Zach was there, during his homework by himself at one of the tables. 

“Hey.”

You looked up from the book you were engrossed in, taking off one airpods to see Zach in front of you, his laptop in his arms.

“Zach…” you sighed softly.

“I’m not here to bother you, I swear,” he reassured you, sliding his laptop to face you. “I just… actually need your help with this one, promise.”

You looked down at his screen to see an essay typed out. You glance up at him again.

“It’s a big part of my grade, so I was wondering if you could proofread it,” he said sheepishly, putting his hands in his pockets.

You exhale and nod, motioning with your head to the seat next to yours. A smile beamed across his face, and he rounded the desk to sit down next to you, both of you half facing each other as he watched you go over his essay in suggesting mode, making comments and edit recommendations. 

“I like the color you painted your nails,” he said softly.

“Zach,” you warned.

He shut up.

You got to page five of the essay, having only had to make a few small grammatical suggestions, a small smile building on your face for how well written the essay had been. When he wanted to apply himself, and knew how to, Zach would always be extremely smart. Sometimes, when it came to subjects he didn’t quite care for, he just didn’t care to put in the effort. But he was very smart, he had to be a student athlete. 

Plus, you knew he had little moments of crises when he thought about his future. He didn’t think he’d make it pro, but he also wasn’t passionate for other things the way he was for soccer. He felt aimless sometimes. The ironic part of it all was that he chose English Literature as his major, the classes he struggled with the most and hence how you two met.

You had given him the idea before that if he really didn’t think he could go pro, he could keep playing soccer or being involved with it through coaching at high schools or even middle schools. But you also always told him that you thought he had it in him to go pro. He was the school’s soccer star, you weren’t sure why he always sold himself short.

“You okay?” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You had been stuck on page five for longer than it would have taken to read the page over twice, Zach just sitting there in anticipation of what you thought he needed to fix before he looked over at your face and noticed you were zoned out.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shook yourself out of it, continuing to scroll down through his essay.

Another excruciating fifteen minutes until you were finished reading over every line intricately and leaving any commentary needed, you slid the laptop back closer to Zach.

“Just those edits, and it’s all good,” you told him, trying to avoid looking at him.

He tapped the desk, nodding. “Thanks,” he said, and you pursed your lips and nodded.

You bit your lip to try and prevent yourself from asking the question that has been hot on your mind, but the words vomit out before you can stop it, “How come you’ve been doing your homework here?”

You finally look into his striking blue eyes, seeing them widen before his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“It’s the student athlete tutoring center,” he pointed out, then pointed at himself. “Student athlete.”

You titled your head to the side, giving him “the look” as you said, “Zach…”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed with a small laugh, closing his laptop closed. “It’s the only time I ever get to see you, okay?”

You had an inkling feeling that was it, and you just nod in response.

“I can stop if seeing me bothers you,” he whispered.

“Seeing you would never bother me,” you said back.

The hopeful smile that erupted on his face made your heart sting.

The moment you two were having was interrupted when another student athlete walked up, asking for help since the printers weren’t working. You offered Zach a small smile, and he gave you a wave, before you got up to go to the opposite side of the tutoring center to figure out the printer.

ᯓ⟢

On your way to class the next day, you paused in front of the class you had with Zoey to see she was standing a little bit to the side of the pathway talking to Zach. You slowed your steps down a bit as you stared at them. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell from the back of his head, jacket, and backpack that it was him.

That same guilty look was on Zoey’s face, and she was shaking her head. 

You could tell from Zach’s body language that he was upset, the way his shoulders lifted and his arms moved about as he talked, the way he did when he was trying to drive a point. 

You didn’t feel like watching them talk, putting your head down and heading into the building to go to class.

ᯓ⟢

“So, she broke up with you?” Zoey asked as she stood there staring up at Zach. She had asked him if they could talk when she saw him walking by on her way to class, and with an irritated huff, he agreed.

“She did not break up with me,” Zach said back sternly, shoving his hands into his pocket, kicking a rock on the floor. “She is just taking time to… process… what happened between you and I on the ski trip…”

“I didn’t mean for any of that stuff to happen… I—”

“I don’t really care what you meant to have happened,” Zach said back with a shrug. “You knew you weren’t my girlfriend, pretended to be anyways, and now she won’t talk to me.”

“Well, I don’t get why she’s upset with you when I’m to blame,” Zoey quipped back, earning a look from Zach.

“Don’t,” he shook his head at her. “Don’t try to make her out to be the bad guy here.”

“I’m not,” Zoey shook her head. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t care what you’re saying, Zoey…” he sighed. He wiped his face with the palm of his hands and huffed frustratedly. “Look. It’s just a lot for her. First, she thought I ghosted her all weekend. Then, it looks to her like I had cheated on her, and then when she found out the truth, she hears that I was starting to feel things for you, and—”

“You were starting to feel things for me?”

He gave her an irritated glare when that was all she had heard from that.

“I love Y/N, okay?” he said to her sternly, using his hands to point to himself and then off to the side for emphasis. “Not you, not anyone else, just Y/N. Whatever fake relationship you and I had when I didn’t have my memories, that’s all it was, fake. You are not the Zoey I wanted.”

Zach looked away from her, and that was when he saw the back of your head, face pointed to the floor, as you sped-walked away into the building. He couldn’t tell if you had seen him and Zoey talking, but from the way you were walking so damn fast, maybe. Damn it. 

He turned back to Zoey, who had tears in her eyes. And he felt bad, because he didn’t enjoy making girls cry.

“Just…” for the umpteenth time, he sighed. “Just stay away from me and my girlfriend, I’m begging you.”

ᯓ⟢

part five>

taglist: @faephoria @maybankslover @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx @enchantedstarfish @starsmoonn @zulema222 @10ava01 @ietss @rafegf-real @leather-n-velvet t @avengersgirllorianna @chalahyung01 @thaissette @emberaurora @isabellaxlilah @matchieee @purplerose291 @wtfdudesblog @mattyskies @onlyrealjoy @sabrina6272827 @probablyreadingsmutlol @loupiotesworld @tqd4455 @persefone200 @dreamygirli3 @tobucina @h1ghw4y-blog @k-k0129 @harrys-housewife @pillowprincess4him

hoping all of these tags worked, some of them weren't popping up when i typed them! i've retyped them all by hand like 3 times, but each time i save it, it comes up as half of the list not actually tagged, so pls let me know if it tagged you!

