#if only i wrote essays for uni this easily

[fanaticsnail]

Holy fuck, hOLY FUCK-

I'm losing my mind with how amazingly you write!! I just read chapter seven of Sapsorrow and it is easily one of the most DELICIOUS fics I've ever read, like ma'am?? Who gave you permission to write a fic so yummy? Cause I'd like to shake their hand, oml. Like, the way you wrote the vows with the wine and the honey?? PERFECTIONNN

The way you wrote the kiss?? AMAZING

Anyways, as you can see, I like your Sapsorrow fic a normal amount, and I'm soooo excited to see what happens in the next chapter!!!

Thank you for your beautiful words and compliments!

I've only really been fic writing for under a year -- before then, it was all uni essays and assignments for my horticulture & teaching degrees (instrumental music-major for teaching, viticulture & winemaking for horticulture).

I adore writing kisses, as you could probably tell by now. My first fic was "You Kissed the Clown?" - first time writing a kiss (how they physically feel, the emotional turmoil, the movements, the expressions), and I've been hooked ever since.

I'm so glad you're enjoying my Sapsorrow au for Mihawk x Governess!Reader. I have enjoyed writing it so much! I can't wait for some sneaky spinoffs.

I've got 9 to do, but on the list so far:

Sir Crocodile

Buggy D Clown

Red-Hair Shanks

Trafalgar D Water-Law (& beautiful Donquixote Rosinante "Corazon")

Donquixote Doflamingo

There's another 4 slots for this forced-proximity, arranged-marriage trope -- for a variety of readers for me to make them fall in love.

I'm absolutely open to suggestions for the other 4. I could have Smoker in there, maybe even Garp 💀.

Who knows? Could be Boa or Alvida 👀

[kvhasproblems]

The Boy Next Door MasterList

Main Masterlist:

Summary: My whole life seemed to be perfectly planned out for me, the perfect family, the perfect house with a white picket fence, the perfect boy next door… the only problem is I can’t seem to take my mind off my best friend…

Warnings: Severe homophobia, read has comphet, like hella slurs, a super shity mom, very minor hinted at racism (from one said super shity mom)

Background Nat/Lottie and Shauna/Jackie if you squint. It’s like hinted at.

A/N: This is my love letter to girls who had way too strong of a comphet phase and were always at war with their mothers. This fic also got so out of control it was supposed to be a oneshot but ended up being way too long so multi chapters it is lmao. I also love how when I started this I had an 1000 word essay due the next day and I couldn’t even get 500 words down but I sat and wrote the first 3000 of this so easily words so easily.

P.S. Uni is kicking my ass, so everything is gonna be so delayed.

Part 1

Word count: 2,512

Part 2:

Word count: 2,301

Part 3:

Word count: 2,869

Part 4:

Coming soon… but not really because i dont have much written for it yet

[enter-the-bear-circle]

I'm confused, you seem to have quite an aversion to romance yet you seem to enthusiastically like Metamoro, in a shipping kind of way. How come?

Oh, here are the tough questions. My brain is a mess, so I can't guarantee the things I'm going to say would be very clear. If you need me to explain something in a more detailed or just another way, you are always welcome to ask💜

I have a complicated relationship with romance. I'm not really averse to it, like you said. I find it uncomfortable in real life; for example, when I talk to one of my uni classmates about things not related to romance, and suddenly she says something like "oh, my boyfriend told me..." (which is nothing unusual, of course), I feel a bit uneasy. I have troubles imagining that this person in front of me is really in a relationship. Not because I see it as something bad though, it just doesn't fall into my list of totally natural things. I know assuming everyone is single is not right, but this is how my brain works. When I find out about someone being in a relationship, I don't know where to put this piece of info and what to do with it. And I don't like not knowing something, so those things sometimes bother me.

