#Week 3: Literature and Text Prompts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pointofreturn · 7 months

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professor's pet, pt. 3

The next semester, I signed up for the professor’s literature class. Several of my friends were in the class. We were loud and silly and everyone was trying to impress each other with their opinions on the texts the professor built his career on. But he had that special ability to make us feel comfortable enough to be our weird, nerdy selves. The class was a real-life Dead Poet’s Society, at least for the few weeks we were together.

He seemed unable to hide his focus on me. If I leaned my head over to rest, he’d lean into my ear to ask if I was okay instead of listening to the student speaking. During a guest lecturer’s speech, I got up to excuse myself and he followed just after, prompting an intimate moment translucent to the entire class, pressing to make sure I was okay. He gave me a box of Thin Mints and walked me out to the parking lot late when no one else was around and my car smelled like weed. He always held the door for me and never failed to provide a chivalrous hand to help me. One day, I remind him about something he forgot to send me, and he earnestly promised to be better to me, better for me. Surely, he’s naturally a gentleman, and all of these happenings are little things that happened to every other woman he had eyes for, but there was a slow flame burning between us.

And I’m not the only one who felt it.

Two of my friends approached me and asked what was going on between us. I don’t say that anything is, but I don’t say that anything isn’t either.

“I knew it! He treats you differently. It’s really noticeable.”

“I’ve never seen him act that way with anyone. I can’t even get him to answer an email.”

I wished I’d been more willing to see the warning signs. But as always, I was intoxicated with his obsession with me. I couldn’t help but continue to provide the temptation, continue playing the chess game.

Just before spring break, I borrowed an expensive book of his for a prospective project. It was March 2020. COVID destroyed the world overnight. I stayed in Florida and he went back to the Midwest. We didn’t see each other for two years.

Yet, we kept in touch, even though there was no reason. He remembered texted me each year on my birthday and Thanksgiving and even early on Christmas morning when the last thing on his mind should be a student. I have a distinct memory of him saying he didn’t do things like that because he too often forgot. We talked occasionally about my thesis and Ph.D. applications.

He started texting me late at night. But no boundaries were crossed, yet.

We talked about seeing each other when he came back. I decided to stay at Another University for another degree, hopeful I’ll be able to establish a long-term career and finally achieve job stability. I take classes and teach online, staying concerned and vigilant about COVID long after the rest of the world decided to leave it behind.

During the time the professor and I were separated, I met my friend Jane. We quickly became close, she moved to Florida, and we started hanging out regularly.

In the spring, the professor returns.

I still work remotely, but Jane sees the professor often. She tells me they talk about how wonderful I am, and how we should hang out with her and her husband. I told her nothing about the seemingly endless slow burn.

She comes over to my house one night, gushing.

“Isn’t he so cute? And single? I almost can’t believe it…”

“Yeah, he’s a mystery! No denying that.”

Jane pauses, lighting another cigarette and sipping on a condensed glass of wine.

“Have I told you I’m in an open relationship?”

I’m caught off guard; I don’t expect this.

“Oh…that’s interesting!”

“Yeah—our rules are ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ unless it’s important or an emergency.”

“And that’s worked for you?” I already knew it hadn’t, or it wouldn’t forever.

“Oh yeah! Being open makes the marriage so much better.” She has that devil look in her eyes. “I’ve had a few boyfriends since we’ve been married. And now, I might have my sights set on a new one…”

“______?” His name burns on my tongue. I’ve always hated saying it.

“Of course! If I can ever figure him out. I think he’s flirting back at me, but I can’t tell if that’s just his personality.”

I smile, not really wanting to continue the conversation but trying to look unbothered.

“What is it?” she drags the cigarette stub. “I can tell there’s something you want to say.”

At this moment, I trust her, I think she’s my friend.

And in a lapse of judgment, I tell her about our flame.

I explain the situation to her with as much ration as I can. And that’s what it is—a situation between a student and professor quickly nearing sticky territory. I tell her the situation is confusing for me and there’s something unexplainable about the connection. I tell her I can’t deny my attraction to him and I’m not sure where this will ever end up.

“Hmm,” she says after I finish. She holds herself in that way I’m unsure of. “Well, I wouldn’t take him too seriously.” She finally puts out the cigarette, burnt through the filter.

“But I’m still gonna try to fuck him anyway.”

I should have known at this moment to cut her off.

#creative nonfiction #creative writing #memoir #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #academia #graduate school

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russeliarat · 2 years

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I feel so absolutely horrid at the moment. I've basically just unintentionally abandoned the fic that is my utter pride and joy for almost two months and I'm far too exhausted to write. I had a plans to finish the rest of the chapter but I just can't and I feel so bad for it. I feel like I'm just being lazy and half-hearted because all the adults around me seem to think so.

But I have so many exams to do in the span of two weeks within tiny time frames. I have 4 English paper, two for Literature and two for Language. Literature are two hour exams to do three detailed essays on An Inspector Calls, poetry based around poer and conflict, and poetry I've never seen before, as well as the second exam being 1 hour 45 minutes to do an essay on A Christmas Carol and Romeo and Juliet. And then i have to analyse two modern non-fiction texts and compare one to a 18th century text as well as write a prompted narrative and make an article and letter surrounding two different topics. And that's just for English.

Maths consists of 3 papers spanning everything from simple fractions to bloody gradients of a graphical curve using a table. Science is six papers about more than 16 topics in Biology, Chemistry, and Physics that span 2 years worth of material. My Computer Science exam has two papers are one of them is completely made up of coding. Dance sees me making a 7 minute choreography with a group (and one girl is a wheelchair user with chronic pain so it's even more difficult because she's often not able to show up). My Textiles coursework requires two full full sketchbooks plus a full neck piece garment that was supposed to be made lat year in the span of less than two months. You get the idea. I think I'm overworked and I don't get nearly enough credit for doing what I do. It's almost like examboards have normalised it by saying that they're just 'preparing us for the real world' when half the content is completely unnecessary.

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essaybrook · 2 years

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Explain any important dates, events, experts whose work you relied upon, successes, challenges

Instructions < This week, think about the problem in education that you identified back in Week 3. Create a timeline showing how technology has impacted, is impacting, and will impact this problem. < < Then write a one-page summary in APA format detailing your findings and responding to all the following prompts: < < Do you consider technology to be part of the problem, part of the solution, or a bit of both? Why? < < Explain any important dates, events, experts whose work you relied upon, successes, challenges etc. < < Some of your evidence will come from library or Internet resources, and some may also come from your workplace. While you should name authors of published resources, you should refer to your colleagues and leaders only in general terms. < < For example: < < Part I < < Timeline showing dates and events with minimal text boxes. < < Part II < < Excerpt from a one-page summary < < At the school where I am employed, test scores in English literature were lower than expected in 2010-2014, and this was a serious concern. In order to improve scores, the administration at my school tested a one to one ratio of computers to students in 2015 and 2016. It was somewhat successful in this aspect (explain briefly) but not in other aspects (explain briefly). Author (2006) conducted a study at a school that had also added computers to improve test scores, but his results were more successful than the results at my school. My school is trying a new intervention at the moment using some specialized reading software. Our district is considering implementing a learning management system in 2020, but we have financial issues, stakeholder resistance etc. < < If you are not currently working or not working in education, it is acceptable to invent a scenario that is plausible and covers all the prompts. < < You may create a timeline in Microsoft Word or use a free Microsoft Word timeline template that you find online such as the ones from https://www.template.net/business/timeline-templates/. < < You should not use other programs like Visio, Excel, or PowerPoint instead. < < Use timeline structure with dates, text boxes (required), and additional graphics (optional). < < Then use APA essay format for the one-page summary, including in-text citations and references list. < < Length: 1 completed timeline and a one-page summary with in-text citations and references list < < References: Include a minimum of three credible resources appropriate to your specialization. of which at least one should be from a scholarly journal

First appeared on Essaybrooks.net

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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years

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☀️ my redheaded angel jt w prompt #67 please?? <3

sorry this is late but hope you enjoy! and also some of this comes from this podcast episode called "Falling" and I highly recommend it!

prompt: "I know you're sad, so let me in. It's cold outside."

