#i just want to be able to use my computer like i used to

[tenderyouth]

GOOD ENEMY ✶ zayne x reader

word count: 5.3k

tags: med school au ✶ no evol ✶ afab reader ✶ friends to academic rivals to lovers ✶ sub!zayne ✶ oral sex ✶ very light bondage ✶ unprotected intercourse

a/n: i am insane about zayne hence 2k words of them just making out (lord forgive me). english isn’t my first language. no beta. comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! ✶

Your hands turned damp after clicking the refresh button on your computer. The exam results are supposed to be out today and you were sure that this time you’re taking the crown. You studied so hard for this, you really did. Countless nights spent reading and taking notes, the inhumane amount of coffee you’ve digested, all of this led to this point. You needed to get a hundred. You knew you would. It’s not like you had any real competition – well, you had, but Zayne told you he’s not even going to study that hard, after all this class isn’t even related to his major. When you asked him why he took it, he said it’d be a great distraction from his actually important studies. You laughed at that, but you knew that this is how Zayne always was. He always told you the truth. That’s why you were best friends. You could always trust him. He was always there for you, even when he had his own share of troubles.

You knew each other for a long time, even before university. You were friends since you could remember yourself. Every day you went to the same school, ate lunch together, went back home and sometimes you went to each other's houses to play. Zayne was two years older than you, and you were immensely grateful that he was kind enough to help you with school work despite being busy with his own classes. He never did any assignments for you, but he was there to explain the material and help with the homework if you felt stuck and helpless. 

After he left for university, you missed him a lot. But he was still kind enough to text you every now and then, and you called each other on the weekend to catch up. He told you about all the crazy things that happened in clinicals and you couldn’t feel more proud of him. He was really determined to graduate with honors and work as a doctor, and you knew that it’s only a matter of time before it happens.

You also dreamed of working with people, healing and helping those who are in need. It’s something you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t hold yourself back from doubting and rethinking everything. Could you really do it? Are you really cut for this job? What if you’re not smart enough? 

“Hey, are you still here?” Zayne’s voice cut through the speaker, catching you off guard.

“Yeah! What were you saying?” You chuckled into the phone, realizing that once again your worries got the best of you.

“You were not listening. What are you thinking about?” 

“It’s nothing. I just miss you, that’s all!” You unashamedly lied, hoping that Zayne would let it go.

“No. You’re thinking about something and you won’t tell me. Why?” Zayne’s voice was as stern as ever. He didn’t want to come off as rude but in truth, he hated the fact that he couldn’t be beside you right now. He could feel something bringing you down, but he couldn’t reach you. He felt helpless and he hated it, hated not being able to control the situation. He knew he could make it all better, but you were so far away and you were not letting him help you. 

Zayne couldn’t remember the last time he truly felt angry at you. In fact, he had probably never felt this way. He felt disappointed, mostly in himself, that he couldn’t be there when you needed him, even if you’d never admit it. 

“Zayne, it’s nothing. I’m just… I was thinking.” You couldn’t argue with him when he was speaking to you in that tone. You knew he wouldn’t back down, and you didn’t want to end the conversation on a sour note.

“About what?”

“About my future. I want to help people. I want to be important. I want to be useful. I’m scared I won’t make it.” You admitted. You could hear Zayne taking a deep breath. 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes? You want me to have more reasons to suffer?” You questioned, not understanding what he was trying to say.

“No,” you could hear Zayne smiling, “I don’t want you to suffer. I want you to be brave. You don't need to bear this burden alone. If you decide to go to Skyhaven and study here, I will be able to help you. You won’t fail.” 

Zayne’s reassuring words spread through your heart like a warm wave. He’s right, you had never failed when he was beside you. Even if you didn’t trust yourself, you trusted him. You knew he won’t let you down. And just like that, you decided the course of the next few years of your life. 

You clicked the refresh button once again. It wasn’t loading and the nerves got the best of you. Your eyes relentlessly monitored the small spinning circle at the top of the web page, as if you were trying to enchant it to load faster. Surprisingly enough, it worked. The page finished loading. You scanned through the list to find your name, and your heart twitched when you saw the score: 96. It’s… good. It’s just 4 points away from a hundred. Besides, everyone else seemed to have less points than you – 87, 86, 73, even 65. You relaxed into your chair, finally feeling peaceful. You’ve worked so hard and it paid off. You glanced at the screen once again, just double checking that you really did that. Your finger swiped across the touchpad, ready to close the browser, when it accidentally scrolled down to reveal one last student in the list – Zayne Li, with a score of 100. 

Lunch felt like a chore. You weren’t even that hungry, but you needed to nurture yourself so you could finish some last minute assignments tonight. You thought of running away to the dorms and getting some take out instead of going to the school cafeteria – you really weren’t in the mood to see or talk to anyone. Especially not Zayne, who was already sitting down at the table and reading something on his phone.

You sank into the seat next to him, loudly placing your tray on the table. Zayne didn’t lift his eyes, but he still acknowledged your presence with a small “hey”. 

“Hi, Zayne.” You grumpily replied and averted your attention to your food. 

“What happened?” Zayne stopped reading. He knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“You! You happened!” To your surprise, you yelled back at him. “How did you get a hundred?! You told me you weren’t going to study! A hundred!!!” 

Zayne looked dumbfounded. What were you talking about? Why did it even matter? 

“I apologize,” he stopped mid sentence to clear his throat, “but what exactly are you talking about?” 

Your face froze. He didn’t even know what you’re talking about. He just aced an exam that was the determining factor in your studies, and he didn’t even know that. The worst part was that he didn’t even care. It was a class he took for fun. You worked your ass off to nail it, and yet Zayne still managed to find a way to beat you. Your mind speed ran through all 5 stages of grief in the course of 10 seconds. 

“Zayne. You’re fucking unbelievable.” Your voice came out flat. “It feels like you’re doing this on purpose.” 

“I guarantee you I’m not.” Zayne suddenly felt bad. It really wasn’t his goal. He didn’t want to upset you, it was never his intention. Maybe he got carried away when he helped you study for the exam, and that’s why he got a high score. All he wanted to do was to help you. And maybe have an excuse to spend more time with you. After all, you both were too busy to see each other casually. So he had to take whatever he could, and if it meant getting into a class that has nothing to do with his major, he’d gladly accept it. “Let’s meet at 7 in your room. We can go over your answers and see what you got wrong.”

“I hate this so much…” your quiet mumble still reached Zayne’s ears. “You better help me or I’ll never forgive you.” 

“I will. Now eat. You only have 15 minutes before your next class.” Zayne returned to reading, leaving you alone with a bunch of nameless emotions and clashing thoughts inside your head.

You wanted to hate him. He was so perfect, in every sense of the word. He was smart, he was kind, he was so observant. He always made you feel important. He was too good. Too great at everything. Even now, when you were exploding with anger, he quietly accepted it and gave an offer of help and kindness in return. He was so perfect. You wanted to hate him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. So you wordlessly agreed to whatever he had proposed. 

By the time of your afternoon study session, you had managed to calm yourself and actually pay attention to the material in front of you. Zayne diligently reviewed your answers and circled some of them. He asked you a few questions, guiding your thought process in the right direction when he noticed you were getting stuck. Every time you gave a correct answer, he smiled at you, telling you that you got it right. After he had finished questioning you, he handed you the paper with his notes. 