I like romance in fiction. I love shipping. I love reading and writing fics (even if I don't do it much now), when it's written good and when I understand the characters' feelings even when it's something I personally don't experience. I like it the way I like stories about vampires, for example: the concept is interesting, but if I saw a vampire irl, I would be bothered. But unlike vampires, romance exists, and it's everywhere. If I'm not in the mood to read stuff about vampires, I can easily find something else. If I'm not in the mood to encounter things related to romance... well, this is much more difficult. So sometimes I get angry, sometimes I reblog many aromanticism related posts at once to remind myself I'm not alone and there are people who understand me. Sometimes I just need to vent. Sometimes I'm angry about something else, and then I see something centered around romance and go "oh, not this too". It doesn't mean I always see romance as something negative, I really don't.

Now as for metamoro... They have amazing dynamic, their bond is something special, it's always a joy to watch them together, be it performing or just making silly comments about each other. I love them together, I love them individually. And I really believe that if they were a couple, their romance would be very healthy and fulfilling. Plus, I found metamoro in a very dark period of my life, when I felt like everything I knew was crushing. I was lost, confused and lonely. Getting into the fandom brought me warmth and peace I needed really badly, it became something that could always make me happy. I found friends because of metamoro. I started publishing my writing because of metamoro. I freaking made a career choice because of metamoro (as impulsive as it sounds, it really wasn't, I've been thinking a lot before I decided to study Italian at uni and become a translator). So whenever I see a new post about this ship, I also see my happy memories, I see that I'm still alive and kicking despite how badly the world tried to bring me down. And I also see two people who suffered a lot in life finally being happy. Not to be cheesy on main, but it makes me feel that one day I can be happy too.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, I guess?

[bbugyu]

hi! could i request a jeonghan enemies (or friends that bicker a lot) to lovers? ty and i love ur writing !!

i am so glad you requested this because i have had this in the works for so long that i had to throw it into a case converter because it had capitalization and i was Not gonna finish it if i had to type it proper (i'm a fucking gremlin ok)

thank u for reading my work and thank u for giving me the perfect excuse to be hopelessly in love with jeonghan!!!!

falling + yoon jeonghan

finally, he thought. someone on his level. what’s the catch?

part one | part two

wc.10009 (fuckin oops) | fluff, humor, uni/coffeeshop/enemies to lovers au, gender neutral reader, slow burn, drinking, like lk too much drinking, swearing, throwing it back to sistar, copious argumentive flirting, everyone is MEAN but like in a funny way, bff!mingyu, it's your resident mingyuzi shipper, the only person more of a little shit than jeonghan is y/n

i used to be a barista and i would get exceptionally hateful towards customers for really stupid reasons and the only thing that could stop it is if they were really hot. this seems to hold great jeonghan energy. also i made y/n, like, mean as hell. like not actually mean but like. Mean. sorry. also all bars mentioned are real bars on capital hill in seattle that i love so if you recognize them that’s why. enjoy this enemies to lovers courtship.

*

you were pretentious, jeonghan thought. you acted like you were better than everyone else, and he hated that he had yet to find a reason to call you wrong.

he saw you almost every day during the week, between the class you shared on tuesdays and thursdays, and the cafe he worked in that you frequented to study. your demeanor was always polite, but what most people would describe as cold. you had caught his attention the first day of the semester, something about you seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it until he made your coffee the next day. you usually sat in the row in front of him, a few seats over, and he would chew on his cheek and wonder how you could sit back in your chair, arms crossed and eyes hardly opened, but still get the highest essay scores in the class. at the end of lecture, after he was done spending all his brain power stewing about your ability to succeed in visual culture without really trying, he would text his friend that took the class last quarter and ask, panic stricken, if he still had his notes, the irony of the situation completely lost on him.

at the cafe, you would come in, order an americano, and sit yourself in a well lit corner to work on your classes for a few hours, the coffee mostly undisturbed on the table beside your favorite armchair, then leave. there was never a smile on your face, and you were always alone. jeonghan watched the ice in your americano melt, watering down the coffee he made. maybe he had let the shots of espresso sit too long before saving them. maybe he let them burn on purpose just to see the face you made. but alas, you hadn't even put the metal straw to your lips. he wondered why you even ordered a coffee if you weren’t going to reap the benefit.

joshua spotted him leaning against the counter as he came out of the kitchen and laughed, setting down the freshly washed milk pitchers. “ask them out.”

he stood up straight. “why?”