Four papers. Two group projects. Assignments were due in every class, your hardest class had a midterm next week, and it was safe to say you were no less than exhausted. And that’s not taking into account your part time job or your boyfriend’s game schedule. There were three unfinished coffees lying around your desk and you were pretty sure you hadn’t done the dishes in at least a week, seeing as you had no spoons left in the drawer. Your phone had been buzzing for the past couple days, but you were so busy with everything, you didn’t even look at them. And when you did finally have a chance to check the messages, it was too much effort to formulate an answer.

You were currently working on your literature review, re-reading the same sentence over and over again because your apartment buzzer kept going off. You heard your phone buzzing on the table but it was too far and too much effort to tear yourself away from your work.

“Babe, I know you’re in there and I’m pretty sure I’ve buzzed grumpy Mr. Jones a couple times by accident already. Please just answer.”

He buzzed your apartment one more time and you ignored it one more time.

“I know you’re sad, so let me in. It’s cold outside,” He pleaded. That was what broke your concentration. You glanced at the clock and realized he’d probably been outside of your apartment building for close to ten minutes.

You walked over to the intercom, and pressed it. He went silent on the end and it took you a while to get the words out but you finally said it. “I’m not…sad.”

“Well, you’re ignoring me like you do when you get sad, so what am I supposed to think?” You tried to ignore the strain you heard in his voice but by the way your heart dropped, you had failed.

“You have a key,” You said quietly.

“I know but…I want you to want me to come up.” You sighed and buzzed him in. Soon enough, he knocked and you slowly opened the door.

“You know I always want you here.” Your voice was quiet to begin with, but it was muffled by your boyfriend’s arms around you. He just held you, his hand cradling the back of your head. He kicked the door closed and you let yourself relax a little bit into his arms, but he pulled away before you could get too comfortable. He held you at an arm’s length, taking in your appearance of sweatpants, greasy hair, and likely some bags under your eyes.

“Babe, I think you are beautiful all of the time, but when was the last time you slept?” You shrugged. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired,” you said, walking back towards your laptop, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back to him. He pushed a stray hair out of your face.

“This is a little more than tired. You haven’t been answering anyone’s texts for a couple days,” he noted. You shrugged again.

“I’m just really busy, okay? There’s too much to get done, I don’t have a lot of extra time for conversations that aren’t about midterms or for sleep or for basic housework. Just a couple more weeks, and I’ll be fine. It’s just right now that’s hard.” But JT was already shaking his head before you finished.

“There’s no way I’m letting you keep doing this to yourself for a few more weeks. I was- I am so worried about you. I’ll do the chores, or help you study, make you a meal or something, but you can’t shut me out like this. ”

“But you shouldn’t have to do that for me. I should be able to take care of myself. You have your own stuff to deal with,” you reasoned.

“Yeah, I don’t have to do that stuff for you, but I want to. You’re my partner and I love you. Is it a crime to want to see you smile again?” His words made the heat rush to your cheeks and you cracked a small smile.

“There it is! Now, c’mon, it's game day tomorrow so we’re heading to bed early.” He started to walk towards your room but you stayed where you were.

“I have to finish–”

“Nope. Not tonight. We’re going to sleep,” He said, tugging you into his chest and moving the two of you into your bedroom. He easily found some of his clothes you’d ‘borrowed’ and got changed and you reluctantly did the same. When you got under the covers and your back hit the mattress, you immediately visibly relaxed and you heard your boyfriend laugh a little.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you whined. He got under the covers, pressing a quick kiss to your nose.

“I’m not, I promise. Just…nice to see you a little happy.”

“Thanks for talking some sense to me,” you mumbled, leaning into him as your eyes started to close. He pressed another kiss to your hairline, and let his arms wrap around you.

“Of course, babe. Now, get some sleep, you deserve it.”

The next morning, you woke up to a cold bed. Disappointed, you walked out to the kitchen, and immediately noticed that the counter was clear of dirty dishes, aside from a plate with a piece of peanut butter toast and a glass of orange juice. Your heart melted at JT’s thoughtfulness and when you finished your breakfast and moved the plate, your heart melted like ice cream on a hot summer day.

Went to morning practice but had to make you a healthy breakfast. Don’t shut me out next time, I’m here no matter what <3 love you always

taglist (join here): @heatherawoowoo @4ambagelbites @tysonjost-taylorsversion @2manytabsopen @stars-canucks @lorrmorr @fallinallincurls @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @yummygoldenfood @drei-mrssvechii @bananarantanen

#abby's 200 #jt compher blurb #jt compher imagine #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #colorado avalanche blurb #colorado avalanche imagine #jt compher #abby writes #if i could have a jt right not istg life would be so much better

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camels-pen · 3 years

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Walk, Walk, Fashion Baby

Summary:

Danny makes a bet he knows he won't lose. He also volunteers as a model for a fashion show.

A Secret Santa gift for the marvelous @princessfanonanona <3

I tried combining your prompts "2. Something with Fiara", "3. Something inspired by one of my fics? College shenanigans/Rewind/Dani's Walking Nightmare" and "5. Something that will make me laugh"

((it's a great series & really recommend a read if you haven't already))

Ao3 Link | Fanona's College Shenanigans series

“—all I’m saying is the outline could’ve been a little clearer. I mean there’s a huge difference between a literature review and a fricken annotated bibliography, ” Cody said, a frown on his face as he pushed through the door to the fourth floor followed by Melika and Danny.

The three of them had met up for a project during lunch and decided to head to class together afterwards. They took their time walking up the staircase, the four flights of stairs providing ample opportunity for Cody to finish explaining about his roundabout adventure in learning about the different types of written assignments.

As they entered the floor, Danny’s eyes habitually drew to the bulletin board down the hall. It was always filled with posters for one event or another and some of them seemed really fun, especially the charity paintball tournament two months ago. He may still be cleaning bright yellow stains off his comfiest jeans, but it was so worth it. The look on Miles’ face was priceless and Danny wouldn’t trade it for the world.

So, Danny’s made a habit of checking the board every time he walked past it. Which is reason enough to stop and take his time to look over the board, but today he actually caught someone in the act of putting something up. A rare occasion since the usual people tend to put up posters early in the morning right after the building opens.

The woman wore a long pink dress, was very tall, and was looking incredibly well put together as they stapled a poster with tear-off tabs to the board.

“Hey, dude, you good?” Cody asked.

“Yeah, just checking out the board.” Danny’s eyes never left the person. “Who’s that?”

Cody and Melika followed his gaze. Melika spoke up, “Oh, that’s Fiara. She’s part of the art club, I think.”

“You think?”

“One of my friends is in a club with her, but he didn’t really specify and he’s only in the general arts club and painting club, so…” Melika shrugged.

Danny hummed. As Fiara shifted away from the board to put away her stapler, his eyes travelled up to the board to peruse the new poster. A fashion show next week and they’re looking for volunteers to model her pieces? Huh.

Danny was still checking out the details on the poster when Fiara turned around. “Hey there!” She waved to their group of three and they greeted her back. “If you’re interested in modeling for the show I can answer any questions you have while I’m here.” Danny hummed.

“Are you looking to have something modelled in particular?” Cody asked.

Fiara shook her head. “The general theme is formal wear, but the challenge for this event is to make clothing with your model in mind.” She smiled. “As long as you’re available during the practice runs on stage and to meet for a few fittings, we’re all good.”