[bachiras-toaster]

Bf!Rin headcanons? 🤭

RIN ITOSHI x gn!reader

authors notes. i am IN LOVE with rin so im glad i wrote this instead of my college essays

╰┈➤ the type of person to keep your relationship strictly private. in fact, it’s because he loves you so much that he wants to keep your relationship private.

╰┈➤ private, not secret.

╰┈➤ it was no surprise to the public when it was discovered that professional footballer, rin itoshi, was dating you, especially since you did have connections to the Itoshi brothers previously anyway.

╰┈➤ from the beginning, the paparazzi pressing on the matter pissed him off. he hated how interviewers would always eventually get to bringing your name up, because it meant that your relationship was starting to be shared with the world.

╰┈➤ but more than that, it was because he had a such a soft spot for you that he couldn’t help but become nervous when people brought you up. and as annoying as the interviewers were, he couldn’t stand to be mad at them when they gave him an excuse to talk about you.

╰┈➤ he’s probably half the reason your relationship wasn’t as private as he’d hoped. he was just such an unintentional blabbermouth.

╰┈➤ when you’re actually with him in public, he tends to get overprotective.

╰┈➤ when you’re in the streets, you need to be holding hands; when you’re at social gatherings, his palm needs to be attached to your hip.

╰┈➤ not just for safety reasons, but he supposed he also needed to constantly remind people that the two of you are together.

╰┈➤ when he realises that he’s getting approached by fans in the street, he’ll subtly hide you behind him so that you’re not pestered, and you’ll watch with a soft smile as rin is forced to take photos and sign autographs.

╰┈➤ despite maintaining a cold facade, he somehow manages to talk do gently when it’s to you.

╰┈➤ if the two of you are at a party he’s clearly uncomfortable being in, he’d slowly scoop your hands into his and plant a gentle kiss on your knuckle before muttering, “it’s getting loud. do you want to leave?”

╰┈➤ honestly, it’s quite impressive how quickly he’s able to switch tones.

╰┈➤ he can go from kindly whispering words of affirmation in your ear to screaming expletives to a random man, threatening to fight him where they stood and ordering him to stop hitting on you.

╰┈➤ rin’s jealousy is actually an unheard of level of rage.

╰┈➤ every time bachira jokes with you, isagi compliments you, or any of his other team members hang out with you one-on-one, it’s like a ticking time bomb in his mind. 

╰┈➤ rin trusts you with all his heart, but his possessiveness is a little louder than his compassion, and he’s rather eat both of his shoes than put you aline in a room with a man that isn’t him.

╰┈➤ he is willing to start the most outrageous scenes over it.

╰┈➤ once, shidou publicly dedicated a shot to you during an important match just to piss rin off, and he went ballistic.

╰┈➤ he had maintained himself on the pitch, but as soon as he reached the locker room, rin was already prepared to pack shidou up and send him to the emergency unit.

╰┈➤ a good fight definitely would have ensued, had he not been stopped by his teammates holding him back.

╰┈➤ plus, you continuously warned him not to fight because you hated seeing him show up to your dates with bruises and marks— his injuries from football were already enough. 

╰┈➤ he hated defying you, but sometimes he just really couldn’t help himself.

╰┈➤ the days where he would literally feel himself freeze before knocking on your apartment door because he knew that his injuries would tell you that he got into another fight were the worst for him.

╰┈➤ because you always looked at him with that certain face of disappointment before simply sighing and letting him in, ready to properly tend to his wounds.

╰┈➤ he’s so gentle when he’s in private with you.

╰┈➤ you could spend hours cradled in his arms, listening to the dulcet mumbles of his voice as he told you about his day.

╰┈➤ when be gets home from a match or training, all he wants to do is cuddle you mindlessly with a tv show in front.

╰┈➤ sometimes he’s mumble about how annoying his teammates were today and how he’s glad he can finally lay down with you.

╰┈➤ to many’s surprise, he’s really the sweetest boyfriend ever.

[tadbitsketch]

Okay, so I'm very much a Lukesse shipper (took a break from writing a fic to write this lol), but I wholeheartedly agree with this statement, and I think we all should do better (myself included). There's a lot of interesting things we can build upon with Lukas' character, besides him maybe having a crush on the main character.

(accidentally wrote an essay, as per usual, do be wary)

Like his passion for writing. He started logging his portal hallway travels in a random book he found at a murder mansion, which shows off his resourcefulness, a trait that he's been told he has.

Or maybe how he always wanted to be the sort of person that Jesse became, but never really quite got there, which could serve as an incredibly interesting parallel to Aiden, if written correctly. Lukas just tried it out, did his best, and then decided that adventure wasn't something that he'd actively pursue. He would still help save the world if it needed saving, though.

There's also him being a pretty good archer. We can pull symbolism from this. Archers in fiction are usually depicted as the weaker, more brainy sort of character. So often do we just totally gloss over him being pretty smart. And the whole "weak archer" thing is sort of brought up when Romeo keeps bullying the crap out of Lukas for being "weak." Even though Lukas had literally proved himself time and time again, learning to be someone reliable. Could it have been Romeo resurfacing old doubts of his?

Or maybe there's Lukas' whole background character arc in season 2, which mainly serves as a conclusion to his original character arc of learning to not be a doormat. The dude starts a rebellion against his closest friend, who could literally kill him in an instant, which is a really awesome contrast to how he didn't stand up to Aiden at all while they considered each other friends, despite being the "leader" of the Ocelots.

What about how in Episode 3, Lukas was more scared of the Endermen than Olivia was, despite Olivia saying that she was scared of them? That's a really interesting use of the "show" going against the "tell." It not only shows how Lukas isn't really his "cool guy" persona, but it also shows us that Olivia is way more capable than she believes that she is.

Something I don't really ever see is people discussing how Lukas kind of joined Jesse's party after a long time of not interacting. How does he adjust to things?

Or what about all of the trauma this man has? In not-really-sequential order, he's been possessed, possibly been shoved off of a floating island in a murder attempt, been accused of murder, lost his entire friend group in the apocalypse, literally died, and that's just the main things from the first season. Can't he bond with others that aren't romantic interests over these?