“why not? you clearly like them.”

“i really don’t,” jeonghan laughed. “you’re crazy for thinking i do.”

joshua rolled his eyes. “no one spends as much time as you do staring at another person if they don’t find them at least a little attractive. have you ever even talked to them? outside of taking their order?”

he hesitated. “no?”

“so what if they’re actually really wonderful and you have a lot in common?”

“as if.”

“wow,” joshua said, leaning against the counter. “i can’t believe yoon jeonghan is afraid to talk to his crush.”

jeonghan shoved his friend's shoulder, giving him a look. “absolutely not. i'm 99% sure they're a pretentious asshole.”

he crossed his arms. “what does that make you?”

“shut up.”

“whatever, han. i’m just saying it’s kind of pretentious to hate someone solely because they don’t smile wide enough for you when they’re saying thanks.”

“it’s not that hard!” jeonghan said, maybe a little too loud. “i don’t wanna smile either, shua! but i do it! so can they!!”

joshua laughed. “lower your voice and go say hi, you freak.”

much to his chagrin, jeonghan got shoved towards your spot in the cafe with the front of the tables needing to get wiped down. he looked at joshua and seokmin with a furrowed brow as he wrung the towel, both of them giving him thumbs ups with wide grins. begrudgingly, he slowly made his way over to you.

“hey,” jeonghan said, doing his best to project something other than the absolute turmoil going on inside his head. you looked up from your textbook, pulling the earbud out of your ear. “why don’t you drink the coffee?”

you furrowed your brow and looked at your untouched americano. “i- uh, what?”

“you never drink the coffee,” he repeated, nodding at the glass. “why do you get it anyways?”

you blinked up at him. “are you offended that i’m not drinking your coffee?”

he almost laughed at the look of disbelief you were giving him. “no, i just don’t get why you waste the money here if you don’t even need the caffeine.”

“it’s cheaper to buy an americano than it is to rent a stall at a study cafe,” you said, habitually hitting save on your notes document. “why are you so worried about me, yoon jeonghan?”

he faltered, surprised. “you know me?”

“nametag,” you didn't miss a beat, pointing at his chest and giggling. “do you know me?”

jeonghan’s lip twitched, feeling almost embarrassed by not thinking of his own nametag, and definitely not an involuntary reaction to seeing you smile for the first time. “uh, yeah. we have a class together,” he said as casually as possible as he folded the washcloth in his hands. “visual culture.”

you nodded, looking into space for a moment. “hmm. weren’t you also in child psych with professor moon last winter?”

he blinked back at you. “yeah? you were in that class?”

you nodded, holding in a laugh. “yeah, yoon jeonghan. i was. head in the clouds?”

for some reason, the way you said his full name made his ears heat up. “maybe you were easy to forget,” he said dismissively, even though you both knew that wasn't the case. “isn’t it better to study in a library? that one’s free.”

“there’s never any open tables at the library,” you said, unfurling your legs and sitting straight, textbook in your lap. “and the chairs are uncomfortable, unlike this armchair. and people usually don’t bother me here.”

jeonghan sighed. “well, if you’re insistent on going to a cafe, there’s one down the street with a better espresso bean and it’s less busy. less people to bother you and a better tasting americano that you won’t drink.”

you cocked your head, closing your laptop. “is that an invitation?”

and for the first time, you saw jeonghan stutter. “n-no? just a suggestion. i think it’s cheaper, too-”

“don’t you work here?” you asked, eyes shining. “shouldn’t you be happy i’m wasting my money here?”

he eyed you, beginning to turn his body to leave the conversation. “do whatever you want. i’m not your dad.”

you grinned, leaning forward in your chair. “are you busy after class tomorrow?”

“why?”

“i need you to show me where this cafe is.”

jeonghan sighed. “can’t you just look it up? cafe nomu.” he wrote the characters with his finger in the air. “no-mu. use naver.”

“i get lost easily,” you said, standing up. jeonghan wondered if you were telling the truth. “we can go together?”

jeonghan watched you pack up your things, confused. “why?”

you paused, looking at him. “why not?”

he was getting real sick of people asking him why not.