Turning to Danny, she added, “By the way, are you Danny from the ‘Walk a Mile in Her Shoes’ TikTok?” Danny nodded. “Oh that’s perfect . If you do decide to volunteer, here’s my number.” She tore off a tab from the poster and handed it to him. “Shoot me a text and I’ll set you up with something that’ll look amazing on you.”

Melika grinned. “Got inspired by the glowing freckles, didn’t you? You can admit it, they’re pretty cool.”

“Oh absolutely and I’m still insanely curious about how that works.” Fiara waved a hand. “But I’ll probably ask you another time.” She adjusted the strap to her bag. “I’ve still got a few posters to put up around campus and I’ve got class in a few hours, so I’ll see you around.”

Fiara headed down the hall and nearly slipped on nothing before catching herself on the wall. She laughed awkwardly and sent a wave over her shoulder with verbal reassurance that she was alright before leaving.

When they reached the classroom a short few minutes later, Cody spoke up, “So, are you gonna do it?”

“I don’t mind volunteering for it, but like—”—Danny waved his hand around—“y’know?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“You understand my vibes. You know.” Danny sighed as he pushed open the classroom doors, the sound of quiet murmurs from other students filling up the silence. “Maybe I’ve just reached my quota for dressing up for the year.”

Cody hummed disbelievingly. “Pretty sure that laser tag game you mentioned just ruined your taste for anything else. I mean, you had the chance to be as insanely acrobatic as you wanted and embarrassed your friends.”

Danny smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice to be in a high stakes battle without any real stakes. I’m not really used to that.”

Cody and Melika looked at him in concern. “Does this have to do with the paperwork you do for Coffee Ghost?” Danny nodded as he began unpacking his things onto the nearest desk.

Melika sighed. “One of these days we’re gonna sit down and just listen to all the batshit stories you have.”

“How do you know I’ve got batshit stories?” They gave him a deadpan look before they both turned to stare at the glowing pile of paper and the purple rock sitting on the stack with shimmering white spots that swirled in circles every so often. “What? It’s a nice paperweight!”

- - -

Danny was about to enjoy one of Mrs. Birchshoo’s cookies while actually relaxing, a well deserved break from doing schoolwork and ghost king stuff since six am, when Anjie decided to slide in next to him and wiggle their eyebrows at him.

Danny said nothing. He stared resolutely at his cookie and brought it to his mouth. The eyebrow wiggles grew in intensity and speed. He groaned. “What.”

“A little birdy told me you’re thinking of joining a fashion show.”

“Yup.”

“Without telling me?”

“Yup.”

“Well, if you’re going to be rude about it, maybe I should just take my compensation now—” They held up one of the cookies from his container and was about to take a bite out of it before Danny snatched it away from them.

“Don’t eat those. They have ectoplasm in them.”

“Aww.” They pouted for a moment before slowly reaching for another. Danny pulled the container toward him and snapped the lid closed. “Oh come on, what’s a little radioactive food between friends?” Danny sighed.

He stared at his cookies through the transparent lid mournfully before shoving them in his bag and turning his full attention to Anjie.

“Okay, fashion show. What were you thinking?” They hummed questioningly as they nudged their foot towards his bag.

“Why do you think I’ve got anything in mind? Maybe I just wanted to know the date to see you all dressed up.” Danny lightly slapped their knee and shoved his bag under his seat.

“You always have something in mind. I do want to hear what it is though.” Anjie grinned.

“Well, now that you mention it—”—they pulled out a one page contract and slapped it on the table. Danny stared at it for a moment, eyes tracing over the words, but becoming more and more confused as he went along.

“You… want me to join a landscaping business and work exclusively in a crocodile onesie?”

Anjie made a confused noise before reading the paper themself. They laughed. “Whoops, wrong one. One second.” They reached over the top of the booth and waved their arm around until the sound of tape unsticking caught his ear. Danny raised an eyebrow at them and they smirked. “That was for a different bet with Miles. Don’t worry about it.” Anjie pulled up a second paper and slapped it on the table.

“Anyway, here. Read it and weep.”

Danny read the new contract. He smirked. “Are you sure you want to agree to this? I mean you’re practically handing me the win here.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t have that much self restraint.”

“Oh, you think so? I’ll have you know I instigated a prank war with a rich dude from Wisconsin once.”

“And this proves your point, how?”

“Look, it took a lot of self control to stop the war before it got worse.”

“Sounds more like someone was a sore loser.”

Danny waved them off. “Ah whatever. More importantly, can I tell people or is it complete secrecy?”

“Tell as many people as you want.” Anjie grinned, a mischievous glint in their eye. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get,” they said with a cackle. Their cackling picked up in volume as Miles entered the cafeteria and they took a flying leap at him. While Danny watched the two overbalance and fall over, he couldn’t help but imagine the look on Anjie's face when he finally won a bet against them.

- - -

“They’ve got you beat, dude,” Matt said as set down another card.

“No, I just have to avoid making puns. No problem.” Danny scoffed, putting down a red and green three. “I’m a little insulted that they think I couldn’t last a week.”

Joey set down a blue three. “Uno.” The other three cursed in unison.

Patrick took his time deliberating his next move, his finger hovering over the 15 cards in his hand. Matt reached over for the popcorn while adding to his previous thought, “I don’t know, man. Considering they picked the week of the fashion show, don’t you think you’re walking into a losing battle?”

“You’re exaggerating.” He turned to lean his back against the counter and sagged against it as his coffee brewed. “It’s just puns. It won’t be that bad.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, gaze never leaving his cards. “And how is that supposed to alleviate your boredom?” He put down a blue skip turn and Matt slapped his arm.

Danny put down a blue seven. “Anjie’s definitely got some kind of plan. I mean, why else would they pick this specific bet during this specific weekend?” He grinned. “I can’t wait to see what they come up with.”

- - -

A few days after the start of the bet, Danny had managed to hold himself back pretty well, all things considering. He ended up telling the astronomy club, his suitemates, and a few other people from his classes about the bet, but no one had tried very hard to get him to crack. Most were content to wait and see what Anjie had in store. Danny was much the same, he mused to himself as he knocked on the door to Fiara’s dorm.

“Oh hey, Danny! Come in, come in.” Fiara opened the door wide. “Take off your shoes and take a seat on the big couch in the living room. I’ll bring out what I have so far and we can see how it looks on you.”

Danny looked around the living room and caught himself thinking it looked bigger and comfier than his own dorm, of which he wasn’t sure was possible since they both had the same basic furniture and layout. Not wanting to think about that too much, he shrugged to himself and plopped down on the couch.

He practically melted into the pillows before his fingers brushed a leathery texture. Turning slightly, his eyes landed on a leather jacket draped over the armrest. He thought he saw a pun etched on the back and nearly slipped up and said something with how relaxed he was feeling.

It’s definitely not ideal that he’s probably seeing puns where he shouldn’t. He must have a bit of an overactive brain today since he hasn’t used his lightning wit in a while. Unfortunate, but manageable he supposed.

Fiara quickly returned with a long dress that faded from pink at the straps, to purple around the chest, and a darkening blue down to the hem. She also handed him a pair of heels before directing him to the bathroom. Danny took the chance to relax a bit before he noticed a framed picture of a stick of butter with butterfly wings flying over an open field and changed in record time. Fiara hummed as she eyed the dress, oblivious of his distress as she mumbled about possibly shortening the length.

“Okay, so you texted me your measurements before, but I’m still gonna check how it fits on you alright?” Danny gave his confirmation while staring resolutely ahead at a blank part of the wall. There was a banana suit stuffed in the crevice between an armchair and a side table and the more he looked at it, the more he wanted to pipe up with a ‘What’s with the suit? Did it not a- peel to you?’. He has his own pride in agreeing on bets based on honour, but more importantly, he knows Anjie and they’ve definitely found a way to continuously monitor his jokes until the end of the bet.