Don't get me wrong, I love shipping. It's really fun to say "Hey, wouldn't it be interesting if these characters were in a romantic relationship?" sometimes, but we could also have more non-shipping stuff. Especially because the source material was incredibly focused on platonic love for one's friends. Why are we (in reference to fandom in general) so against people wanting to protect and care for each other for reasons other than thinking the other is hot? Friendship is this awesome thing that we have, and so often do we just throw it away.

I'm not saying that you need to just quit shipping characters and only appreciate friendships. I'm just saying that we can also emphasize platonic relationships alongside romantic ones. Let characters bond as friends while discussing the adventures they went on. Let them learn to trust each other and work as a team.

I could also add on about how characters similar to Lukas often get simplified down to "(traumatized) cinnamon roll who loves their partner and that's all there is," when there is much more to them. It's an interesting dynamic, yes, but it would be so cool to see other character traits amplified.

Lukas is a logical, genuine guy. He wants to help people, but he's not as capable as others, like Jesse. Instead of being salty about that, like Aiden, Lukas simply worked with his team, where they balanced out each other's strengths and weaknesses. He tried out adventuring, but ended up settling down and writing books about the travels of him and his friends. He used to be more of a pushover, but he became someone who won't let people he cares about be bullied, because he was once bullied too, by someone he called his friend.

And uh, that's about it. Can we see more of Lukas that isn't just him being with Jesse, please?

(i am guilty of this and i promise i will draw him on his own more, writing this has given me ideas)

Hottest hot take is that people need to stop drawing Lukas ONLY with Jesse. Lukas is his own character and, in my opinion, one of the most explored characters in mcsm. Seeing him being belittled into only being a love interest for Jesse in the fandom is so stupid.. It's like you guys are only drawing/writing him just so he can be a love interest.

I NEED to see people focus on his depth more with characters OTHER than Jesse for once.

[terastalungrad]

I'm reading Life in Code by Ellen Ullman, writings on tech and philosophy.

I love the chapter "Is Sadie the Cat a Trick?", where Ullman talks of the 19 years she had with her cat Sadie, and - while reflecting on Artificially Intelligence - wonders whether the relationship between them was an illusion.

Was Sadie merely behaving according to her "programming"? Was Ullman merely imagining sentience?

Ullman considers various aspects of her relationship with Sadie. First, companionship. Second, familiarity:

[H]er coming to meet me at the door (even when her bowl was full, so it was not in the hope of getting dinner). There was mutual recognition of ritual: I knew the time of day when she moved to her favourite chair to take the sun, so I anticipated it and raised the shade. She knew I wrote in the morning, and, before I got to the desk, she was lying on her pillow by the heater, which had not yet been turned on. If it were just warmth she'd wanted, she could have stayed in bed with Elliot, who was living with me by then. Instead, she decided she would wait for me by a cold heater.

I love this paragraph very much. This reflection on the familiar behaviour of a pet, ostensibly to work out if there's a difference between a pet and sufficiently advanced AI. But also, it seems to me that this is an investigation into love itself.

Did Ullman's cat love her? Do any of our pets love us?

Instinctively, we think "yes". Ullman has applied a programmer's mind - and a philosopher's mind - to the question:

Companionship, familiarity, expectation, mutual recognition, bodily comfort: if this is not a definition of love between aging creatures, I don't know what is.

I'm away from home for a few days, with gigs in London and Birmingham. I always miss my wife when I'm away, and this essay hasn't helped at all thank you.

It makes me think of our own rituals. Sometimes - not often - I'm awake before Elanor. I know what time her alarm will go off, so I join her in bed a minute before, so she wakes up gently to a cuddle before the cold brutality of the alarm. When I'm working in the study, Elanor will sometimes open the door a crack, and wait to be invited in.

This is the difference between love and programming. Last time I was away, Elanor defrosted the freezer - an accomplishment of immense bravery and determination. She didn't tell me this, but when I came home she challenged me to work out what chore she'd done while I was away - knowing that, letting me discover this action by opening the freezer would be the best possible way for me to find out she'd done this.

How did Elanor know this? We've been together 20 years this month. Perhaps she reflected on the fact that I'm delighted by surprise, and by playfulness. Maybe she thought about the way I like stories - and that investigating the house, searching for new jobs completed, would give me the thrill of an adventure. It's possible she considered my love of novelty and shared experiences - and came up with this way of presenting her accomplishment according to these principles; these techniques for controlling the reveal.

All of this *could* be true. That Elanor consciously processed, analysed the data. Her understanding of me. Maybe, perhaps, possibly.

But I think she just knew.

Familiarity. Expectation. Recognition. Love between aging creatures!

People are so excited that generative AI can produce ugly pictures and bland copy. But I don't think it would curl up in front of a cold heater in an empty study.

Because any relationship with a program is an illusion. It isn't love. Because love isn't defrosting the freezer. Love is defrosting the freezer while your partner's away, anticipating their response, looking forward to their joy.

[astraystayyh]

Conversations with Minho

or what i imagine dating Minho would be like (very fluffy and soft). I'm thinking of making this a series for all the boys, let me know if you'd like that!! :)

warnings: some curse words, brief talk about kids and being a parent.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback <33

"Are those flowers for me?", you squeal when Minho enters the living room, a huge bouquet of baby's breath in his hands. 

"No, they are for the neighbor next door", he smirks and you swat his arm playfully, before grabbing the dainty white flowers from him. 

"What's the occasion, baby?", you question as you carefully place the bouquet in a vase filled with water. 

"They were on discount", he winks and you roll your eyes, humming a "sure sure" under your breath.

When you're done, you skip toward Minho who was watching you- a soft smile on his face. You lace your hands around his neck, and he holds your waist; his thumbs swiping gently on your exposed sides.

"Sooo... Do you know what baby’s breath represent?", you singsong, a huge grin etched on your face.

It all started when you and Minho went on your first date, and he brought you tulips instead of the classic roses. Intrigued, you searched up their meaning and you found out that tulips are a promise of love.

From that moment, you've taken interest in what each flower means- since Minho seemed to express his feelings through every bouquet he brought you. This is how you came to learn that baby's breath represents everlasting love.

"No idea", he grumbles and you laugh at his blushing cheeks.

"I love you too Minho", you whisper, cradling his face between your hands and peppering it with kisses.