“did i drive you away?” he asked instead, nodding at your now packed bag.

“no, i was headed out soon anyways.” you swung the bag over your shoulder and picked up the untouched americano. “do you want this?”

jeonghan couldn’t help but scoff as you handed him the glass that had been the subject of his staring all afternoon. “you can't be serious.”

you grinned and patted his shoulder. “i’m y/n, by the way. i’ll see you in class?”

he squinted at you as you walked away, suddenly confused by the quick succession of questions you had thrown back and forth. you were cute, sure, and his distaste for you was misplaced, perhaps, but he couldn't help the annoyance that bubbled up in him as you sauntered out of the cafe like you had won a debate. he walked back to the counter and set down the americano, an excited seokmin waiting for him.

“so?” he grabbed the glass and dumped it in the sink behind the counter. “how’d it go?”

jeonghan looked at the door you had left out of. “i think i just got asked out.”

“what?” seokmin’s hands made fists in front of him while he grinned. “y/n did? are you serious? you said yes, right?”

“not really,” he replied, looking back at the younger and exhaling deeply. “but i don’t think i can avoid it.”

you had known of yoon jeonghan for a while. a class here and there, a few mutual friends, and of course at the cafe. but the night you learned his name really stuck out to you, when he had been singing at a karaoke bar right after finals last quarter.

it was common to celebrate the end of finals week with partying and drinking, and your friends had invited you out to barhop until the sun came up. you started at a dance club, had way too much rum at a hula themed place, took tequila shots at a gay bar, then landed at a karaoke bar with a can of beer in your fist and a grin on your face. your friends liked to sing, so you had fun encouraging them to get on the slightly raised stage and show their chops. 

“no, no, no,” mingyu said, grabbing your hands as you tried to push him towards the dj. “no way, i recognize the names on the list. there’s real singers here.”

you looked at the screen that displayed the queue. “what do you mean? who?”

“that guy,” mingyu said, pointing at the screen easily, despite you having to crane your neck to even view it. “no way. he’s in jihoon’s band, i’m not following that guy.”

“hangguk’s angel yoon jeonghan,” you read, squinting. “sounds like a pretentious asshole.”

mingyu laughed. “wait til you hear his voice, you’ll see how he got the name.”

"y/n's right," jun interjected, leaning heavily against the standing table your quad squad had claimed, pouring more soju for himself and whoever would claim the other glass. "he is a pretentious asshole."

you pointed at him, brows raised at mingyu. "jun is never wrong."

mingyu rolled his eyes. "pretentious assholes can still sound like angels."

“where the fuck have you been,” you asked, startled by your third and final friend suddenly appearing beside you.

“around,” vernon said, sipping at the nondescript brown liquid in his glass through a bright pink straw. he laughed when you quirked an eyebrow at him. “soonyoung’s here with his posse, he caught me while i was getting another drink.”

“see!” mingyu shook your shoulder, nearly choking after downing jun’s companion shot. “i told you! jihoon’s band.”

you whacked his bicep. “who cares? just go queue a rap song or something, you pussy.”

the singers cycled through and you cheered on many of your fellow drunk university students as they sang with no remorse. jun dragged you onto the tiny dancefloor and forced you to help him hype up soonyoung - his dance team captain - as he screamed along to hurricane. then one of vernon's friends performed a near flawless rendition of shake it by sistar after yelling something about bringing the summer to this cold winter night, earning him a cheering and dancing crowd, and you had known far more of the choreo than you had thought. mingyu was whooping and hollering at you playfully every time you threw your ass out to the song, and he only got louder when jun and vernon did their best to follow along with you, and you had almost forgotten about the name that everyone insisted was to be feared.

“that guy?” you asked, the self-proclaimed angel stepping onto the stage. you recognized him immediately. “that’s my barista.”

mingyu made a noise that almost resembled whistling, if he had been capable of doing so. “i should start studying with you next quarter.”

and when he sang, it clicked. despite the tonal difference, you couldn't help but become enthralled by his voice. gyu was right. pretentious assholes could still sound like angels, and perhaps that was by design.

his voice drifted through your head again when you noticed him in your visual culture class, seated and giggling at his phone on the first day of the quarter. 