“You fixed all of your mistakes on your own. These are the 4 questions you got wrong.” His fingers circled a few lines on the paper as he spoke. Your eyes widened. How did that happen? Maybe you weren’t paying enough attention when you were taking the exam? How did you get it wrong the first time? You actually did study well, and you knew your ABCs? 

“Zayne, how did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did!” You almost jumped out of your seat. “How did you get me to solve it?”

“I simply asked you some questions. It was you who gave all the correct answers.” Zayne watched you with a faint smile as you stared at the paper in front of you. 

“So I did get all of it right!” You turned to look at him. “We’re even! I got a 100 as well!”

Zayne chuckled at your excited expression. “No. You got a 96. But you did a good job nevertheless. A 96 is more than enough.”

“But I fixed all of my mistakes,” you suddenly felt angry all over again. “Come on, Zayne, let me have my moment!”

“Sorry. Beat you fair and square. But you put up a good fight.” Zayne patted his own knees as he leaned against the back of his chair. 

You truly couldn’t believe him. You knew he was determined and precise. But so were you. He wouldn’t back down that easily. And luckily for you, two could play this game. 

So before you could stop yourself, you climbed on his lap and crashed your mouth against his. Zayne let out a surprised yelp that drowned into your kiss, his hands gripping chair’s arm rests, as he was about to fall. You broke the kiss and stared into his eyes. 

“God, you make me so angry!” 

Zayne didn’t even stand a chance to speak before your lips smashed into his once again. His small gulps were silenced by your intense motions. His entire body froze from the initial shock of your fierce action. 

You were breathless, anger still plummeting through your veins. “Always acting like you’re better than me!” You whispered through your teeth, “I can’t stand it anymore. You will let me have my victory. I will make you.” 

Zayne couldn’t think straight. His heartbeat was uneven, mind obscured by the way you were talking to him. He had never seen you act this way before. And weirdly enough, he found himself enjoying being at your mercy. His hands left the armrests and found their place on your arms, slowly creeping up your biceps until they reached your shoulders. 

His grip grew stronger, slender fingers burying into your shoulder like razors. It felt good, too good — the way his soft lips clumsily moved against yours compared to his sharp grip on your body. You felt yourself slipping away, getting overwhelmed from feeling all at once. You had to anchor yourself, so you did the first thing you could think of. Your incisors tugged the supple flesh of Zayne’s lips. His body tensed up underneath yours instantly, his shoulder raised up to his ears, biceps twitching as his hand flew away from your body. It wasn’t a harsh bite, just a small reminder of the current situation, and yet it elicited such a response that you couldn’t help yourself from moaning into his mouth, pulling yet another hiss out of Zayne’s throat. 

You pulled away from his face just enough to admire the way he looked — messy hair, knitted eyebrows, squinted eyes, fluttering eyelids and parted mouth, glistening from your little maneuver. 

“You liked that?” You breathed against his face, eyes boring into his as you watched him come to his senses. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” His reply was barely audible compared to his rapid and noisy breathing.

Zayne finally opened his eyes and looked up at you, as if he was waiting for something more. He didn’t know what to do with himself now, everything felt too much — the walls were closing in and the ceiling was too low, your taste was ripping through his body like electricity, the heat radiating off your body felt like a sunburn. He didn’t trust himself anymore, not when the only thing on his mind was the way your rear end was pressed against his lap. 

He looked so enchanting, you thought to yourself — the usual composure and stiffness wiped away from his gorgeous face. 

“Not so cocky anymore, are you?” Your palm softly cupped his cheek, thumb running across his lower lip. Zayne’s eyes immediately closed, as yet another whine escaped his mouth. You felt bewitched watching him fall apart by your touch, his tender reddened lips and shaky voice amplifying your vile desire to make him submit and completely succumb to you. 

“No…” His voice trembled as his hand placed atop yours, “Just please… Kiss me more. Please.” 

And who were you to deny such a sweet, gentle request? 

Your mouth captured his lips once again. Your mind was blank, your chest was full of unannounced emotions and uncontrollable craving to get more of this, more of him. And subtle sobs that were occasionally flowing out of Zayne’s lips didn’t help you much. 

Zayne was convinced he was losing any remaining bits of sanity, how could he not? How could he battle to stay in control when your wet heat was spreading around his face, kissing, biting, licking and sucking out tattered remnants of his dignity? His face was twisted in undisguised pleasure, as his mind raced, returning again and again to the same question: at what point is it too late to keep holding on? Maybe the only way out of this is letting go? 

And that’s what he did.

Zayne’s hands desperately gripped your body. He moved raggedly, like he was feverish. He couldn’t think straight, not when your warm body was so soft underneath his fingertips. His hands were scattered all over the place, and you couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss. 

“You are so eager!” You teased him, as your hand glided down his chest and delicately tugged at his tie. 

Zayne couldn’t think of anything. All of his senses were flooded with you — your taste, your smell, your voice, your warmth, your touch. He felt like he’s going to melt. At least it felt like his brain already did melt, and the only thing he could say back was a choked out plea.

“Please… Please. Please. I…” his voice drowned out in a hiss when your hips grinded against his, eyes shutting and head spinning as he tried to regain composure to speak. “I need… I need you. Please.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Seeing your dear friend, your biggest rival, spread out like that, begging to be touched? It messed with your head in a way that couldn’t be replicated by anything else. Lust eclipsed your mind and before you could think, your hands were already untying Zayne’s black tie and slipping it past his neck. Your fingers lightly tapped on his wrist that was laid on your hip, and he immediately lifted it, giving it to you without hesitation. You brought his hand up to your chest, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. Zayne’s eyes darted to your cleavage as he watched you placing his hand on the swell of your breast. His gaze was intense, yet he looked so perplexed, like he didn’t know what to do. You tried your best to drown a chuckle, before patting his head with your other hand.

“It’s okay, Zayne. Don’t be shy to –” a loud yell echoed from the depth of your throat as Zayne didn’t even consider giving you a chance to finish whatever you were going to say. His hands mushed your breasts and his mouth was all over your clavicle, adorning it with wet kisses and teeth marks. 

Between the kisses, you could barely hear Zayne babbling something into your skin, but your heartbeat got too loud that the small sound of his voice was not recognizable anymore. His heat spread across your chest to your shoulders as he pushed your shirt out of the way to suck and nibble on the flesh of your deltoids. His mouth was moving quickly, roughly trying to memorize every curve and millimeter of your body. You truly did enjoy his undivided attention, how good he was for you, how hard he was working to please you. It felt good, too good. You were feeling like you’re getting sucked into a black hole, the point of return slowly slipping away from your grasp. You needed to take action before it consumed you whole. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” you separated your body from Zayne’s mouth, and he unashamedly whined at the loss of contact. “You’ve had your fun. Now let me have mine.” 

Your hands slid up and down his arms, his black tie still clutched in your palm. As you played with his fingers, your other hand came to pull both of his wrists together, placing his tie around them. You  fastened the tie, making sure the knot is secure enough and the fabric isn’t too tight and rough against his skin. Happy with the result, you looked up at him and felt a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through your lower body. Zayne was staring at you, pupils dilated, you could barely see his irises; eyes almost blacked out. He wasn’t saying anything, but the way his face glowed in pure bliss told you everything you wanted to hear. So you did exactly that — unzipped his slacks in one swift motion, palming his prominent bulge that twitched under your touch. 

“What are you doing?” Zayne’s voice trembled as he watched you pull down the front part of his underwear, setting his member free from the confines of tight fabric.

His abrupt question stopped you dead in your tracks. Does he not want to continue? Does he regret allowing this to happen? Your eyes snapped back at him, scared to see his reaction.