“Okay, move around a bit, let me know how it feels.” Danny slowly walked around the room, keeping his eyes above a certain point on the wall before he saw another framed picture hanging behind the couch. He froze and Fiara looked at him with concern. “Woah, hey, is something wrong? Is it too tight somewhere?”

Danny slowly shook his head and turned to look at her. “No, I’m- it’s good. Everything fits pretty well. I was just-” -he pressed his lips together tightly- “just admiring your decor."

“Oh!” Fiara smiled. “I actually picked out the decor myself. It’s great, isn’t it?”

Danny paused. The framed picture, a pond with a sign that said ‘Frog Parking Only. All Others Will Be Toad!’, mocked him relentlessly and simultaneously urged him to respond with ‘ toad -ally’.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before taking a deep breath and answering slowly. “It’s… nice.”

“Thank you. Now come back so I can look at the dress again.” She gestured to the space in front of her.

The next ten minutes consisted of Fiara checking over the length and using safety pins to mark some parts of the dress. Danny spun a few times at her command and walked around a bit more before she was satisfied and sent him off to change.

- - -

The day of the fashion show was finally here and Danny couldn’t be any more grateful.

Day after day he was bombarded on his usual routes to his classes with such easy material to make a pun out of that it pained him to stay silent. He’d bit his tongue on more than one occasion in an attempt at self restraint.

So it was safe to say, with just a few hours left until midnight, Danny was feeling confident and already anticipating his hard earned reward.

Of course, there were excited hugs and awe directed towards him while he practiced his walk backstage with Jessica, Kat, and Fiara as his audience, his friends having volunteered as models for other students, and Danny himself was ready to show off Fiara’s hard work.

The show itself was a charitable event and thanks to the program being shared over Twitter the other day—which included a list of the volunteer models—a large influx of people showed up to buy tickets at the door.

Most of them were from the astrology club, but there were a good few Danny had never seen before around campus. They might've been freshmen from an arts program or something. Maybe they were fashion design majors seeing as many of the fashion design students working with their own models were completely new faces for him.

The host of the show, having greeted the attendees at the door while he helped the cashier to speed things along, had made sure to ask a few groups what brought them here. When most of them said they were here to support their friend, specifically Danny, the host got a gleam in his eye and reordered the models to have Danny walk at the end, mostly to keep them watching the show for the whole time. There were snacks and pop up clothes booths that needed to make sales after all and the host was very dedicated to the success of this event.

The time crept ever closer to the start of the show and with each passing minute, Fiara seemed to grow more and more frantic as she fussed over the finishings on the dress, pulling away invisible strands of thread, messing with the sleeves, and circling Danny over and over again. He did his best to keep her calm, but ultimately her roommate was able to pull her out of her own head.

Granted, Fiara’s roommate wasn’t actually present with them backstage. In fact, Misha just attempted to walk backstage despite the large sign indicating each person needed a pass for entry as well as the bodyguards right next to the door.

They bulldozed their way in, dodging the bodyguards and running up to Fiara with a grin before the bodyguards caught up to them.

“You got this, Fi!” they yelled as they were dragged out of the room.

Fiara sighed heavily and her shoulders slumped as she followed security to the door to explain that no, Misha was not dangerous and yes, Fiara does know who they are and can vouch that they were harmless. Her roommate gave her another encouraging shout before they were escorted out the door completely with a stern order to stay outside.

Danny smiled. Internally, he was glad Fiara’s roommate showed up. Now that she was calm, Danny himself was starting to relax more and focus on the show itself.

“10 minutes to curtain everyone! 10 minutes!” The events lead yelled. “Sound and lights, do your last checks, designers make sure your models are ready, makeup artists if you want to see the show you might want to start packing up!”

Fiara took a deep breath. “Okay, okay, this is fine. You’ll be fine. You look great and you’re going to blow them away.”

And she was right.

The other models walked down the runway earning many brief cheers and ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s, but when Danny walked on stage, the brief cheers echoed in the room far louder than before.

Danny walked out with his head held high, a long cape in the same colours as the dress flowing behind him. His dark blue heels clicked as he walked down the runway and he kept looking ahead, even as the astrology club whistled and hollered.

When he passed the halfway point, he pulled the cape down to his elbows and let everyone see the dress in full.

The two toned dress was now just above knee height, with silver glitter around the ends of the dress and becoming more and more sparse as it traveled up towards the chest. The pink to purple to blue colour scheme coupled with the glitter made the dress seem as if it were made from the darkening sky and stars themselves.

The show didn’t last very long after that, but many were struck by the fabulous designs that night, especially Fiara’s dress. So much so that a few students asked her about commissions for their graduation clothes in the future.

Better yet, the night was almost over and Danny hadn’t had to strain himself all day. There was not a pun worthy thing in sight and he was about to cruise all the way to midnight with an easy win. He would’ve been worried with all the astronomy club members showing up, but with how much they were focused on the show, he could probably just avoid them until the clock struck twelve. Hell, Anjie wasn’t even in the crowd!

He rubbed his hands together with an evil smirk. That’ll show Anjie a thing or two about his self control. And the point will certainly be driven home once they give him his reward.

Actually, now that he thought of it, where was Anjie? Surely they wouldn’t miss a last opportunity to dramatically try to get him to crack? Danny narrowed his eyes. Something was suspicious about all of this.

Although, as the minutes ticked down and the time grew closer and closer to midnight, Danny decided to abandon his search for the little troll and just relax among his friends. He steered questions about the dress from Suzy, Sophie, and a few others to Fiara, encouraged a toast in her honor, and got incredibly excited as the club talked about plans to watch a meteor shower coming up.

With only minutes left until midnight, Danny lazily sipped on a glass of sparkling apple cider, content to watch everyone else as he earned his first win in a bet with Anjie.

But alas, he should’ve known it could never be that easy.

At exactly 11:58pm, Anjie appeared holding a leather jacket Danny had never seen before, while wearing a blue button up and slacks. They went around greeting their fellow club members and showing off their new jacket, though never putting it on.

Soon, Danny understood exactly why.

He caught a good look of it while they were presenting it to Jessica and Kat.

On the back of the jacket, in large bold letters, it read:

INVISIBLE JACKET

(it’s made of hide)

How was no one taking the golden opportunity to say anything? If someone else would just say it, he could at least laugh along! He swiveled his head to the other members of the club who greeted Anjie normally, not mentioning anything about the jacket beyond a general compliment or two. And now that he looked closer, it looked somewhat …familiar.

Danny’s eyes widened. This was planned. All of it was planned. The easy days at the start with nothing pun-worthy in sight, the decor in Fiara’s dorm, nearly the entire club showing up at the door without prepaid tickets. All of it led to this fucking moment.

Anjie walked up to him, a smug look on their face. “Hey there Danny, you look great. Is that the dress Fiara made?”

Danny pursed his lips. He couldn’t open his mouth now. The second his lips parted it would be all over. He can hold it though. He can handle staying silent for two minutes.

“Aww what’s with the silent treatment? Did I do something to upset you?” The smirk on their lips grew wider. “Or is my formal wear nice enough to leave you speechless?” They waggled their eyebrows as they held up their jacket.

Danny stayed resolutely silent. All he had to do was wait. As soon as it was one second past midnight, he could let loose without consequence. He could wait. He could definitely wait.

Anjie shook their head, the smirk never leaving their face. “You know, I’m kind of offended. Maybe I should go back to my dorm and change into something else.”

Danny cursed internally in as many languages as possible, trying to pass the time and distract himself before his self restraint slipped.