"you have another class with him?" mingyu groaned a week later, walking beside you. "why you? why aren’t there hot guys in my major?"

"because pre-med kids are too busy to be hot."

he gave you a look. "damn, okay. like, you're not wrong, but damn."

you rolled your eyes. "don't act like you don't love being the pre-med heartthrob. you would be pissed if you had competition."

"anyways, are you gonna ask him out?"

you pause at the stop light to wait for your turn to cross, turning towards him. "why would i do that?"

“because he’s hangguk’s angel yoon jeong-honey voice,” mingyu said, moving his head as he dramatically pronounced each syllable in your face. “if you’re not already in love with him, you will be soon, and it sounds like fate's trying to bring you together. didn’t you say he’s your barista?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, and his americanos suck now. i don’t even drink it when he makes them anymore.”

he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow. “what the hell? why do you still go there, then?”

you pouted. “it’s quiet and there’s a comfy armchair.”

weeks passed, and you continued to spot jeonghan in your class when you arrived, hearing the faint sound of his singing voice in your head. when he took your order at the cafe, he had a vague snottiness to his voice, and while you absolutely believed that this was the same person as the one you saw sing a soft love ballad with a sobering intensity at two in the morning, you still struggled to connect it to the one you watched run off the stage, immediately curling into himself and laughing with his friends in embarrassment.

you became more and more fascinated by yoon jeonghan as time passed, but his americanos continued to suck. so when he suggested a cafe with better espresso, you lit up. and when he got flustered, letting down his guard unintentionally, you lit up even more. that was the drunk, embarrassed boy you had seen, pink faced and giggling as he hid behind his friends.

jeonghan sat in his usual seat in class, anxiously glancing up at the door every time a group of people entered the lecture hall. when you arrived, your usual minute before the turn of the hour, he rubbed his palms against his sweats. the sweats that he had worn with the specific intention of making sure you didn't think he was trying too hard to look nice around you. despite that fact, part of him still felt annoyed that you were also dressed down, swimming in a hoodie several sizes too big for you. he tried to make sense of the sudden nerves he had, but not once did he consider they were because he thought you were disgustingly adorable.

instead of taking your usual spot, you marched right up to jeonghan’s table and grinned. “is this seat taken?”

he blinked at you. “yes.”

you laughed and slid into the seat beside him anyways, ignoring the dagger stare from a girl across the room that usually sat beside jeonghan silently. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“how do you expect me to react? you’ve never even smiled at me before yesterday.”

shrugging, you put your bag on the table and leaned back in your seat, assuming your usual position for this particular class. “you didn’t deserve it before yesterday.”

jeonghan wanted to argue with you, but the professor cleared his throat and introduced the subject of the lecture.

after only ten minutes, jeonghan could have sworn he heard you snoring. he poked your shoulder with his pen.

you looked over at him, eyebrow quirked. you mouthed a “what” at him.

he exhaled suddenly, mouth forming a vague smile more in disbelief than from being entertained. he seemed annoyed with you, despite the fact that he was the one interrupting your allocated meditation time. he leaned forward, turning his body towards you and spoke in a hushed tone. “how can you do that every day and still be top of the class?”

you mirrored his body language, leaning forward over the desk and resting your cheek on a fist, speaking in the same hushed tone. “visual culture is subjective. as long as you understand the concept; i-e, how we as humans visually design the world around us and how that becomes an important aspect of our place in nature, in the universe, in existence, etcetera; then you can write about literally anything. my last essay was about skate parks. the more opinionated the essay, the better score you get.” you pointed a finger at the man speaking at the front of the class. “i watched the prof’s ted talk before the quarter started - every lecture is just a regurgitation of the same concepts. it’s an easy a, as long as you have strong opinions.”

jeonghan stared at you for what felt like an eternity. “you do seem like you have strong opinions.”