"Who said anything about love?", he jokes, eyes closed as if he was savoring the feel of your lips on him.

"So you don't love me?", you lean back, pouting, and ceasing your merciless attack on his face.

"The flowers are never on discount. Now come here", he holds your jaw gently, beckoning you closer to him and meeting your lips in the softest kiss.

'You don't have to bring me flowers', you wanted to say- his lips tell you everything you need to know.

----------------------------------------------------------

"I'm so tired", you whine, hitting your head repeatedly with a book and Minho laughs, looking up at you from the bed.

"Is my baby tired?", he coos, and you throw a pen at him, "Stop teasing".

"Never mind, deal with your tiredness alone", he says, poking his tongue out at you and you do the same.

You stay silent for a few minutes, before swiveling around in your chair, "Minnie, I'm really tired".

At your words, Minho quickly walks toward you and presses a lingering kiss on your forehead. "Is there anything I can help you with?".

"I doubt you know how to write essays on behaviorism", you pout and he places a hand on his heart in mock offense, "I am very good at writing essays. In fact, I am so good at it you should be glad I'm not studying, and leaving you a chance at succeeding".

"Shut up", you laugh and he smiles softly at you, his hand patting down your hair. "You did well today, my yn".

"Even if I only wrote 50 words for a one thousand words essay?".

"Even then", he smiles, grabbing your hand into his and pulling you up, "Come to bed with me? We'll take a nap and then you'll wake up feeling better and you'll work on your essay".

"Will you wake up with me?", you ask, feeling needy.

"I will", he says, pulling you into the bed with him.

"And will you make me that super delicious ramen only you can make?", you pout, snuggling closer to him and he laughs, "Anything you want".

----------------------------------------------------------

"I’m craving ice cream", you tell Minho while you are walking hand in hand at the park near your apartment. It was a newly established routine between the two of you; whenever he'd come home late, you'd go on a quick walk before sleeping.

"Didn't you eat ice cream yesterday?", he laughs and you glare at him playfully, "fuck you".

"Wouldn't you like that", he smirks and you pinch his side in retort, before shaking his arm like a child, "come onnnn, let's play tag and the loser has to buy the other ice cream".

"Fineee. Start running!”, he grins and you do as he says. Minho chases you around and you can't stop the stream of happy giggles that escape your mouth.

Being with Minho healed your inner child, you've learned. You could be 8 years old with him, playing tag in a deserted park. You could be 10, holding his hand tightly when you go to the dentist. You could be 5, sobbing in his lap as a child does. And he has never judged you for it, not once.

Minho quickly catches you, and this time, you are the one chasing him. You almost reach him when suddenly, your ankle twists and you fall to the ground.

"Fuck", you mutter, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Show me where it hurts", Minho kneels in front of you, speaking softly. 

You turn your palms around, which were all scraped and bloody from softening your blow. He grabs them in his, blowing on them gently to ease the pain.

"Here", he squats down in front of you, "piggyback ride, and I'll buy the ice cream".

You jump on his back, his hands securely holding your thighs. "But I lost. I'll buy it", you say in a quiet tone.

"Touch my arm", he tells you and you do as he says.

"See, now I'm tag. You won".

----------------------------------------------------------

"Yn.... yn....", Minho pokes your side gently and you lean away from him. "I'm sleeping, leave me alone".

"I can't sleep", he whines and you open one eye to look at him. "Sounds like a personal problem".

"You are dating me so my problems are your problems", he states in a matter-of-fact tone and you can't help but chuckle.

"Fine. What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me a story", he grins and you roll your eyes at his words. "You literally know every single thing that has happened in my life".

"I know, but I want to hear them again".

"You aren't bored of my stories?".

"No. I like the sound of your voice".

"Just like?", you tease and he smiles, brushing his nose against yours, "I love the sound of your voice, kitten. My personal lullaby".

You beam at his words before squinting your eyes when you realize what he's doing. Minho knows that you can't say no to him when he's this soft with you.

"You really are a menace", you chuckle lowly and he grins.

"Your menace".

----------------------------------------------------------

"Soonie loves me more", you tell Minho and he snaps his head toward you, frowning.

"You're clinically insane if you believe this".

"Look at him, he's all cuddled up against me and not you".

"Because you have that blanket on that he loves".

"Okay let's test it out", you sit down on all fours and Minho follows suit. "Soonie come to me baby. That's right".

"Nooo, Soonie come to daddy".

"Soonie, here, I have a treat for you", you coo and the cat finally comes running to you. 

"That's not fair you bribed him".

"Just accept that he loves me more", you singsong and Minho crosses his arm in front of his chest, sulking.

You giggle and lean down to whisper in the cat's ears, "Go give some love to dad, he's feeling sad". and as if Soonie understands, he runs to Minho, mewling at his feet. Your boyfriend can't resist- of course- and he scratches his shin, just how Soonie likes it.

You sit down behind Minho, wrapping your hands around his waist and your legs around his torso. "Is this how we'll be with our kids?", you chuckle and Minho smiles mischievously.

"Yes, I hope they say dada first". 

"That's so mean of you", you pout and he laughs, head tipped back, "I really really hope our children are just like you, love". 

"Do you want them to whine all day?", you tease and he nods.

"I want them to have your smart eyes and loud laugh, and your competitive spirit and your gentle soul. This way, anyone who looks at them will see all the reasons why I fell in love with you".

You silently kiss his shoulder; overcome by an emotion too strong to be encapsulated in mere words. Thankfully, you don't always need to talk- he knows.

----------------------------------------------------------

"I made you pudding", you tell Minho as soon as he opens the door to your home. He grins at you, kissing the top of your head softly.

"I tried three different flavors, this way you can tell me which one's your favorite and I will redo it for you", you explain and he looks at you, a huge smile on his face, "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"You did... but say it again", you grin cheekily and he giggles, "I love you".

"I should make you pudding more often", you say as you lead him to the kitchen. You take a spoonful of the first flavor and you feed it to him, before having one yourself.

Minho suddenly pulls you in, kissing you wildly as if the only way he could taste the food is through you. When he pulls away, he smacks his lips in satisfaction, "Mm, strawberry. Delicious".

You chuckle and bring out the second one. This time Minho doesn't take a bite; he waits until you eat to kiss you again. "Chocolate, my favorite", he whispers against your lips and you giggle at his antics.