“Do you want to stop?” Your whisper was loud enough for him to catch. Zayne didn’t reply right away. You could see the gears turning inside his head, as he was trying to say something back, but his mouth betrayed him. 

Suddenly, you felt so small under his gaze. You were so foolish to let yourself indulge in this, to feed into your delusion. Who told you it was okay to make such a bold move on your best friend? Why would you let yourself act upon your deluded dreams? And it is too late now, isn’t it? Considering that you’re literally sitting on Zayne’s lap, his midsection is completely exposed, and your hand is inches away from touching his obviously aroused intimate part? 

“No. I don’t… I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop. Just please… Be gentle with me.” Zayne finally breathed out. He felt like an eternity had passed before he could finally find the courage to say something. He noticed your stumped expression, and it almost looked like a wave of regret washed over your beautiful features, making your lips tremble softly. He couldn’t have that happen, not now. Not when he finally had the opportunity to have exactly what he had wanted and dreamed about countless times. 

“Please, don’t stop. Take me.” Zayne’s words pierced your eardrums like a spear, and you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. 

You placed your hand on his hip, while the other hand carefully touched his length, fingers curling around it and squeezing it before recalibrating your hand a bit upwards, so your fingertips are placed on its head. A sigh of relief slipped past Zayne’s lips when he felt your fingers playing with the tip, thumb pressed shut against his slit, covering itself in precum. Your thumb moved down, slowly spreading wetness all over the surface of his tip, eliciting more deep breaths out of Zayne. 

“You’re doing so good,” you hummed, “being such a good boy for me.” Your praise went straight to his cock, as you watched it twitch in your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. Truthfully, Zayne has always been good for you. He’d always helped you with whatever you asked, been there when you needed him. He has been your biggest friend and supporter since you can remember yourself. He has always put you first. It has always been you, before anything and anyone else. Suddenly, you felt so silly for letting yourself be angry at him for something so trivial as a school test. It dawned on you, how unfair you were to him. Deep down you knew he didn’t take your words seriously, but the realization of it still left a bleeding mark on your heart. You needed to make it up to him. He deserved to know how wonderful he is.

“Zayne, let me take care of you. You’ll allow me, right?” Your soft gaze met his face. You looked smitten, cheeks tinged with a warm hue, eyes framed with crinkles as you smiled at him. 

“Yes. Please take care of me.” Zayne’s response ringed in your ears as you captured his lips in one last kiss before climbing down from his lap and settling on your knees between his legs. 

Your hands trembled with excitement. You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. You licked your lips before scooting closer to Zayne’s lap. You could feel your heart pounding, heartbeat muffling outside sounds like your head was in a noise canceling helmet. Your lips left a tender kiss on his abdomen, an inch apart from his cock that twitched in negligence. 

Your mouth finally captured his tip, lips holding it in place as your tongue lapped at his slit in a slow, benign manner. Zayne’s tied hands clenched into fists, as his hips stuttered and a groan slipped away from the depth of his chest. 

God, he was driving you crazy. 

Your mouth stretched wide as you began taking him deeper, tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Moving your head up and down, trying to fit him whole, you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your judgement was clouded with raw desire, the only thing on your mind is that you need, no, you must make him come. One second he was deep inside, his tip pressing into the uvula; the next second his shaft was in your hands, your tongue kitten licking precum away. 

Zayne felt delirious. He wasn’t a virgin, he had some fun a few times before. It was good, he wasn’t complaining. But nothing felt even remotely the same. He never thought he could feel so much at the same time. Unknown emotions were swirling inside his chest like a storm, pulling his heart apart. It felt good, it felt wonderful, it delighted him, it hurt him, it made him feel like he’s going to pass out, it overwhelmed, it dimmed his vision, it filled his mind with euphoria, and he still needed more. He was so greedy, so unapologetically eager to take, take, take and beg for more. And for once in his life he knew that no matter what he asks for, he will receive it. 

Zayne’s restricted hand barely reached your hair, tugging it up so you could face him. You stopped for a second to admire him. He looked divine, so wrecked and fucked out, lips glistening with your saliva, forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. You couldn’t tear your eyes apart from him, the image of this Zayne will be forever ingrained into your mind. He was so gorgeous, so pliant under your touch. 

“Please, let me have you. I– I need you so bad.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at his gentle request. “You can have me, Zayne. I’m yours.” You replied before you could stop yourself. 

Zayne’s eyes glistened with something you couldn’t put a name to. He didn’t say anything back, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as he looked at you when you said those words. 

“Come here, then.” Zayne patted his thigh a few times and you almost moaned at the gesture. He was truly driving you insane. 

You got back up on your feet and hurriedly slipped off your underwear. You froze for a second, not knowing where to put the little garment that will serve no use for the next few minutes. Zayne noticed your hesitation, and with a small chuckle he reached forward to take crumpled panties out of your hand.

“Here. It’s done.” His tied up hands awkwardly put the small piece of fabric into his shirt’s breast pocket. “Now come to me. And please,” he brought his arms forward, trying to stretch his wrists apart. “untie me.” 

“Yeah.” You giggled as you released his hands, and before you could say anything else, his palms were on your hips, gripping it so intensely that there will be marks tomorrow for sure.

Zayne didn’t waste any time. He sat you on his lap once again while his hands were roaming your lower half, caressing your thighs, ass, squeezing your flesh like it was dough. His mouth was on yours, messily kissing and biting your lips; teeth clashing, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered to be careful, he had to have you. He needed you. One hand lifted your hips, the other hand lined up his cock to your entrance. His eyes darted up at you before pushing in, as if he was looking for some kind of confirmation. You sighed softly and leaned to his ear, leaving a small kiss on his earlobe. 

“Zayne, please…” your murmur sent a shockwave through his entire body, and with a broken moan he pushed his hips upward. Your mouth fell open, a sharp breath leaving your lungs. Zayne’s hands gripped your hips harshly, lowering your body onto his cock. His mind was a blank canvas, and your body was a central piece. He needed to picture it, needed to transfer your shape onto the fabric of his imagination so he could never forget how heavenly you looked unraveling on his length. 

His hands helped navigate your hips, fucking you up and down halfway, before you whined into his ear. “Zayne, please… I need you deeper.”

How could he reject such a sweet plea? 

In one fluid motion, he pushed you down entirely. Your shocked gasp sent shivers down his spine, and he knew he was doing something right when he felt your walls squeezing around his length. His hands found home on your lower back as you rocked up and down, trying so hard not to fall apart right there. You couldn’t speak, just moaned every time you felt him stretching you out, making you feel like you’re levitating. He felt so good, you thought to yourself. You could get used to this. You didn’t ever want to stop touching, feeling him, loving him. You needed him, every cell in your body yearned to be loved and claimed by his touch. Everything felt like it’s too much and not enough at the same time. You felt yourself getting closer, barely registering the way Zayne’s mouth found your hardened nipple and sucked on it. 

“Zayne, I… I can’t! I– I’m gonna!” You could feel yourself shaking, legs giving out as your clit throbbed. And as if Zayne was reading your mind, his hand came down to relentlessly rub on your bud, giving you no chance to stop yourself from falling apart.

Your vision blurred, nails gripping into his skin like blades. Your hips stopped moving, but Zayne wasn’t happy with that. He clutched your hips in a death grip and started bouncing you up and down his cock, prolonging your pleasure to the point where you cried out loud from overstimulation. 