Anjie sighed, their smirk growing wider. “Well, I guess I’d better go change.” They leveled Danny with one more evil look, before stretching the leather in their hands a bit, making the letters easier to read. “Though, before I go, what do you think of the jacket?”

With a brief mourning for his win and dread for the consequences to come, Danny blurted out,

“It’s a great jacket, but I can’t see you pulling it off.”

- - - - - - - - - -

End notes!

another scene I really, really wanted to fit in somehow, but couldn't:

Danny, who now has to make everything Anjie does 100% more dramatic for three nonconsecutive days: how could you betray me like this? you were my designer QwQ

Fiara, wincing: sorry, but Misha promised they'd model my end-of-the-semester project. that's a once in a lifetime opportunity where I can finally stuff them into nice clothes with minimal complaints.

Danny: what could your roommate possibly gain from Anjie being more dramatic?

Misha, off to the side: lost my favorite T square in the rafters of the engineering building. if Anjie won, they said you could get it down.

Danny: why is your T square in the rafters?

Misha, looking at him as if he's stupid: because I needed a good excuse not to let a jerk borrow it. Why else would it be up there?

Fiara: they were also running on very little sleep meaning their impulse control just disappeared and they did the first thing they could think of. They also had their ladder privileges revoked last week.

Danny: why didn't Anjie—?

Misha: They also had their ladder privileges revoked.

#danny phantom #nemo the writing ho #secret santa gift #danny fenton #ocs #made some minor edits like an hour an a half after posting

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breitzbachbea · 2 years

Note

dk if you’re taking asks for it but. 17 and 18 for the writer’s ask game? 😳

I am always taking asks that give me an opportunity to blabber about my writing process! <3

Weird Questions for Writers

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

You actually caught me WIP-free for the first time in 7 years! 😳 I finished all of my big projects this year. I’m currently working on the outline for the Irish Problems rewrite, but I am still waffling around a lot and there isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid. And if I started to talk about the history of Irish Problems, we’d still be here tomorrow. That’s for another day, perhaps.

However, this is why I waited for the prompts of hwsrarepairweek to drop! I had a lot of fun with it last year, so I’ll hopefully be able to participate in it again this year! I’ll keep the ships to TurGre, SicIre and GreSic again, but here are the ideas I had so far:

Writer & Artist: I may finally be able to deliver a scrap for the Neighbourhood AU for @needcake that I never had the time to write for 👉🏻👈🏻 It’d be about Sadık reading his poetry at the monthly “Everyone can come and read their pieces for 10 minutes to the interested public” event of the local literature club. Little does he know though that Dilan told the twins about him doing this and that after he told Herakles he would have liked to study Literature, Herakles talked about it with the twins, who in turn told him about the event. Either way, it’s shortly before his reading when Herakles either comes in or Sadık spots him, so … little time to panic and wonder what the hell he is doing here. Afterwards, he is also contemplating whether or not he should sneak away and never bring this up again or if he should walk up to Herakles, but Herakles takes the choice off his hands. They talk a little bit about it and Sadık asks him if he liked it. Herakles gives the evasive answer of “Well, I liked it better than that one guy’s crime short story.” Sadık laughs, says that guy (Gilbert) has been trying for so hard for so long, but maybe some things aren’t meant to be. Wanna grab a coffee? So they grab a coffee <3 I suck abysmally at writing poetry … and I would have to research Turkish poetry/poets … but it’d be interesting and I can probably weasel myself out of writing the actual poem.

Historical: Since me re-using the topic of my term paper worked so well last year, I thought why not do it again! It’s a bit trickier than it is with the curse tablets at Bath, but I finally realized I should put my knowledge about the Siege of Syracuse to good use! It’d be SicIre again, set in the Imperial Rome AU, but many years later. Not only did they move to Ostia, but they also moved into Herakles’ domus, while he found his calling working on his villa rustica. Michele contemplates another trip to Syracuse, his home, and Harry wants to tag along this time. They talk a lot about the city and Michele goes on and on about its beauty. To illustrate his point, he gets out his books which talk about it, which would include some texts like Plutarch mentioning both the Siege of Syracuse and Marcellus’ ovation, where he paraded around its spoils. It’d be bittersweet, too, if they talk about family. Michele’s mother may or may not be alive anymore and Harry hasn’t heard from his family ever since he left Hibernia, basically.

Supernatural: Sicily Is A Monstrous Island, Baby!!! I’d love to put my book “Creature Fantastiche di Sicilia” to good use and Michele tell Herakles about some of the ghastly inhabitants of the island. I’d set it some time, like weeks, months or even a year after last year’s GreSic oneshot. Whereas in that one they were in Herakles’ house, now they spend the night in Michele’s mansion. Perhaps Maria, Michele’s mother, has gone off with the twins elsewhere for a few days; perhaps they are simply asleep, in which case Michele would take extra precautions to not wake the twins. He’d also suspect them behind every moving shadow, since they’re two ne’er-do-wells and tricksters. They’re also, like, 13 or 14, so complete little shits. He probably tells Herakles the story when he hired Alessia, an older teenager that recently started to work for him, to scare the twins into believing that there ARE bedtime monsters like the Grecu Livanti, who will get and eat them if they don’t wise up real quick. Nothing about that plan went as it should have been, Michele apologised for it all profusely in the end, Alessia will still never let the twins hear the end of it. However, the house isn’t haunted by Alessia, or the twins or a Grecu Livantu … it is haunted by the memories of Michele and Herakles making out in his childhood room. It’s haunted by the people who built it and whose burden Michele yet chose to carry, not strong enough to do the right thing. It is, if anything, haunted by a Turnatu. A body that just couldn’t stay dead … someone who crossed back over from the other side, only to drain the living he left behind of their energy … If the last drabble was about the comforting shared past of language, this one is about the horrid, personal one of ghosts.

Pirates & Mermaids: IT’S CORSAIR AU TIME BABY!!! I’d have to research so much for this one, but I want to write it soooo badly 😭 I think the mermaids would be metaphorical, though, and would lend themselves as an excellent metaphor for some parts of the story. You see, the idea behind this one is that in the 16th/17th century, Omar and Timothea ran away from home. Not intending to do their poor mother and father any harm, but Omar had fallen in love with one of the crewmates of an Ottoman corsair ship and wanted to be with her. Thea came along for the ride and to help her brother out, of course. Either way, Natasa asked Herakles to go after the twins, so he embarked on the journey to find them … and promptly ends up on an Ottoman Corsair ship, but not on his own volition. Its captain is Sadık, who takes a liking to this stowaway and his pretty face. I actually don’t have a concrete timeline for this AU, or anything resembling a plot, but that are some points that definitely happen in the story. Hijinks ensue, which also include a Sicilian taverna owner, a brief cameo of the Spanish navy and, in a much more central role, their allies, a bunch of Irish Pirates! This story has got it all, baby! Either way, for the Oneshot, I’d set it sometime after these events though, when Herakles sails on the corsair ship for work reasons and … perhaps companionship? They start talking about sirens and joke a bit about how Omar had indeed been lured to sea by Dilan. Ah yes, those Sirens … “But perhaps, it fits the story better if it was he who lured her in? Spotting him from the ship, watching from atop the rocks … there certainly is something very tempting about your kind …” Sadık says and perhaps an arm snakes around Herakles’ waist …