As soon as you taste the final pudding, Minho's lips come crashing down on yours once again; and when he leans away, he furrows his brow as if in deep thought. "Vanilla might be my top one, but I think I should try it again to be sure".

You can't help but laugh at his words, and he drinks your giggles in; the puddings long forgotten. As he hoists you up the kitchen counter, you think to yourself that no dessert compares to the sweet taste of his kisses.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning", you smile at Minho, eyes still half closed.

"Good morning, kitten", he whispers, his hand gently pushing your hair away from your forehead.

The warm sun rays are pouring through your windows, casting an ethereal glow on Minho's face. You stare in wonder at him- you couldn't believe that this man is yours.

"You are so pretty", you tell him, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Even like this?", he chuckles, gesturing to his untamed hair bed.

"Especially like this".

Minho smiles at you, before sneaking his cold hands under your shirt. You yelp, scooting away from him, "What was that for?".

"You were making me all shy", he mutters under his breath as if he didn't want you to hear it.

"I was making you shy?", you laugh, straddling his lap and tickling him. He's quick to flip you over and now he's the one tickling you until you can't breathe.

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry. I won't make you shy again!"

"Compliment me again and I'll stop", he grins mischievously.

"You are so beautiful", you manage to say through your laughter.

"What else?", he asks still tickling you.

"You are the best dancer I've ever seen!"

"I've heard that one before, be more creative", he chuckles as you squirm under his touch.

"I love who I am when I'm around you", you shout and he stops, caging your body with his arms and looking down at you.

"Do you, now?"

"I do", you say seriously.

Minho leans in to kiss you, but he's stopped by the sound of scratching on the door. He curses under his breath as he stands up and opens the door for the cats. "I love you guys but you really need to learn how to read the room".

"Come back to bed", you giggle and he obliges, lying next to you and bringing your body to his once again. The cats hop on top of your legs and you sigh contently, "I want all of my mornings to be like this".

"I can hypothetically marry you and make this happen".

"Is this your hypothetical proposal?", you ask, turning around to face Minho.

"Are you hypothetically saying yes?"

"I am".

"Then, yes. This is my pre-proposal", Minho smiles, his thumb grazing your cheek softly.

"Why not make it a real one?"

"Do you not want a grand proposal?"

"No", you reply instantly. All you really needed was Minho.

"Okay then", he stands up and walks to his closet, taking out a pretty black box from it. He already bought the ring, you realize.

He then joins you again in bed. The look in his eyes is worth a thousand fireworks and fancy dinners- he is looking at you like you are the only sight he wants to see for the rest of his life.

"The cats love you and they can't be children of divorce", he starts off and you laugh, happy tears already gathering in your eyes.

"And I happen to love you too. I want to love you for the rest of my life". You smile softly, whispering a "me too" to him.

"And I promise that even if we grow old and I start to forget everything around me, I won't forget the way you like your coffee, and what your favorite season is. Even if I forget my name, I won't forget you, yn. Because my heart is yours more than it is mine". 

Tears are falling freely from your eyes now, and you make no effort to stop them. You felt as if you could combust from the amount of love you held for this man. And if someone were to gaze upon your body, they'd find his name written all over you. 

He owned you, just like you owned him. 

"Marry me? Say yes".

As the cats nuzzle against your legs, and your feelings for Minho submerge your being- you are sure that what binds your atoms is your love for him; you can't think of a universe where you'd possibly say no.

[marypaol]

Flowers Upon Your Head

Draco x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader officially crowns the Slytherin Prince of Hogwarts, but what she doesn’t expect is to be crowned his princess. (Not real crowns, but made of flowers.)

Warnings: Talk about praising someone, like hailing them, self doubts in academic work, nothing else I know of.

Sorry if it’s too short; but it’s gotta be one of my favorites besides “Dear Draco”.

Dear Draco

Masterlist

Request Requirements (they’ve been updated!)

The sky was bright blue, sun rays shining bright across all the land of Hogwarts, showcasing the wondrous school that held many intelligent students; now either learning more knowledge or taking their assigned time off.

Two green robes were taking the second option to their best advantage: staying outside in the fresh air and catching up on work.

The both lay on the grass by the Black Lake, the boy leaning against the tree trunk and the girl sitting criss cross next to him.

The boy, platinum blonde hair and known as the bully of the school, had his Potions homework in front of him on his lap. His quill scribbled left and right as he wrote an essay.

The girl, known as the most innocent person in the world who wouldn’t hurt a fly, was previously done with her homework and is now fiddling (or, at least, that’s the word Draco would use to describe what she was doing) with flowers in her hand, tying the stems together to make something the boy didn’t know.

She was well concentrated until she heard a groan escape the boy, her eyes moving from the flower stems to him, raising an eyebrow questionably.

He didn’t look up as did she, instead he was having a glare contest with the paper as he tapped his quill quite frustratingly.

“What’s another word for fragile?”

She thought for a moment, going back to the plants in her hand once she discovered his groan was the reason of nothing serious.

“Delicate? Brittle?” She asked once figuring it out, fingers slightly burning from now finishing the tie of the stems, the nectar from the flowers getting on her fingertips as the stems were tightly wrapped around her hands.

He hummed. “Brittle is good.”

She smiled soft, glad she could help in some way. “Is the essay coming along nicely?”

He chuckled. “With the amount of skill I have in the writing spectrum and your vocabulary, I think it’s going quite well.”

She rolled her eyes this time, knowing he was being sarcastic with the statement he said about himself.

“Dray, don’t worry; I read it during lunch and it looked fine so far. That is if you didn’t ruin it with what you call last minute edits.”

Her teasing tone grabbed a smirk from him that she didn’t see.

She wasn’t mindful of the next occurrence because she was in fact focused on the finishing touches of her crown, but his ears turned from pale to a soft pink color at the nickname.

He scoffed instead to cover it up even though she didn’t see it. “Doubt it.”

She sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to convince him the work was good grade worthy.

He suddenly slapped the paper down in front of her on the grass. “How does this look?”

Despite the aggression he showed in his actions she could hear a little anxiousness in his voice. He was nervous for her reaction.

She still had the flowers in her hands so she didn’t touch the paper in fear of getting things on it, so instead of holding them in front of her she moved them so they were by her shoulder and she looked down at the paper.