“Ah, please! Zayne, please!” Your cries fell on deaf ears as Zayne never stopped fucking into you, chasing his own high with a vicious desire. His movement was relentless, drunk off the feeling of your warm wetness spreading around his lap with each thrust. He felt like he was going to explode any second, but he just couldn’t get enough of you; his body betraying his mind as he continued devouring your lips in hungry kisses. 

“I’m close,” Zayne rasped against your cheek. “Where do you want me?” 

Your mind was racing, you couldn’t think of anything. You gathered all the strength that was left in your body and slid off his body, almost tripping and falling to your knees in front of him. Zayne watched you with wide eyes, his hand coming down to jerk off his throbbing cock. He gaped at you as his hand was working up and down his shaft, mouth opened, letting out a suffocated moan as his release spilled out all over his thighs and your chest. 

Zayne’s head dropped forward, damp hair slowly unsticking from his forehead. He was still panting, his hands placed on top of his knees, trying to regain composure. Your hands were neatly wrapped around his calves, fingers carefully massaging his muscles. None of you spoke. Both of you wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you’d allow each other. 

He was the first one to break the silence. Zayne looked at you and smiled before speaking. 

“I should clean you up.” He reached for the tissue box on your table, took a few pieces out and started stroking away the mess that he made. You reached for the box as well, stealing a few tissues to deal with the wet patches on his pants. 

“Thank you.” Your voice came out small, and you almost laughed at how weirdly it sounded. “For studying with me. And for putting up with my bullshit.” 

Zayne’s face started to hurt from smiling. He tapped on your shoulders, silently asking you to get up from the floor. When you were finally at his eyes level, he took your hands into his and interlaced your fingers. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered against the back of your hand before pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

“We’re even now?” You beamed at him, heart fluttering at the sight of your hands locked together.

"We are. More than that."

[arandomao3user]

I’ve awoken from my slumber and require my weekly trans tim hcs.

(<3 hope ur doing okay)

Battling depression, but I was able to eat an entire sandwich without getting sick, which like is something I haven't been able to do in a solid year, so that's really cool, I can never finish meals :D

But, yeh, trans Tim, with Bernard as a bonus because TimBern>>>

Also I've been reading a lot of Tim Drake & Jason Todd brother fics so sue me I love them.

Tiny Timbin: Oh, so, I should probably cut my hair, wouldn't want it to get in the way during patrol!

Bruce: Oh, no, it's fine, Alfred has taken classes he can just do your hair before patrol—

Tim, already aggressive cutting his hair with a batarang: GUESS I GOTTA CUT IT ALL :D

Bruce: . . .

Tim: Also, during patrol I should also be called a boy, because Robin is a boy.

Bruce: Robin can... Robin can be a girl, really, it's fine—

Tim: I don't mind at all!!!! It's better that way, trust me on this.

Bruce: . . .

Tim: I should also be getting something to compress my chest, and get pants for the suit, but keep it like Dick and Jason's otherwise and probably with less curves but otherwise the same.

Bruce: O... Kay...

Tim: :D

*Years later*

Tim, inhaling sharply: Bruce, I'm tra—

Jason: Trash!

Tim: SHUT THE F#-$& UP YOU FAILED LATE TERM ABORTION!

Jason: Oo, that's a new one.

Bruce, not even looking up from the bat computer: You're transgender, you go by Tim, that's nice, I've already looked into getting you hormone therapy legally and safely, so you can stop eating so much wild rice because I know you've been eating foods that increases your testosterone and I've also bought you a binder so you can stop wearing that gods awful one you made, and while were on that topic please stop stealing the ace wraps to bind, that's unsafe. Your name will be changed by tomorrow evening. Did you want to still go by Drake or Drake-Wayne?

Tim: . . . what?

Dick: You're kinda obvious.

Jason: It was sad.

—

(This happened with me and my brother once ↓)

Damian, slamming Tim's door open: TIMOTH—

Damian, instantly looking away and slamming the door shut before yelling: WHY DID YOU NOT WARN ME!?

Tim, who was in the process of putting his binder on: YOU DIDN'T KNOCK!

—

(Also happened the other day to me when my siblings were going through photos ↓)

Bernard, holding pictures of Tim pre transition:

Tim: I know, I look so stupid...

Bernard: Tim, you look like a boy in all of these???

Tim: What? No I don't.

Bernard: You definitely do.

—

Tim: Ugh, W.E. has been brutal, I had to deal with this stupid transphobe who kep—

Jason: What?

Tim: ??? What? Oh, yeah, some a-&$hole trying to cut funding to the homeless shelters.

Jason: Mm. They got a name?

Tim: . . . Why?

Jason, loading a gun: No reason.

—

Tim, landing on a rooftop: Hood, what happened???

Jason: There ya are! Look, I got a kid 'ere, they don't think I'll "get it" but the jist of it is they came out to their parents and got kicked out. Figured you'd be able to offer some moral support and that they'd listen bette' to you than me...

Tim: Huh? Oh. Oh. Yeah, sure...

(This happens fairly often, Red Robin is fairly well known to be trans and bi— probably from going to a pride parade with a trans and bi flag cape, but who knows— and will help comfort LGBTQIA+ kids...)

—

Tim: Mmm... Not showering tonight.

Bernard: At least use dry shampoo, you smell.

Tim: Uuuuugh, I just don't wanna... Y'know, look at my body...

Bernard: Oh... Well, at least let me wash your hair?

Tim: Yeah, sure. Thanks, Bear.

Bernard: Anything for you, Timboo.

—

De aged Tim (I'm a sucker for the trope...):

Jason: Yeah, I found this kid just wanderin' 'round, says they won't give me any information.

Dick: . . . They look familiar.

Damian: Tt, I don't see how.

Tim, looking at Nightwing in awe:

Dick: I've definitely seen that face before.

Bruce, landing where they're all at: . . .

Bruce, deep sigh: We need Zatanna.

Stephanie: Why? Just a kid.

Bruce: That's Tim.

Tim, slowly inching closer to Dick:

Jason: Pfft, what?

Dick: Yeah, B, uh, I don't think Tim is to privy to dresses and pigtails.

Tim, taking one of Dick's escrima sticks while nobody's looking: ooo...

Bruce: Did you forget that Tim is trans?

Jason:

Dick:

Damian:

Steph:

Tim, accidentally electrocuting Jason:

Jason: OW!?

Tim: :)

Dick: Never mind, that's Tim :)

Tim: :)

—

[softtdaisy]

to be held / Aaron Hotchner

summary. you have an anxiety attack and all you need is the arms of your bodyguard

words count. 2 590 

what to expect. mention of anxiety, reader has an anxiety attack and these two are stupid in love

a/n. is this becoming my favorite series? maybe but i'm so obsessed i want to write more of these two so please if you have any idea you can request it 🤍

bodyguard masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Time: 1:23 am.

Number of rolling over in the bed: around 30.

It was one of those nights. One where your anxiety was getting the upper hand on your sanity. 

The last couple of days haven’t been the easiest either. Maybe this explained why your heart kept beating faster and your breath kept getting stuck in your throat. 

Your stalker has sent you new pictures. At first, you didn’t even pay attention to them. You received them through a new email address. Since neither Hotch nor his team saw the threat, you didn’t open the message immediately, letting it sleep in your mailbox the whole day.

You had dinner with Hotch that evening. It didn’t happen as much as you wished; that man had a lot of work and often ate in his room, on his computer. Sometimes you would call a friend to give you company, sometimes you would write or compose a song, and some nights you would just stay by yourself, enjoying the silence.