Fantasy: I was thinking about using this SicIre scenario for rarepairweek anyways and this AU is a) literally called the “Myth AU” and b) I don’t know what is going on there anymore. The timeperiods are all a hopeless mess, there’s normal humans but also, Paddy is a giant, Charlie is a changeling, Tahir a sorcerer and the Bontade twins are the sons of Hermes. Whatever the fuck it is, it should be able to qualify for Fantasy. And because I am dying to tell this story to someone else, you’re also getting the rundown of what happened before the actual Oneshot idea but is tied to it. So, here is the rundown: 1. Tahir is currently working on magic portals, however he keeps being interrupted by Charlie’s changeling fuckery and the twins’ semi-divine bullshit, because the Irish and their friends LIVE to frustrate the English 2. Tahir asks Robert if he wants to make him a very happy man, which Robert sure does want to, but he'd also kill Charlie for just the pleasure of it. 3. A plan is hatched, Arthur, their king, is involved and it goes as followed: Robert, as a loyal knight to Arthur, will be sent as a delegation, alongside with some other knights, to the Irish castle. They cannot refuse them on the grounds of hospitality. So they get in and when Charlie one night sneaks around, like the twins, to see what is going on, Robert finds him and … just splashes a potion on him. Charlie is mightily confused that that’s the only thing Robert has done. He doesn’t like the smug expression and the predatory grin on his face when he tells him: “Oh, you’ll just … wait.” 4. Charlie continues to be confused, but starts to feel strange over the next couple of days … more aggressive, more anti-social, less able to control his powers and his strength. Because! What they don’t know! The plan was to craft a potion that would bring out Charlie’s changeling nature in full force. Thusly, if he then rampaged through the court, nobody could fault Robert for taking care of the problem! He was out of control! The beast had to be killed before it hurt anyone, as tragic as that is! 5. However, when the rampage eventually happened, they did not bank on the Irish REFUSING to let Charlie go. They did not bank on a good old “I know you’re still in there” fight! Harry just beats the SHIT out of Charlie, while he also gets the SHIT beaten out of him, invoking their brotherly bond! We grew up together, remember? Side by side! I’ve known you all my life and this isn’t you! I know my friend’s still in there! I KNOW IT! 6. And it works! Probably just when or before Robert has had enough and still tries to bring the plan to fruition as planned. Either way, the English are found out and get back home with their tails between their legs, Robert both incredibly disappointed with himself and also simply frustrated that all this ordeal was for nothing, stifled so shortly before he got the pleasure of finally shutting that annoying little fairy up once and for all. In the meantime, Harry contemplates how to handle the aftermath of the situation in the evening, while Michele already sits in bed and does some reading. It's here we get to the actual Oneshot. So Harry asks Michele for his opinion, Michele says You should ask your men, not me, your politics isn’t my lane now as guest of the court, is it. And Harry says, true, true, but as he slips underneath the sheets, he says that it would be his lane to advice the King as a King’s consort. And in my head, I just have Michele staring into nothing, past Harry, elated but surprised, a blush on his face and Harry already either cuddling him or kissing him, while he says: “Oh? I’m the King’s consort?” And then we’ll either have a bit more serious discussion about Michele’s future and role at the court or just some absolute teeth-rotting SicIre fluff, perhaps with some spicy fading to black <3

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

God, that question. I’ll be honest with you, I forgot most circumstances under which I wrote most of my stories. I think it’s also because good moments often come to me on the go, later get implemented into the work and then polished a bit. Or I’m often working on scenes for at least two days, sometimes longer, because I rewrite them when I come back and didn’t like what I wrote last.

One of the clearest moments I still have in my memory is … tbh also very foggy, but I remember sitting on my bed and being up very late for a schoolday, writing with my daylightlamp right in front of me and probably chugging Soda. And you know what I wrote? Irish Problems, Chapter 4, Scene 2 The one where Paddy has to squeeze himself into the Mito. THAT is the one I still remember.

I still have the “raw draft” document for Italian Affairs, aka the document where I dump all ideas for a scene as they come to me. I actually got lost for a while, rereading bits and pieces I had written for the draft that never made it into the story … I am actually surprised how many ideas I had before I ever reached many scenes! It’s also such a great testament to how fundamentally the tone of the story changed over time; a lot of these snippets are so much goofier, contain so many more asides for the sake of asides. Here is an example – From a scene that was described like this in the outline: “Okay let's figure out how to drive on italian streets. Very very gay moments between Charlie and Marco, also - they took the baaaiiit ~”

"Nice cabrio." "I see, someone finally found each other." "Ach hör mir auf!" [Oh, stop it, you!]

You know which scene this is? Chapter 17, Scene 1. The Chapter called “Running Beneath”, the scene that starts in Charlie’s Porsche, just after they picked up Marco. The dialogue snippet above was about them running into Francesco during the chase sequence, where they would have actually talked with one another. Charlie would have complemented Francesco’s car, while Francesco would have commented on Marco clinging to Charlie. It would have been comedic banter, good-natured.

Here's what the scene looks like in Chapter 17:

They both kept silent. Not for long however, as Charlie looked around. It was a mystery how he, or Marco, hadn’t noticed the car in the lane next to him yet. You didn’t overlook a Ferrari, much less when its white coating blazed in the autumn sun. And yet, only now he stared at Francesco Belfari’s face, barely half a meter away from him. “Fuck,” he said. The other two followed his looks. Marco jumped; Charlie heard his legs shuffle on the backseat and felt the vibrations as his head collided with the headrest. “Ou, fuck,” Marco cursed and asked in the same breath: “Where did that bastard come from?! We’ve been staring behind us all the time, the traffic was so thick that if he’s here, he must have been behind us before! What the fuck?!” Charlie threw a look at the traffic light, but it was still red. When his look went back to Belfari, the other was letting down his window. He looked at him with a smile on his face. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. He wagged his hand down. “What?” Charlie whispered. “What in the hell’s this shit about?!” Marco asked. “Whatever he wants to tell us, I don’t want to hear it,” Harry said. “Let’s get out of here before him!” Charlie’s eyes snapped back to the traffic light in the same moment Marco said: “Go!” This time, he was readily colour blind and ran the yellow light.

Quite the tonal difference, huh? I don’t think I ever realized how much my stories have matured ever since their conception. I’ve came a long way, truly and I think it’s very interesting to see all the components. Yes, my writing skill has improved since I started, but Francesco’s character also has changed as the years went on. My focus regarding what the story is about has shifted. Writing isn’t just the words on the page; it’s every thought behind them. But you can only approach and unpack them if you have words to put on the page, which I think it is very important to keep writing. Yes, maybe you aren’t equipped yet to tackle a certain story. Yes, maybe you will write something you will think about differently in a few months or years. But if you didn’t know what you were focusing the first time around, you cannot shift the focus anywhere else. If your characters only ever existed in your head, they will never get the chance to grow into fully fledged fictional people. You have to let them take baby steps on the page. So keep writing, keep writing messily, keep writing with all the care in the world, but don't stop.

#beareplies #writing #ashley #that is a super long answer but I was so excited about that idea I had for the Myth AU #I don't have enough Charlie and Harry quality content I cannot wait for returning to the main series #also man what a blast to the past that IA document is ...#You never realize how much you really grew until you look back #I am glad I abandoned the goofiness tbh #of course not overall. I will always write funny things. but I am glad it is overall more serious.#I love to write tense moments love love love it I love that there is something deeper and more meaningful to my story universe #and Charlie and Marco argueing about the red light before the snippet I posted is so much funnier than the raw draft #don't derrive comedy from stock interactions between friendly enemies.#derrive comedy from Italian traffic <3 #storie nostre #harry #miche #charlie #robert #tahir #arthur #hera #sadık #thea #omar #dilan #natasa #gil #sicire #gresic #turgre

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cherrywoes · 3 years

Text

bambi. miya osamu x f! reader.

au: idol au

pairing: miya osamu x female reader.

word count: 1.5k

prompt: established relationship.

rating: 16+

tw: alcohol, strong language, inferiority complex.

summary: osamu struggles with comparisons to his brother, but you’re always there to comfort him in the end.

genre: fluff, comfort fic.

a/n: this is part of the cafe x hangout collab! hopefully it’s fluffy enough for everyone’s tastes, it isn’t sickeningly sweet--it’s just enough. i hope everyone likes it! <3

“THANKS, EVERYONE.” Osamu yawned into his hand sleepily. The bright white of his screen kept him awake, along with the endless stream of comments popping up in the left hand corner of the screen. Several of them lamented that he was leaving so early, but a quick glance at the clock revealed that it had been over four hours that he’d been streaming—so almost immediately after he had gotten home, then. A rustling in his kitchen, so faint he barely heard it, snapped his attention back to the Instagram live he was about to shut down. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying it even further than it already was, and shrugged to the screen. “I’m going to call it a night, guys. I’m pretty tired and I have a packed schedule tomorrow; remember to rest and take care of yourselves.”