Draco’s handwriting covered the paper, perfect cursive with soft swoops in the letters forming great work.

Her eyes scanned it as she read, taking in the information he provided.

She hummed in satisfaction. “Very nice, Dray. Very nice.”

She smiled at him as he took the paper back, this time noticing the pink tint on the tip of his ears.

“You okay?” She asked, oblivious to the reason for his flush.

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

She hummed again, turning her body fully to him. “Don’t worry! Snape will love it. I see it now,” she started, pretending to look of into the distance like she was dreaming. “An ‘Outstanding’!”

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Wouldn’t go that far with it but whatever.”

She scoffed at his negative mindset and, wiping her hands on the grassy ground to get rid of the nectar, grabbed the crown she just previously made. She then turned the scoff on her face to a soft reassuring smile.

“Well, whatever you may think, I think it was wonderful and the good grade I know you’ll get is well deserved.”

She ended her sentence with softly placing the crown on his platinum head, the soft white petals perfectly matching the mob of hair he held.

Draco’s eyes moved upward as if he would be able to see the flowers on his head. The girl laughed, then she smiled once again.

“All hail the Slytherin Prince.” She joked. She expected another eye roll but instead received a soft smirk coming from the corner of his lips, a small chuckle escaping him.

She then moved to sit next to him, their shoulders brushing and cheeks flushing.

His soft looking hands reached out and using his long fingers pulled flower after flower out of the tall grass, each stem producing a satisfying snap when they broke.

Although she kinda felt bad for the flowers, she knew that the roots were still planted into the ground, so that gave her reassurance knowing they’d grow back again.

Still she watched as his own hands messily tied the stems together almost just like she did. When he was finished, his arm reached up as he placed it on her head, the weight of it slightly flattening the top of her hair.

He then leaned in, brushing his nose on her cheek; her face turning a soft tone of red. His head turned so his lips touched her ear lightly. The touch was barely felt, but it was there.

“All hail the Slytherin Princess.”

He whispered it, making the meaning much more meaningful. A soft chill went through her, a warm sense of comfort and nervousness at the same time racing down her spine.

“How’d you know how to tie it?” She asked curiously to hide the nervous warmth flooding through her. She felt his cheeks spread into a smile.

“I watch you, loves; much more than you think.”

Her face flushed as his finger gently booped her nose.

He chuckled low right in her ear. “Aww, don’t get flustered loves; just giving my princess the praise and recognition she deserves.”

Wait.

‘My Princess’?

Thank you for reading! 📖

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

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Other articles include:

An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

[ckret2]

Long time lurker, first time asker!

How do you keep different voices/characters in your fics so distinct? I'm writing my first longer than 2k word fic and it's... a time.

First, I'm going to link you the best essay I've ever read about How To Write Canon Character Voices—what's too much accent, what's too little, how to pay attention to word choice and the way they phrase things, etc. It's about Transformers but the skills are transferrable to other fandoms (or original writing). The original essay is down so all I can offer is the archive.org version, but it's worth it.

Second, I'm going to link you this post I wrote about how I study character voices. It's about Hazbin but it shows you the kinds of things I pay attention to when I'm learning a character voice.

Third, I'm going to offer you some extra general advice that isn't in the above posts:

Some people try to make characters sound like themselves by basically parroting their catch phrases or most common quotes. Do that and you're just gonna make your version of the character sound like a robot. (Note: if you're writing a character who only knows how to say a few quotes, that's okay lmao.) The readers already know what the characters said in canon, they're reading a fic to hear them say something new. Example: if you have Bill Cipher arrive on the scene and say "Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me!" word-for-word, you don't sound like you're writing Bill, you sound like you're quoting Bill from That One Scene where He Said That Thing.

But... directly borrowing characters' quotes is kind of a stepping stone on the way toward figuring out how they speak. Think about things they've already said, but use those quotes as a guide for how to write them.

Example: from that quote above, we get that when Bill shows up around people who definitely did NOT miss him, he just... decides that they did and tells them so. This shows you a bit of his sense of humor (he makes jokes to annoy someone who hates him—it's not even a mean joke, just annoying), a bit of his ego (he knows he's clowning around, but even when he's clowning he's going to say something that makes himself sound popular rather than hated), his casual & familiar attitude with someone he barely knows, his tendency to just request people do what he wants (saying "admit it, you missed me" instead of something like "I know you missed me")... etc.

And I kinda already said this in the Hazbin post, but the most important thing you can do when you're struggling with a character voice is just rewatch their episodes and pay close attention to how they speak (or rewatch their movie scenes, or reread their chapters/comic issues—whatever you're writing about). If they're from a visual/audio medium (TV, movie, podcast, etc), then if need be, read transcripts to see how their voices look when written down. Type down the transcripts yourself if there aren't any—and that's also a good physical exercise to make you slow down and pay attention to how they speak. (You notice where they tend to pause in sentences when you're the one who has to decide where to put commas; you notice their accent when you're the one who has to decide whether that word sounds more like walking or walkin'.)

Pay attention to cadence, accent, interjections, sentence length, active voice, passive voice, preferred vocabulary, preferred slang, word choice, sentence length, sentence complexity, any phrases they're fond of (but again—don't overuse a phrase unless they overuse a phrase), how they tend to refer to the people around them (by first name, last name, any titles, any nicknames—and do they change in different contexts?)... Pay attention to anything you can think of. You want to be able to hear the character's voice clearly in your head—read everything you write in their voice, and if it doesn't sound like their voice in your head, change it.

[paulandjohn]

JOHN AND PAUL

‘I am delighted to say that Faber & Faber have commissioned me to write a book about John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Getting paid to write about The Beatles - well, that’s it, I can retire. After I’ve written this book.

The Ruffian played an integral part in the birth of this book. Towards the end of 2020 I wrote a piece called 64 Reasons To Celebrate Paul McCartney and published it here. It was the quintessential lockdown project. I’d been making notes towards it for years but never found time to actually write it. I also had low confidence that anyone except superfans would read a 10k essay about Paul McCartney. It didn’t fit any obvious spaces in established media, at least not the way I wanted to do it. But I knew some of you would appreciate it, so once I’d completed it, I dropped it here. Unexpectedly and gloriously it went viral (in a good way).