But that night, Hotch stayed with you. You told him some memories from your last tour, and he listened. This was a consistent pattern of communication. You talked, and he listened. You offered to invite him to your next concert. And you ignored the heartache you got when he answered, “Sure, I’ll come.”

Having no idea when you would be able to go on tour again.

Knowing that the day you could, Hotch wouldn’t be by your side anymore.

Scared that when he would leave this place, he would leave your life too.

And so after dinner, he was smoking on your balcony, checking on his phone. You remembered laughing at your dirty thought that you wished he could use his experienced finger on you instead of his cigarette. The last moment of peace you got before finally reading your mail.

“Hope you bought the red one, love,” it said. Linked with pictures of you trying on dresses earlier that week for an event. Most of the pictures were blurry, but there were some distinctive elements. Like your naked shoulder. Or Hotch’s presence in the corner. That was the scariest part for you. Even your bodyguard couldn’t have prevented it.

The rest of the night was just…blurry. You screamed and didn’t see Hotch run back inside. Suddenly you felt his arm around you, holding you against his chest, while his other arm straightened, with his gun in front of him. Even when he realized there was no threat inside and took your phone from your hand, he didn’t let you go.

“I’m here,” he repeated multiple times in your ear. You remember, he whispered. Because his voice never sounded so soft, even with a directive tone. With your eyes closed, you could picture his voice. Imagining a whole painting from it.

It helped you fall asleep that night while he spent the next hours working on your case with his team.

It helped you fall asleep the following nights when you could still see the pictures clearly in your head anytime you closed your eyes.

But tonight, it didn’t help you.

And maybe it was because you knew Hotch wasn’t there.

It didn’t happen much, less than once a week. But some days, he would leave and not come back until hours later or the following day.

“I know you’re going to your other wife,” you told him one day in a very dramatic tone. You always made fun of him for leaving early in the morning, almost like a cheater who was indeed trying to escape discreetly. 

“What can I say?” he replied, with a shrug. “The kids are waiting for me.” He couldn’t contain his smile when you looked at him with big eyes and your mouth open, too surprised Aaron Hotchner had joked with you.

Oh, how you would do everything to hear him laugh right now.

You didn’t realize how bad your anxiety was—or actually you knew but tried to pretend it wasn’t that bad—until you went to grab your phone and noticed your hand shaking. You quickly lit up the room, hoping it would help. But it got worse when it felt like the whole room was moving and your vision was getting blurry.

And the only thought in your mind was that you needed Hotch right now.

You didn’t know how you managed to, but you got up and walked to your living room. Your legs felt so weak that you kept a hand on the wall like it could save you from falling. You weren’t convinced about the efficacy of this, but it worked. 

“Sorry?” you said in a low voice. So low that you barely heard yourself. But Alvez, the agent there for the night, did. You could see the confusion in his eyes and the worry when he saw your condition. You lost all the color in your face and looked like you were close to breaking down. You were. “Do you know when Aaron is coming back?”

“Hotch isn’t supposed to come until the morning. Why?”

A heartache. A big one. Almost like a knife hammered right in your heart. 

“Nothing. I… I just needed… You know what? Never mind.”

Suddenly going back to your bed felt impossible. You opened the door to your room again but glided against the wall until you sat on the floor. Soon, the tears were running down your face, and your sobbings seemed so loud you didn’t hear the agent behind the door calling Hotch.

“I don’t know, she's asking for you. She doesn’t look great. No, she went back to her room.”

The ride was thirty minutes. Hotch did it in twenty.

Usually, coming back to your place was light. Not that he could forget about the case and why he was there in the first place. And if he was asked, he would deny it. But it almost felt like coming home.

But tonight, all Hotch could feel was the heaviness of the situation. Alvez was quick to tell him you hadn’t moved from your room, and he respected the instruction that nobody should enter your bedroom without your permission. You deserved intimacy, and only an emergency allowed them to open your door. 

This one was a particular situation. Hotch was the only one who could feel the emergency of the situation. 

After he put his hand on your door handle, it took him a second to open it. Your case wasn’t scaring him, even if that bastard was driving him insane. But the idea of you breaking down was awful to him. He took a big breath before finally stepping into the so-dark room. 

Hotch didn’t see you at first. You were nowhere to be seen. Not on your bed, where he expected you to be at 2 am. Not by the window, where you loved to stand when your thoughts were getting too loud.

“Hello, beautiful.”

He looked down and saw you, still standing on the floor, your back against the wall. Hotch was soon on his knees in front of you, a hand on your knee and the other on your face. He moved it slowly, looking for any sign of…well, whatever could tell him what happened while he wasn’t there. And he found it, somehow, with the stains of your tears on your cheeks. 

You followed as his eyes were scanning every millimeter of your face. You almost found it funny how you flirted with him non-stop since he started working for you, but it took an anxiety attack to get him to look at you like that.

After a moment, Hotch’s eyes landed on yours. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked in a deep but calm voice. That man was bossy. You heard him giving orders to members of his team like it was the most natural thing to do. Making you wonder if he was talking like that to everybody. Everybody but you.

The sudden realization that he wasn’t asking to know; he was asking if you wanted to share it with him made you sob again. You made that man drive around the city in the middle of the night because you were anxious about his absence, and still, he wasn’t waiting for an explanation if you weren’t ready to give him one.

You needed Hotch to be safe.

But you needed Aaron to feel safe. 

The words left your mouth before you got the time to think about them. “I needed you,” you whispered in another cry.

You could have easily missed the subtle way his head moved because of your blurry vision. You could have missed the brief smile on his lips—you needed him. But you couldn’t have missed the way his arms moved slowly. Not to hold you, no. To carry you. One arm under your knee, the other on your back. “And I’m here,” he replied, still looking at you right in the eyes. Making sure his words made their way to your brain. To your heart. 

It wasn’t until he lifted you up and you could cuddle your face in the crook of his neck that you noticed his look: his messy hair, the dark circles under his glossy and tired eyes, and the little salt-and-pepper beard that he didn’t shave this morning. It was past 2 am, and he hadn't slept since last night. If you asked him, he would say it was his job, and he had no complaints to make about that. 

You still felt guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

You thought Aaron didn’t hear you. Or he pretended not to; you weren’t so sure. The darkness in the room hid the tense in his jaw when he actually heard you. 

He kept walking, from the wall to your bed, without saying a single word. He still hadn’t said anything when he laid you on the bed in the softest way. And still nothing when he sat next to you and brought his fingers to your forehead to put away the wet hair stuck on your skin.

“I don’t ever want you to be sorry for needing me.” It was almost mesmerizing how he could easily look you in the eyes all the time. “Is it clear?” That was Aaron Hotchner in all his splendor, commanding in all situations.

You simply nodded at first. Too stunned to reply anything at that man clearly asking you to need him whenever you felt like it. Too stunned by the beauty of this same man simply illuminated by the reflection of the moon afar. Too stunned by the feeling of his finger still on your face, tracing an invisible line from your forehead to your jaw. 

The last one was a necessity for Hotch. To see that his absence didn’t break you.

“I know this isn’t procedure, but…” You closed your eyes, almost ashamed of your proposition. The truth was, you thought about it a lot. The whole time alone in bed, remembering that Hotch wasn’t in the room next to yours. You told yourself that if he was there, you would have reached for him. But now that he was right next to you, his elbow next to your chest, so close you could feel the heat of his body on yours, it was harder. Harder to ask. Harder to assume. “Do you think you could stay with me? Tonight?”