“and you don’t, yoon jeonghan?”

he supposed he couldn’t argue with that, but it still frustrated him to no end that you had found some kind of loophole that he had missed. you gamed the system better than he could, and he had been stuck pouring over his friend’s notes from the previous quarter and bullshitting some essays about architecture that he didn't give a shit about. and so, instead of spending his whole class stewing like he normally did, he decided to waste no time adopting your approach, pulling his sweatshirt hood over his head and catching up on some missed sleep. when he woke up again, it was to your prodding finger.

“what time is it,” he said immediately, squinting at his surroundings. he suddenly remembered he was in class as he saw fellow students packing up their things and filing out. he looked at you, blinking at your grinning face.

“time for coffee,” you said, tugging on the drawstrings of the light blue hoodie he wore. “did you have any sweet dreams?”

jeonghan shoved his blank notebook into the tote bag he used for classes and stood. “of course not.”

“i did,” you said, throwing your bag over your shoulder and following him down the hall steps. “i dreamt you paid at the cafe.”

he turned, eyeing your shiteating grin from behind his hood. “yeah, keep dreaming.”

“worth a shot,” you said, trotting down beside him. “so, what’s your major, yoon jeonghan?”

he rolled his eyes, almost forgetting about your habit of calling him by his full name. “do you really care?”

“what else are we gonna talk about, my drinking problem?”

despite himself, jeonghan laughed, looking over at you as you left the lecture hall. “maybe! how bad is it?”

you grinned, feeling successful from making him break his serious persona. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

he clicked his tongue, pushing open the doors of the social studies building. “no fun.”

“you’ll have to invite me to a bar next time,” you said, following after him out the door into the sunshine that cascaded over the quad. it was a beautiful spring day, but a bit chilly, and you shoved your hands into your sweatshirt pocket.

“hmm,” jeonghan said, letting his blue hood fall off his head as he stretched in the sun. “i only really go to one bar.”

you watched him bask for a moment, wondering how many sides of him you had yet to see. his hair was dark, but the lighter chocolate tones reflected in the sun. “bet i can guess which one.”

jeonghan paused on the sidewalk, making you walk ahead of him a couple steps before you turned towards him questioningly. “okay, yeah. guess. you won’t get it.”

you size him up a moment, taking his words as a challenge. “if i guess right, you buy coffee?”

he exhaled, an amused smile on his face. “why are you so obsessed with me buying you coffee?”

“it tastes better free.”

“okay, fine. but if you’re wrong, you buy.”

you groaned. “do you know how many bars are in this city? that doesn’t seem fair.”

jeonghan resumed walking, gesturing for you to guess. “i’ll give you three tries.”

you chewed your cheek, trying to conceal your sly grin. “okay, three tries. deal?”

he nodded. you made it way too easy for him to win. “deal.”

“let me think.” jeonghan watched your feet fall easily into step beside him. “what bar has a stupid gimmick you would be into... pie bar?”

he shook his head, almost laughing at your teasing. “i’ve been there before, but it's not really my thing.”

you exhaled sharply. “shouldn’t that count for a stick of gum or something?” jeonghan laughed, insisting that this was an all or nothing situation. “then i give up.”

“you can’t give up!” jeonghan said. “you said deal. no going back.”

“fine," you pouted. "why can't i remember any bar names? uhh, r place?”

he stopped. “the gay club?”

you stopped, looking at him expectantly. “well?”

jeonghan laughed as he walked again. “no, not r place. jesus. you have one last chance. i’m really excited to order something expensive today.”

you chewed your cheek. “where would someone like yoon jeonghan go to drink… hanguk’s angel yoon jeonghan…”

he stopped in his tracks. “what did you just say?”

you tapped on your chin with a finger, arms crossed. “yoon jeong-honey voice… where would someone like him go? maybe… a karaoke bar?”

“hey, hey-” jeonghan pointed at you accusingly. “are you serious? you’ve seen me?”

“hmm,” you continued, laughing as you avoided his gaze. “oh, i know! the rockbox!”

“yah!” jeonghan was laughing, pointing at you in disbelief. “what the hell! this isn’t fair!”

“you said deal, no going back.” you grinned in victory. “wow, maybe i’ll order something expensive. i can’t believe i won.”

jeonghan’s tongue ran over his teeth as he watched you giggle and happily trot ahead of him. “fine, fine. you win. when did you see me there?”