When I was writing 64 Reasons I found I had to cut a lot of material to do with John and Paul’s relationship, a topic I am obsessed with, just to keep the thing down to its already overgrown length. (In fact I mentioned that in #63 - I was already thinking hey, what if…?). Given the scale and intensity of the response to that piece, I started developing an idea for a book about the two of them.

The conventional narrative about their relationship is deeply flawed. It was set in stone shortly after The Beatles’ breakup and hasn’t been much modified since. Constrained by the myopia and prejudices of the time, it misses out a lot and gets much wrong and consequently we have a very thin and limited view of both men and of what they did together.

Lennon and McCartney were more than just great mates, or fierce competitors, which is how they’ve generally been portrayed. They shared an essentially romantic friendship, a passionate love that ignited mutual creativity. The love (and the insecurity and jealousy that came with it) fed into the music, and vice versa.

I’ll track the relationship from the day they met in 1957 to the day John died in 1980: 23 years. Hence John and Paul: A Love Story in 23 Songs. I’m not just writing this for Beatles fans but for anyone who loves a love story; to me, it’s the greatest romance of the twentieth century.

OK I’ll say no more about it. I need to write the damn thing.’

*blog post from Ian Leslie’s blog The Ruffian (Nov. 13 2021).

It’s interesting that the title is no longer ‘John and Paul: A Love Story in 23 Songs’ and is instead ‘John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs’.

[sommerflue-22]

Pretty Boy | Obanai Iguro x Reader

Content Warning: MDNI, graphic depictions of sexual acts, gn!reader, submissive Obanai, dominant reader, foreplay, slight choking, pet names, praise/degradation, creampie, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 0.6k

A/n: in my obanai brainrot era. i wrote this at 5am in the morning, hella deprived of sleep. can't really see him as a dom tbh, obanai is a sub through and through. IN THIS ESSAY I WILL—

──────────────────────────────────────────

Clouded eyes gazed up at you, so dazed and stripped off any common sense. Glistening lips parted, panting, letting out small whimpers. Such a pretty face turning crimson, beads of sweats were forming on his temple. You smirked. How could someone who acts so harsh around other people be so submissive and pliant? Wrapped around your fingers like his life depends on every word you say, every order you give.

You smiled, rather nonchalantly. One of your hand held him across his torso, fingers playing with one of his nipple, as another hand fondled his balls oh so slowly. He arched his back, urging you to touch him more. That wouldn't do. You stopped teasing his nipples, moving your hand up to wrap it around his neck. You put a little bit of pressure on it, causing his eyes to roll back in ecstasy.

"What do you want?" You asked, voice unwavering as your pretty little boytoy sat on your lap, his back against your chest.

No answer. Instead, his turquoise and yellow orbs met yours, teary and desperate.

"Answer me."

He whimpered.

"Fine, if the high and almighty Obanai Iguro won't tell me what he needs..." you retracted both of your hands from his body.

He stopped you, holding both of your hands in his.

You stared down at him. "What the fuck do you want, then? Use your words, pretty boy."

The nickname was enough to send shiver down his spine.

"Want you. Please." He croaked out.

"Where do you want me?"

"Anywhere, please..." Obanai swiftly turned, now straddling you. "Just touch me, please... please..."

You let him hide his face on the crook of your neck as he started grinding down on your thigh. His cock was fully erect, leaking pre-cum.

"I barely even touched you and your pathetic cock's already leaking?" You sneered.

He whined so close to your ear. Oh how you loved teasing him, watching as his arrogant and ruthless persona crumbled down, exposing his true nature: a fucking touch-starved man. What could his colleagues possibly say if they knew how much of a pillow princess he actually was? He knew nothing about how to pleasure you. All he knew was how to moan out your name as you ravaged his body. Though, you let him do that.

Because bringing someone as merciless as Obanai down to his knees was something you took pride in. It's a personal achievement. Nobody could make him beg the way you could. You're determined to rewire his mind, so that he'd worship the ground you walked on.

"Words, pretty boy." You tapped on his waist. "Do you want my mouth? Or do you want me to ride you?"

You were aware of his state, so far gone he couldn't even form a complete, coherent sentence.

"Ride me..."

You immediately pushed him to lay on his back. It's your turn to straddle him, hovering over him as you fingered your hole a little to prep yourself. He watched as you did so.

You smirked, "Like what you see?"

He nodded. You couldn't help but coo a little.

Once you're ready, you positioned his cock under your hole before slowly sinking down. You sighed. Obanai's cock might not be the biggest one you've ever taken, but his surely made you feel so full and stuffed. It's like a taste of heaven, especially when you started moving, emitting shy yet needy moan out of his pretty lips...

...and that's exactly what you did. Bouncing on his cock, letting him moaned out your name repeatedly like a prayer. He might cum inside soon, but don't worry. Just keep using him and you might feel his second and third spurt of cum drip down your thighs later on.

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

eddies never considered himself lucky, not with anything, not with girls not with guys not with his family not with anything.

not when his dad beat him and his mom to a pulp and walked out only to come back 2 years later with bloodshot eyes , red nostrils and a baby on his hip.

not when harley jones asked him on a date only to take his virginity in the back of his van and never talk to him again.

not when billy hargrove asked him to do his homework and he purposely wrote an essay on his behalf about how much he hated mrs. o’donell.

not when you showed up on his doorstep , asking him out on a date and he declined thinking he was some butt of a joke , making you walk home in the rain after walking an hour as a grand gesture for him in your cheer uniform carrying droopy flowers you had picked for him.

eddie wasn’t lucky not at all.

the clock on eddies side table reads 7:00 am in bright blaring numbers. eddies rubs his eyes to rid himself of sleepies and sits up , throwing on his favorite garfield boxers and an old ratted metallica shirt.

the knocking on his trailer grows rapid hence why hes up so early.

“i’m comin , i’m comin fuck hold on” he yells

throwing the door open eddies jaw drops , you’re the last person he expected at the door , if he knew it was you he would have made himself presentable.

you look so pretty , clad in your cheer uniform, rain droplets dripping off your eyelashes , knee high socks he can only assume are doing nothing to keep you warm. a pony tail holding your curled hair and flowers he can only assume you just picked from the side of the road , he can tell because he picks those for his mommas grave , purples amongst yellows amongst pinks and oranges, shining brightly in contrast to the gray sky.