He ended the stream without looking at the rest of the comments, his eye barely catching one reading ‘Atsumu would have stayed on longer until he fell asleep :(‘. Closing his eyes tightly against the bright light, Osamu huffed and tossed his phone on his bed. He didn’t want to look at it right now—not when every time he logged on to Instagram it was to Atsumu’s cheery face, snapping selfies with his fans or whatever cafe he’d happen to stumble upon that particular day. They were just cafes he’d introduced his brother to, but every time he mentioned them he would have to move on and find another one to get away from all of the attention Atsumu brought him.

His own fans were okay—but Atsumu’s were on an entirely different level. From stalking his every move, staking out his apartment for discreet photos of his bare face and pajamas when he took out the trash, investigating everyone who came and went from his apartment (thankfully he lived in a complex where a lot of A-list celebrities lived), and even running down his license plate number to follow him on the road.

It was ridiculous. Osamu just wanted a quiet existence separate from his identity as an idol, but whenever he turned a corner, there was Atsumu dragging him into another crowd of people, exposing him to his insane fans and getting them to like him, too. He’d virtually given up trying to have some semblance of a private life, smiling politely whenever he was photographed in public and tiredly soothing fans who would break out into tears whenever they passed him on the street.

“‘Samu?” You poked your head past his door, scanning for his phone to see if he was still live. When the light bounced off the phone screen on his bed, you stepped further inside, this time revealing a tray of food, chamomile tea—Osamu could smell it—and his migraine medicine. “I brought you dinner—well, a late dinner, but I know you didn’t eat before you came home—”

Except you. A particularly bright spot in his life, the only one if he was to be honest; a reminder of what he came home to every day when his ‘idol’ facade was over until the next day. He sat up and mused his hair into something resembling the style he usually wore, although judging by the little giggle you tried to hide he had probably failed in that aspect.

You set down the tray on his desk, reaching over and smoothing down the pieces that stuck up like duck feathers in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed his nose into your collarbone, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He sighed, all of the tension and anxiety deflating from him like a balloon, and smiled his first genuine smile of the day when you tipped his head back to look at his face.

“Aw, ‘Samu,” you tutted, swiping your thumbs underneath his eyes. “You look so tired nowadays; is Atsumu bothering you again? You know I can set him right, if you want me to.”

Osamu grimaced at the thought of you ‘setting his brother right’. The last time it had happened he had been sitting between the both of you while you yanked on Atsumu’s ear and hair with all of your might, screeching your fury—and Osamu’s irritation—at his brother. Naturally, it had gotten through his twin’s thick skull, but only for a few weeks before he was back at it again, shoving media attention at him worse than before. Those weeks had been the best days of Osamu’s life; even his management had commented on it, saying he looked more livelier when he was performing.

“No,” he sighed. You drummed your fingers against his brow bone, waiting for him to elaborate, and hummed softly to yourself while you did. “Not really. It’s more… Comparing me to him again, I guess.”

You clucked your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s your fans that I need to set straight then, hmm?”

You were no idol. It was different for actresses, at least for now; you could be as rude or curt to your fans about their behavior if you wanted, whereas he had to be kind, docile, polite—all of which Osamu was decidedly not in normal company. He was as snarky and droll as Atsumu was normally, but that contradicted their identity as ‘twins’; management couldn’t have two of the same person, even if they were different in their own ways. Their consumers wouldn’t see it that way.

Keeping your relationship—while serious—secret had been the worst part of it all. He hated that he couldn’t go out with you in public or take you to his favorite spots without gathering some rather nasty attention. Once had been enough; the scandal had rocketed through the tabloids until he’d said it was just a business transaction for his new video. Which had been true: you had starred in his music video. But the look of quiet hurt as you read all of the comments on the article had hit him hard.

“No,” he laughed quietly, pulling away and reaching for the bowl of broth and salmon. Another con: his diet. “Did you cook this?”

“Mhm. It’s pretty plain,” you began, side-eyeing him while picking at the clutter on his desk and straightening up a stack of books near the corner,”but I read your diet planner and that was really all I could come up with.”

“It’s good,” he reassured you, taking another healthy sip from his spoon. It wasn’t as strong as what he would cook, but it was the thought that counted, and he appreciated it. “I’m thinking about quitting, honestly.”

“What?” You hummed. You cracked open a book, saw it was a gift from Atsumu (his taste in literature was infamous) and shut it quickly with a frown. “Your diet?”

“Being an idol.”

You didn’t react like he had thought—there wasn’t any anger or disbelief. Instead, relief made your shoulders sag. “Oh, thank god, you’re finally getting out of that shithole. Oh, ‘Samu, you don’t know how agonizing it’s been watching you deteriorate into some carbon copy of—”

“You aren’t mad?” He blurted, wondering how you would act if it had been Atsumu who had said that—how you would act if it was Atsumu who was your boyfriend, not him.

“Are you serious?” The disbelief crept in, then, but not in the way he imagined. You rolled your eyes when he stayed quiet and cupped his face in your hands, pressing a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. “No, you silly boy, I’m not mad. I’m happy you’re considering it. You seem so miserable doing those lives and fan meets—I’m not dumb. You hate being an idol. You even told me as much. Not in so many words, but I can pick up some clues, too, you know.”

Osamu blinked up at you, almost stupidly. “So… You’re okay with—?”

“Of course I am.” You smiled then, pushing all of his hair away from his forehead with a laugh. “Who do you think I am, Atsumu?”

Almost immediately his mood soured. Atsumu. The reason he had even become an idol in the first place; what would he say? What would he think of this? He would hate him. He’d be pissed, too—

“Hey,” you chided, tapping his cheek to get his attention. “You went and left again, ‘Samu. What are you thinking about?”

His silence told you all you needed to know.

“Alright. Here.” You snatched his phone up from the bed and unlocked it, typed a quick text, and held it out to him. “There. Done. Atsumu knows now. It isn’t his business what you do now.”

Osamu stared at the screen for a moment, then sighed and buried his face in your chest. “Thank you, [Name].”

“No problem, honey.” You ran a soothing hand down the back of his neck, ignoring the ping of a single text from Atsumu that you knew he was reading behind your back. “Come on, let’s watch Bambi while you eat. I’ve had a stroke of nostalgia lately while you’ve been busy.”

He put his phone face down on the desk, picking up his bowl and tea and toddling after you to the living room. “Alright, lead the way.”

The phone screen remained lit, reflecting a single, honest, ‘Finally’ on the wooden surface.

requests: open.

#haikyuucafe #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyū!!#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya atsumu #idol au

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dailylogyn · 3 years

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Instead of waiting around for Ragnarok to begin, it’s time for the FIRST EVER LOGYN APPRECIATION WEEK, which will run from December 5th-11th, 2021.

This is a week to show appreciation for the canon couple from Norse Mythology —Loki and Sigyn (Logyn) — whose story is iconic with Sigyn choosing to remain by her husband’s side and protect him from snake venom. However, it is often twisted or overlooked by Pop Culture Media and not much of their story survives from the texts. Hence, we want to show our love and appreciation for a couple whose story has more to it than we know.