Hotch stayed silent again. You could have meant so many things.

Staying around, at your apartment, and not leaving again. Even though it would have been unlikely for him to leave again after coming back.

Staying in your room, simply around to make sure you would sleep well and nothing would happen to you. 

But he knew. From the insecurity in your voice when you asked him that. You were never insecure, certainly not with him. But this time it was a question of flirting or playing around with a desire you both had for each other. 

It was about feeling safe in someone else's arms. Something you couldn’t experience anymore.

You felt his hand on your face again, and his thumb brushing your temple softly. “One minute,” he whispered. You didn’t open your eyes but felt his body leaving your bed. Making it lighter, sure, but emptier, mostly. You heard the door closing and nothing else.

You didn’t hear Hotch talk to the other agent. “Go home, I’ll stay here.” 

The benefit of being the boss was that he had no explanation to give. Not that Hotch would have been ashamed to say he would be staying in your room—something you asked for. His job was to take care of you and do what you needed to be in security.

Was it all professional, though?

When he came back to your room, you were still lying with your eyes closed. He leaned against the door, his arms crossed against his chest. That had been a hell of a night, working on a case he hated and then getting the phone call that you needed him. He imagined so many terrible scenarios. So awful that seeing you peacefully lying on your bed healed something in him he didn’t even know was bruised.

“I can feel you, Aaron Hotchner.” 

A laugh escaped his lips. “You need to sleep now,” he said, walking back to your bed. He sat against the headboard, his legs resting above your quilt. Instinctively, you turned around, your head resting against his thigh.

This was the closest you’ve ever been to Aaron, except for the moment when he put his arm around you to protect you or when you held his arm at some event. This was something different. This was intimate.

“I’m scared.” You mumbled, your voice muffled against his jeans’ material. 

Hotch brought his hand to your back, making his fingers travel all over it slowly and softly, giving you goosebumps. “Of what?” 

“Everything.” You moved your head a little, just enough so you could open your eyes and look at him. You weren’t surprised that his look was already on your face. “Of my stalker, sure. I feel like this isn’t going to end, and it’s driving me insane.”

You were met by silence. Because he knew there was more than this. 

“And at the same time, I’m scared of the day you’ll leave me.” 

Hotch’s hand stopped moving; it was fully open against your back. You didn’t know if he was the one who pushed you softly or if you moved closer to him by yourself, but soon you were cuddling harder against your bodyguard. So close you heard the breath he let go at the thought of leaving you. 

You imagined many different answers from him when the thought first came to you. That this was his job—classic. That it was meant to happen—logical. That it would mean you were safe again—reassuring. 

But he said something else. 

“We shouldn’t think about it right now.” When his hand moved again to the top of your back, his fingers slipped under your collar to caress your neck.

Not just you. We. 

The idea of losing you was something that was haunting Hotch too. 

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep with him by your side. While he stayed awake watching you and wondering

How was he going to go on with his life the day this case would be over and he would have to say goodbye to the woman that woke up feelings he had shut down years ago?

Tag List: @kiwriteswords@monzabee@raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[bloomseishiro]

A STUPID CELEBRITY CRUSH — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — you should be your boyfriend’s biggest fan, right? so why did rin find your twitter logged into a fan account of another former blue lock contestant? 

itoshi rin x reader. fluff, pro soccer player!rin, established relationship, rin is silly and so is reader :p, blue lock manga spoilers (ch 298 events mentioned!) 

word count. 1.3k

Itoshi Rin isn’t exactly someone who is well-versed in fan culture. 

He doesn’t even run his official social media accounts himself. Why would he need to when he has a manager and a team for that? 

Still, he knows the basics. He’s aware there are delusional fans who think they have a chance with him. He knows about fan accounts and fan sites that post about his goals, his everyday outfits, and everything in between. While there are parasocial fans his security team has to keep an eye out for, Rin knows most fans are just there for harmless fun, though he himself doesn’t understand it. 

Rin also knows he’s not the only soccer player with a large fanbase. Isagi’s following is huge, his team has informed him. Kaiser’s as well. Hell, even Bachira and Kunigami are well liked for whatever reason. 

You’re someone who enjoys following the current events of soccer, Rin knows that, but it seems he never understood to what extent you were actually into it. 

That is, until he walks by your computer screen and sees it opened to a blown up photo of Nagi Seishiro. 

Rin blinks as he notices the face on your PC that is not his own. What the hell is that? 

You aren’t at your desk—meaning you are either using the bathroom or grabbing a snack—and so he exits out of the image with a huff. You don’t need to be staring at Nagi when you return. 

When he closes the screen, however, he sees the same photo as your profile picture on Twitter. he stills. There is no way that’s your personal account, or Rin would’ve noticed that atrocity of an icon you had. As he takes a closer look, he sees the display name of “NAGI’S #1 GLAZER” and scratches his head in confusion. 

What the fuck is a glazer and why does it sound explicit? 

Rin wants to respect your privacy, but a bigger part of him has to know what this is. Why is your computer on this account? Why is it logged in? And if this is your secret fan account, why the hell is it of Nagi and not him? 

“Oh! Hey, babe,” he hears you greet from behind his back. 

“What is a glazer?” 

“A w-what?” you stammer nervously, rushing beside him to look at your computer. 

“What’s a glazer?” repeats Rin, tone unamused. 

You close your eyes in defeat, sighing as you plop down on your seat. “You saw my fan account, didn’t you?”

“It’s difficult to miss,” he retorts. “Another man’s face was blown up on your 27-inch screen.”

“I was just changing my profile picture,” you say meekly. “I wasn’t staring at it, or anything.”

Rin frowns, feeling a dull pit in his stomach. So it is your account. That means you have a fanpage of Nagi Seishiro of all people. 

He stays silent, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

A few beats pass before you look up at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Rin, you know the fan account is just for fun, right? As a fan of the soccer player. I don’t know Nagi as a person—only the parts the public is able to see. Like a stupid celebrity crush!”

The frown stays on his face, but the lines are less severe. 

“But you,” you say, “I know the real you. And I love both what you show to the public, and what you show to only me.” 

“Then why isn’t your fan account of me?” he counters, and even Rin hears the bitterness in his own voice. 

You blink. “Because that’s weird. You can’t have a fan account of your boyfriend.”

“You should only have a fan account of your boyfriend,” he mutters dryly. “Why are you a fan of Nagi anyway? He didn’t even make it to the U-20 World Cup back in the day.”

At his words, your spine straightens and a pout forms on your face. “Hey! You can’t just say that. It’s too soon!” 

“It’s been years!” 

You sniffle, folding your arms across your chest. “Not enough years! But that is part of the reason I like him as a player so much.”

“Because he got eliminated and couldn’t keep up with the rest of us?”

“Rin!” you chastise, tears forming in the corners of your eyes much to his surprise. “Nagi got eliminated when we least expected… It seemed so hopeless for a while. I was heartbroken! But then he makes a huge comeback and becomes an even greater soccer player than before! All on his own, too. It shows he can be hardworking and dedicated, and his skill isn’t just from pure useless talent!” 

After your long spiel that Rin thinks sounded just a bit delusional, he sighs. “So you like Nagi as a soccer player more than me?”

“No, of course not!” you protest, standing up from your chair and staring firmly into his eyes. “You are still my favorite soccer player. My favorite person in the world, in fact.”

His gaze softens but he still can’t help but be skeptical. 