“he-heyy what the fuck are you doing here?”

is the first thing that slips out of his mouth , your eyes blow wide.

“no no i didnt mean it like that i’m just shocked you’re here , did you walk here ? at 7 in the morning? in the rain?” he rambles “yeah i did , is that okay?” you ask , hesitance heavy in your voice “more than okay sweetheart, why are you here?” his voice filled with sweetness , making you hopeful of his answer to your question.

“i just wanted to know if you’d wanna go on a date with me , we can watch a movie , i know they’re showing some horror movies , i planned it out, i’ll pay for your ticket , i uh also thought we could get burgers and shakes at bennys , hes my uncle i’ll convince him to give the meal to us for free , he usually does he has a soft spot for me, i see you around alot , i think you’re handsome , i know my brother loves you and i know theres gotta be lots of reasons why” your head starts bopping , excitement laced in your voice. awaiting his answer.

eddies heart plummets to his feet , he wanted to believe this , to be hopeful that this wasn’t some cruel joke but he can’t not after holly. he cant help but roll his eyes.

you catch it , smile and arms dropping , your nails pressing into your hand where you’re holding the flowers you picked for him.

“why the fuck are you here y/n ?” the sweetness from his voice long gone , replaced with bitterness and venom “i-i just told you why eddie what do you mean” your voice trembles “no the real fucking reason , i don’t want you to stand there and lie to me what the fuck y/n i thought you were different but you’re just like them , you will not make a joke out of me , thats a dick move, go home. my answer is no , tell your friends that this didn’t work and maybe go prank someone else” he slams the door shut , palms opening and closing , sweating, he wants to look out, see the angry look on your face when you realize your plan didn’t work, instead hes faced with something much worse.

the flowers that once stood high we’re drooping in your hand , your back shaking hard with despair and a distraught look on your face as rock your head in a back and forth no motion tears dripping down your face , one hand pressed to your chest he can assume for comfort and the other holding waynes wrist where hes cupping your face lightly, cooing at you as you recount what just aspired to him, his heart burns with pain when he sees waynes eyes tearing up aswell. both of you soaked with rainwater.

he watches as you calm down , watches as wayne grabs a jacket from his car and covers your shaking frame with it , watches as wayne drops a kiss on your forehead and lets you walk away. watches as you walk further down the road disappearing from his sight. watches as wayne stomps to the door. but hes too afraid to go out and speak to you , too afraid to apologize because he already fucked up.

“what is wrong with you boy? i know i raised you , why you actin like ya father ? making a girl cry and having her walk home in the rain, you find out a way to apologize, i don’t care that ya think she pranked ya , she and her brother been coming here every morning asking for you , she built up the courage to ask you out and you turn her down so easily, fix this, don’t make me tell you again.” wayne tells eddie , wiping the tears on his face “fix this”

eddie doesn’t waste a second throwing his shoes on and grabbing two jackets. he’ll do whatever it takes.

[reading-comp-posting]

Have you ever considered using AI tools to assist with writing your responses?

Well no, because I'm doing this blog for fun. I'm enjoying writing out reading comprehension questions for posts, so why would I automate that away?

But let's say that I saw myself as some sort of arbitor of reading comprehension who needs to post as much as possible to enlighten the lowly tumblr masses. Let's say that I'm interested in upping my output of questions by any means necessary.

I opened up chatgpt and input a certain request, which would hopefully make it write questions about the last post I responded to:

Write reading comprehension questions about a Tumblr post, written by a user named "echoeyee," that reads as folows: "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"

And it certainly did write a lot of questions about it. Let's go through them, one by one.

1. What is the primary stance expressed by the Tumblr user "echoeyee" regarding shipping aromantic characters?

This one is good. If you look at the set I wrote, my first one is basically the same, just with different words and a less formal tone.

2. According to the post, what conditions must non-aromantic individuals fulfill if they wish to advocate for romantic storylines involving aromantic characters?

Again, this one is good. It's basically my 3rd question but, yet again, more formal.

3. Describe the format and specifications outined for the essay mentioned in the post.

This is the part where the questions get bad. The exact details of the essay are irrelevant, other than the fact that they imply a formal, academic setting.

4. In your own words, explain the user's perspective on the autonomy of aromantic individuals in contrast to non-aromantic individuals when it comes to shipping characters.

This question seems to genuinely be a product of chatgpt pissing on the poor. The purpose of the post (and specifically the essay within) is to ask people who ship aromantic characters without being aromantic themself to consider said character's aromanticism instead of erasing it.

Meanwhile, chatgpt seems to think that the OP thinks that people who aren't aromantic should be forced by law or something to write an essay if they want to ship an aromantic character.

5. How does the Tumblr post reflect the user's views on representation and storytelling in relation to aromantic characters?

I think that this one is a bit too speculative, but it does actually relate to the OP's intended takeaway.

6. Discuss the potential implications of the requirements set forth in the post for writers and creators in the realm of fiction and fanworks.

This one is just a bit confusing. Chatgpt seems to be going off the assumption that OP is issuing a decree as the emperor of the world.

7. Reflect on whether you agree or disagree with the sentiments expressed in the post and provide reasons to support your viewpoint.

This could have been a "discuss with a mutual" question, and I actually did initially write a question like this one, but I ended up removing it.

Aromantiscism is already controversial enough and I fear that a discussion of whether OP's take on shipping aromantic characters is valid could quickly devolve into discussion on whether aromanticism itself is valid.

8. How might the user's approach impact discussions and representations of aromanticism in media and popular culture?

Yet again, chatgpt is taking the essay thing way too literally. Yes, forcing every single writer who isn't aromantic but wants to ship an aromantic character to write an essay about it would most likely lead to a decrease in people erasing their identities, but the essay isn't the point.

9. Consider the broader societal and cultural context in which this post is situated. How might prevailing attitudes towards romantic relationships influence reactions to the user's perspective?

Obviously historical context is important to keep in mind when you're reading/listening to/watching/whatever a text, but this question has almost nothing to do with reading comprehension. You need to understand the post to imagine how people would react, sure, but understanding how people would react to the post doesn't help you understand this post very much.

10. What insights can be gleaned from this post regarding the importance of diverse and inclusive storytelling in media and creative works?

This could be a discuss with a mutual question. The issue is that it's a bit to broad of a topic.