So, create content for Loki and Sigyn - gifsets, edits, visualosities/aesthetics, fanart, fanfiction, meta, headcanons, fanmixes/playlists, rec lists, videos, anything you like!

Please tag everything with #Logyn appreciation week. Also remember to tag your triggering content such as blood or gif sets for people who need to block them out for safe tumblr browsing!

Prompts:

Day 1: Favorite Comic moment

Day 2: Favorite Logyn Fanfiction/Literature

Day 3: Favorite Depiction (Marvel, Mythology, The Bifrost Incident, etc.)

Day 4: Favorite Logyn Fanart/Edit (Please be sure to GIVE ORIGINAL ARTIST CREDIT and link it back to them)

Day 5: Your thoughts on Loki and Sigyn and why you support them

Day 6: If you had to choose one to expand on…Marvel or Mythology?

Day 7: Free Choice!

HAVE FUN AND REBLOG THIS TO HELP SPREAD THE WORD!

This is followed 4 months after Sigyn Appreciation Week.

#logyn #loki #sigyn #Loki Laufeyson #loki x sigyn #loki and sigyn #norse mythology #marvel

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pinkresin · 2 years

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Writing about writing

So this is my first blog in what I hope will be one of many. Apparently you're not a real writer unless you have a blog and after a strange few months of soul searching I decided it's time to get serious. So here we are...

A little about me (I don't really know who reads these things but at least I'm writing, right). I'm 39, married to a lovely man called Gav. We have 3 children, 22, 18 and 14. Awful ages, teenagers are horrendous. Our oldest daughter has now left home and we now have a 2 year old granddaughter. Life for me has been done the opposite way around. We married and had children young and I am now in the position to be thinking about my career. I am about to start my 3rd year of a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing with the Open University. I have thoroughly enjoyed the creative writing side of the course not so much the literature, but I have learned a lot of valuable skills. I work 3 days a week in Asda as a home shopping picker. I hate it but it's paying the bills (almost!) until I finish my degree.

Last month we all got the dreaded Covid. We thought, after 2 years we had escaped it, but it caught up with us, big style. My husband and son (who also work at Asda) were told to go to work as normal. It is no longer necessary to isolate and they wouldn't be paid for doing so. They had to wear a mask and wash their hands regularly but were still required to work. We had mixed feelings about this, especially as my son has a medical condition, but there are four of us living at home and quite frankly, we couldn't afford to be without the income. I was really, really poorly and spent almost a fortnight in bed. At one point I googled funeral directors as I thought this was surely the end, I have never felt so ill! After 2 and a half weeks off work, I finally started to feel more human again thankfully; but found that the longer I was off work, the less I wanted to return. This was only ever supposed to be a temporary job for a couple of months anyway. The plan was to apply for writing jobs/ internships where I could gain some work experience and then leave. Nine months later and I am no further on- so it was time for a kick up the proverbial arse.

I signed up with a careers program and a lovely man called Roger is now my coach. We have gone back to basics and he suggested that a blog is the place to start while we look into options. I am leaning towards screenwriting and even considering this as a Masters when I have finished at uni. I have completed a short, 2 week course in screenwriting as part of the careers coaching and have compiled my years of scribbled notes, emails and texts to myself with writing prompts, into material I can write about. I have also been to the library and borrowed some books on this. I forgot how much I love the library. We live out in the sticks so it is only a small branch but still just as magical. One of my favourite childhood memories is when we used to live in Bradford and my siblings and I would visit their huge library over the summer holidays. Nothing is more satisfying than shelves upon shelves of books- and you can borrow them for free! Sadly, where we live now they are so under used. People look at me almost confused when I say I'm going, it no longer seems to be 'the norm' which is sad.

Reflecting on my childhood and considering my future made me realise that things became stagnant for a while. Life seemed to get in the way of what I wanted from life. I suppose this is common, but it made me sad to think about how many people don't follow their dreams. This is what I want to do, what I've always wanted to do. Only I can make it happen so here I am, step one in a very long journey of making things happen.

Am I a writer yet...?

#writing #creative writing #screenwriting #library #open university #books and reading #visitthelibrary #maturestudent #writers on tumblr #writers and readers #writerslife #first blog

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medieval-canadian · 4 years

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Hello :) would you happen to have any tips/resources for people with adhd who are behind on work and NEED to get stuff done? It's the holidays but I have a big research paper due in 2 weeks and I haven't done a thing, it's making my life miserable worrying 24/7 about it 😭

oh man. oh babe. im so sorry you’re in this situation, and also i have no idea when you sent this and therefore no clue if im responding in a timely manner or not, but i totally 100% feel you because i was doing the same (worse) with the grading i dragged forEVER and also now im in a very very similar boat with my special fields prep. so this may end up being a useful exercise for me, too.

i guess my top tips would be:

1. take one day fully off. not off by virtue of the fact that i made no progress even though i tried (no matter if “tried” looks nothing like trying from an outside perspective, we know it’s not that simple). just. off. you are not supposed to do any work on the thing today. today you are going to wash your piled up dirty clothes (and if you’re feeling ambitious maybe even FOLD IT and PUT IT AWAY!!) (i have literally never done those things all on the same day though so like. no pressure). or whatever other thing is staring at you from its pile of filth. have a meal. take some naps. rest a bit, guilt-free.

2. once you’ve had your day off, sit down and make a list. making that list may start with looking up other lists (WITH A TIME LIMIT I.E., A LOUD OBNOXIOUS TIMER. if u have a mac look up the nag timer app). basically every time i have to write a research paper, i have to look up a step-by-step on how to write a research paper. that’s (for me) often the first obstacle--i can’t start because i don’t remember how to write a research paper, so how the fuck would i know where to start? now that you’ve got a step-by-step guide (or four), combine/customize them into your own list. my version of the list often has way more detailed steps than any of the ones i looked up.

2b. that list may look like: -turn on computer -open word doc -set up MLA formatting -pull out syllabus/assignment description -choose prompt/topic/text (30 mins) -open google & search basic terms (15 mins) -open library website and search terms (20 mins) -open google scholar and search terms (15 mins) -etc.

***N.B. i don’t know what discipline you’re working in so like, keep in mind i’ve only ever written literature research essays.

***also, it’s pretty important to try to set those time limits; use timers. if you really need more time, you can set the timer again, but having the buzzer go off helps you to pause and evaluate: do i really need to go down this rabbithole? do i need to spend more time searching for a source to support my claim that Irish independence happened in 1923 when i just wasted like 3 hours on that? or can i just assume that that’s common knowledge in the course on the Irish Literary Revival? (true story) (why that was so hard for me to find i cannot say but it was and i couldn’t get my brain unstuck from it until i got really pissed off and was like “FUCK THIS” and then thought, wait why am i bothering)

3. take a break--go for a walk, play with your pet, slice an apple for a snack. REFILL YOUR WATER (if you haven’t been drinking up till now, drain the bottle THEN refill it) (i always forget to drink and it’s WILD how much that will mess up your workflow)

4. consider playing pretend--it may sound silly/stupid/i haven’t done that since grade school, kat, what the fuck are you talking about, but honestly sometimes it works! pretend you’re your fave character lost in a research binge (i rly like stiles from teen wolf, okay, and it’s the perfect vibe for getting into it). pretend you’re a big important researcher whose findings could change the field forever and they are desperately needed PRONTO. etc.

5. if all else fails, ask for an extension if you can!

#i hope this maybe helps a little!#Anonymous #adhd grad student #ADHD #advice

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aethersea · 4 years

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May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

#finx writes #I didn't quite get Eliot's hair in there but I hope this works anyway #leverage #leverage fic #leverage ot3

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