You exhale gently as you elaborate, “I’ve had that account since I was young—a high schooler watching you guys change what it means to play soccer. I’ve made lots of friends from there, some I still talk to today! It’s not all about Nagi, though we do hope he’ll become one of the world’s best players. Still, he’ll never compete with you, Rin.” With a warm smile, you pinch his cheek. “You’re always number one to me.” 

“That’s not what your display name says,” he mumbles, but there is no sharpness in his voice. 

Groaning, you insist, “It’s just a stupid meme name. You don’t have to worry, I promise. I don’t even know what a glazer is! I just see people using it a lot on social media lately! I have to try staying trendy with the young ones…”

Rin snorts. That does sound like something you would do. 

“I’ll change it if you want,” you offer hesitantly. “I don’t want this to be something that causes issues with us—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts. 

Rin is jealous. Rin is possessive. Rin doesn’t want anyone else to be number one in your heart. But he doesn’t want to control you. You told him not to worry and offered him reassurance, and though he still wants to rip Nagi’s throat out with his bare hands, he knows he has to trust you. It’s not something that comes easy to him, but it’s something the two of you built together in your relationship. You bring out a better side of him, one that isn’t always angry and bitter and obsessed with the past. 

“It sounds like a weird hobby,” he says with a huff, “but if you enjoy it, then I won’t stop you.”

You smile at his begrudging support. “It is a silly hobby, but that’s all it is. You are the one I love and the only person I obsess over in real life.” 

“Good.” Rin smirks. “Then you won’t mind when I destroy Nagi’s chances of winning the world cup?” 

Your eyes widen as another pout starts to settle in. “D-destroy?” you repeat mournfully.

He nods.

“I suppose if you are the one doing it,” you say, “then it’s okay. I’ll always root for whatever team you’re on.”

“As you should.” 

“I always will,” you promise, sticking your pinky out. 

Rin shakes his head at the childish gesture, but the smile on his lips betrays him. He interlocks his pinky with yours and makes a promise of his own. 

Rin will be the world’s best striker and beat everyone else, including Isagi and now, Nagi. And he knows you will be by his side when it happens. 

[lesbianrobin]

observations from grading hundreds of american college students' discussion posts and essays about film

before i get into this i want to be SO clear that this is not meant to be a "kids these days" thing, but more a commentary on the contemporary media landscape and the impacts of new media on young people's consumption habits. i think that young people's expectations of film are primarily a reflection of how they've been taught to watch and process film.

also, i teach intro, so these are not necessarily film or even humanities majors. many of my students are in computer science, engineering, etc. okay yay let's go <3

most american college students have quite literally Never seen a single movie that was not in english, and are very resistant to reading subtitles.

i've had multiple students comment that non-english language films which require them to read subtitles force them to actually look at the screen, which makes them notice more details in the film. they are not accustomed to actually Watching films, and doing so is novel to them. they're used to just turning things on in the background before doing other tasks/scrolling on their phones.

students frequently comment upon whether or not a film was able to hold their attention, and many consider it a failing of the film itself if not. many students also lose interest when they are confused or uncertain about what is happening in a movie, rather than becoming more invested or intrigued.

some do note that they have short attention spans, and will clearly state that they do not watch or enjoy many movies because of this.

things which students see as inherently boring include black and white films, silent films, non-English-language films, and films more than twenty years old. many students were shocked when they enjoyed a film within any of the aforementioned categories.

a lot of students will see all of the pieces of the puzzle, but struggle to put them together. for example: they will note that a detective character seems to care more about pinning a crime on somebody than they care about actually solving it, that the detective is bad at their job, that the detective brutalizes suspects, but they will not quite reach the conclusion that the film is doing these things intentionally. rather than concluding that the film is criticizing the police, they will be upset that the character is so awful.

one student insisted that mad max: fury road is a deeply misogynistic film because the women were treated as objects and wore skimpy clothes. the fact that the entire plot of the film is about said women asserting their personhood and overthrowing the patriarchal order to establish a more egalitarian and empathetic matriarchy was not relevant to her; what mattered was how they looked, and no amount of explanation could change her mind. i don't really have a clear theory of what was going on here, but i wanted to share it because it feels. poignant. in a way i cannot articulate.

many students see "old" films as inherently worse than contemporary films. they will often say things like, "the movie was really good for something from the fifties."

a lot of people have never heard of alfred hitchcock. i don't rly have a take on this it just stunned me.

and this last one isn't necessarily film-specific, but i do think it's relevant to discussing media literacy and the quality of k-12 + STEM-focused university education: so many students do not know how to format a paper, and do not know how/do not think to look up a style guide or even consult the syllabus or assignment sheet.

students often add additional spaces between paragraphs, and/or use 1.15 pt. spacing rather than double spacing their papers. they'll use calibri or arial rather than times new roman, in 11 pt. font rather than 12. they'll write out their thesis separately from their paragraphs, or not write in paragraphs at all, instead writing something that looks closer to stream-of-consciousness bullet-point notes.

it seems to me that many students somehow make it through high school and into university without ever learning how to write a paper. what really concerns me however is the fact that this information is extremely available to them; in the class syllabus, on their assignment sheet, even if you just google how to write a paper. i'm no expert in education and i don't want to be alarmist, but i do think that there is a concerning lack of curiosity and care in many students, primarily those studying in STEM fields. part of this is just the fact that many of my students are used to writing lab reports and this is a different sort of writing, but the lack of flexibility and ability to engage with other subjects is very sad to me.

plenty of my students are curious and read the syllabus and pay attention to the films and know how to write! but the number of those who struggle to formulate a coherent paragraph, let alone paper, who cannot identify basic themes, indicates to me that young people are seriously suffering from shortened attention spans, the lack of popular non-english language film and television in american culture, and the proliferation of "second-screen" streaming content designed to be "viewed" by audiences who are not paying attention.

i don't have a remedy for this. i don't totally know why i'm typing this all out, except that my tenure as a teaching assistant is coming to an end and i felt an irrepressible urge to reflect upon the experience. idk i suppose i hope this will be interesting to somebody. if you made it this far, thank you and i hope you're well <3

[rainbowsky]

Backing up your blog - advice

As most people on Tumblr are aware, there are a lot of people scrambling to back up their blogs after the recent round of massive layoffs of almost all of the Tumblr team. A lot of people are having problems with this process. Here's what I recommend.

First of all, just so everyone knows - the official Tumblr export only works on desktop. There's currently no option for mobile export of your blog. Given the file sizes potentially at play, that's probably for the best. If you usually use mobile you will need to login to Tumblr on a desktop computer to request your blog export, and to download the file when it's ready. Here's my advice:

Request an export of your blog(s) ASAP. There are huge delays right now in processing these requests. It took over a week for my blog export to be ready for download, by which time I assumed it wasn't functioning and wasn't going to complete (in the past this request has been very quick to process). I can confirm that Tumblr blog export is working, it's just taking AGES to process. Instructions on how to request an export - and info on what that export will and won't contain - can be found here.

There are other methods of varying complexity available for those who want to make absolute sure they're able to back up their blog while they wait for their export to process.

When downloading your export, be aware that the file size could potentially be extremely large depending on how many photos, gifs and videos you post. I have been cutting back a lot on posting huge media files, reblogging gifs, etc. to try to keep this file size down, and still my blog export was 80GB (for context, my export from around the same time last year was 67GB).

It's best not to rely on your web browser to download this huge file. I recommend using a download manager. The download speeds will be much, much faster (hours as opposed to days to download the file), and it's a lot less likely to fail. Even if the download fails, a download manager can usually pick up where it left off and restore the process, while if it fails in your browser there's no way to recover. There are a lot of reliable download managers out there. I used JDownloader, which is free and open source.

I recommend starting the download and then just walking away and doing something else for a while. Don't forget to disable power saving settings for the interim. You don't want your computer falling asleep halfway through the download and potentially having to start all over again.

I usually back up my blog at least once a year, but I'll likely start doing it with more frequency moving forward. It's just a good practice to keep your information backed up. You never know what could happen. Better safe than sorry.

[ageless-aislynn]

Okay, apparently my Fire tablet and PC are not syncing together, which resulted in me making a high-pitched pterodactyl noise a little while ago when I thought EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN IN MY EMAIL DRAFT YESTERDAY HAD DISAPPEARED.

Thankfully, it's still there on my tablet so I emailed it to myself and now I can see it on the PC but DANG is this a clunky, slow and painful way to try to do this. I have a SYSTEM when it comes to writing, frens. Anything messing with MY SYSTEM makes me feel a bit

and even more

Do I dare try installing Word 2003 (my beloved) again? Is it worth it to potentially go back to Blue Screen of Death City, population MEEEEEE or is there something else I'm missing?

Can't use Google docs as my computer already proved. I don't want anything I have to install on the computer *points to fears of returning to BSoD City* but I want something that I can somehow save at the same time. I dunno. I was hoping to get this in really good shape today and instead I'm stuck where I left off and feeling like I'm trying to excavate a hole the size of Mt. Everest with a teaspoon.

I thought about writing in a Tumblr draft or in AO3 itself but either of those has their own perils (Tumblr in accidentally POSTING IT and AO3 warns not to keep your only copy there). Maybe writing in AO3 and email it back to myself when I'm done for the day/writing session?

I just want to be able to use my computer like a COMPUTER again and not have to be so cautious and careful with everything. This is honestly stupid stressful. UGH.

*more angry moth noises, just 'cause*

Update: I'm going to try writing in AO3 for now and saving as a draft/emailing that back to myself. It's better than nothing and feels a little more familiar since I usually do my final editing in AO3 since I can often catch errors in AO3's preview that I missed in Word for some reason.

Still, if you have any recommendations for apps/sites/programs etc you like to write in, I'd like to hear them.

[ncthandrake]

i keep getting asked if i want to go out on sunday for my birthday and like idk how am i supposed to say no thanks that’s when season 2 of rogue heroes comes out over here and i wanna rewatch 😅

[anti-gravity-insanity]

My stance on AI is not that art or writing inherently must be made by a human to be soulful or good or whatnot but that the point of being alive is not to avoid doing anything ever.

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 23-The Words I Most Regret

PREVIOUS: Asking Advice

Jon screamed into the phone and Damian immediately hung up. He sighed as he opened his window. As soon as he arrived, Jon just smiled.

"Did you just ask me for advice? " He teased his best friend.

Damian rolled his eyes.

'This was a mistake.'

"Go home." The young Wayne spoke, moving to close the window.

"No!" Jon exclaimed, "You just had like a giant milestone breakthrough!"

Damian stepped aside to let Jon in and closed the window.

"So.....do they go to our school?" Jon asked, still hovering.

"No." Damian answered, "I knew her from my time with Mother."

Damian eyed his friend as he froze in mid-air.

"Oh." Jon whispered, "Um-"

"She's not like..... me." The young Wayne admitted, "The last time you spoke of...crushes-"

"Awww!" Cooed the half-Kryptonian, "She's you first crush!"

Damian gazed down at his feet, "I told my mother."

Jon watched his best friend's face. He seemed to be struggling with words.

"She was gone the next day. I saw her today for the first time." Damian whispered, "After our talk....I thought ai had sentenced her to death."

Jon remained silent but sat next to him. As much as he wanted to say something, he could tell his best friend was still coming to terms over his childish misunderstanding. If anything, he was still processing his feeling. Admitting he liked her was a huge step.

"I was able to speak to her privately. She spoke of how Mother struck her until she woke up in the pits. Mother screamed at her to keep her distance from me, as she was soiling me with her presence." Damian sighed, "She was unsure if she had harmed me, in some way. Grandfather spared her from Mother's wrath and she was removed from the league."

"Wow." Jon spoke, taking in their story, " Uh, go Gramps?"

The ex-assassin nodded, "She believed she would never see me again. She believed Mother would show up unexpectedly and finish the job or send me to do it."

"Damian." Jon spoke, putting his hand on his shoulder, "This is my advice. Before you ask her out, get to know her. She served your family and things between you both are a lot different. She doesn't have to bend to your will. Talk about what you like; ask her what she likes. Can you bond over those things? Set up a friendship first. You might still like her."

"Mother-" Damian began.

"Isn't here. You are surrounded by your father and brothers. Me." Jon declared, "Besides, how do we know she even likes boys?"

"I see." The youngest Wayne spoke, "I did fail to think of that conclusion. "

"Get to know her, Bat Boy." Jon nudged him, "Oh, the natural-human talking way, not the cyber-stalking your family does."

"I will......take your advice, if you can do me one favor." Damian announced.

"Really? What is it?" Jon questioned.

"Look into Lila Rossi." The ex-assassin spoke, handing over a file, "No Bat Computer. Use your parents connections, but look i to her. She claimed to be in a relationship with me since I was a child. She was in the winning class that Father selected."

"On it!" Jon shouted, before throwing the window open and flying off.

It wasnt until he was home that he realized he forgot to ask the girl's name from his best friend and given the time, he was already on patrol.

'Awwww man!'

Damian never thought he would hold such regret. He couldn't get the image of little Marinette terrified of his mother, out of his mind. He knew what death felt like and she had to experience it because of him. All because he confused allergies with a crush. He had never regretted his words, more than those.

@maribat-calendar-events

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[aizawashuichi]

hate hate hate that I am no longer used to write on my phone.

[mousefluff]

my browser crashes on my laptop every day. i dont really understand the cause other than "laptop is old" which is frustrating because the only way to fix your laptop being old is to get a laptop that isn't old. but i don't want to do that

[kang-yina]

Talking about the hating techonology thing, im really mad about how we dont have physical documents in brazil anymore, everything is in our cellphones and theres just like one thing that we actually can have physically, my physical voter registration card is a fucking sheet of paper, my parents had a real voter registration, plasticized and stuff. I'm also pissed off about the work card, which used to be physical and have a cool design, now its only virtual, that is insane, bring back the real documents, what if i dont have a cellphone

My friends said they dont have the physical version of this important document???? Because its number is in another document so it wouldnt matter, THIS DROVE ME INSANE, EHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS DIDNT MATTER???

I really hate how everything is made in our cellphones now i think this is stupid it should be like the second option not the only. I hate qr codes, i hate digital documents, i hate digital shit I'm definitely a luddite, break the machines man, they are evil

[loumauve]

printed-out private fanfic collections my beloved

[kukkakisu]

My first artfight has been so much fun so far! I might not post many of my attacks here, but you can find everything from my artfight profile It's been cool to see so many amazing OCs and try out different drawing styles for them. I think it has been a good way to practice things I'm not used to (even if I'm still super biased towards cats, especially if they're flower or plant-themed) Definitely glad I decided to take part despite the initial stress about it!

[doctorwhoisadhd]

there's a certain quality the harmonies of like... early to mid 2000s alt rock has. which i am obsessed with... like i wanna do that. i NEED to figure out how to write harmonies that sound like that