“after winter finals,” you said, cheesing. “i was there with friends and you sang.”

he tutted. “damn. did i just miss you or did you not sing?”

“i don’t sing,” you said, smiling as he continued walking with you. “my friends do, though. and i was forced to be in soonyoung’s hype squad for hurricane.”

jeonghan clapped suddenly, remembering in his perhaps too drunk stupor that seungcheol had pointed you out, calling you “the cutie that keeps looking at him.” he had, admittedly, checked you out, despite the fact that he had been too embarrassed by his too-serious song to go and talk to you, and he had thought you looked familiar. “oh my god! yes! i did see you! how do you know soonyoung?”

“mutual friends,” you said. “chwe hansol?

he nodded. “we’ve met once, i think. were you there with junhui?”

“yeah, actually,” you said, remembering the opinion of jeonghan your friend had volunteered up for you. “how do you know him?”

“i haven’t talked to him a lot directly, but i know both his roommates pretty well,” jeonghan said. "we do music together.”

“ah, yes,” you nodded in recollection, but refusing to acknowledge how insanely pretentious it was of him to say something like we do music together. “jihoon’s unnamed but immensely prolific band.”

he rolled his eyes. “why is it jihoon’s band? why can’t it be jeonghan’s band?”

“don’t ask me,” you said, putting up hands in innocence. “i didn’t even know it existed until that night. mingyu wouldn’t shut up about it.”

the name sounded familiar to jeonghan, but he moved on as the two of you reached a stop light. “do you go there a lot? or was that a one time thing?”

you eyed him. “this is starting to sound like an invitation, hannie.”

he didn’t comment on the nickname, despite the weird way his arms tingled at it. “you should learn what an invitation actually sounds like. you tend to assume a lot.”

you laughed heartily, and jeonghan ignored the way his stomach flitted while you started to cross the street. “call it wishful thinking, but i think i get you, yoon jeonghan.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean?”

you never answered his question, but grinned instead, which gave jeonghan a sense of unease and a touch of curiosity. as he led you to cafe nomu, he caught himself smiling. laughing. enjoying your company and conversation.

maybe shua hadn’t been completely off base.

by the time jeonghan had realized that his feelings towards you might have evolved from vague malice into something more akin to genuine interest, he was pushing open the door to the cafe for you and mentally double checking that he had put on deodorant that morning, cursing his inability to control his own nerves. ah, he thought. that explained the weird feeling he got waiting for you in class, too. and why he got flustered the day before at his work. he only snapped out of his crowded mind when he heard you ordering an iced americano.

“and for you?”

jeonghan blinked at you, then at the barista that was addressing him. “make that two.”

“thank you for the coffee,” you said, pressing your hands together as he inserted his card.

he waved you off, chuckling, but kept his eyes as far from yours as he could. “a deal is a deal.”

you looked around the quiet cafe, quickly scoping out the seat options as jeonghan accepted the buzzer for your order. he thought it was a little silly, considering the two of you were half of the customers in the cafe currently, but said nothing as he turned it over in his fingers, standing next to you.

“there?” you asked, pointing at a table by a window.

jeonghan bit his cheek, thinking about how joshua would likely be walking down this street to go to his shift, if he had one. “yeah, wherever.”

you were already on your way to the seat when he responded, and he followed, dropping his bag off his shoulder to hang on the hook under the table.

“i thought you were going to get something expensive,” he teased, sitting across from you.

laughing lightly, you pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket and set it on the table. “you said the espresso was good, i wanted to try it.”

“don’t you not like coffee?” jeonghan asked, squinting at you.

“i love coffee,” you said, quirking an eyebrow.

“then why don’t you drink the americanos i make?”

he was leaning forward, staring at you, fingers folding over each other on the table. you pouted, avoiding his eyes suddenly. “no reason.”

leaning back again, he kept a wary eye on you. “that’s convincing.”

“good, it’s the truth.”

jeonghan decided to put a pin in that interrogation in favor of asking you your major.

you laughed again, making a small smile appear on his face. "communications," you answered, despite thinking of how he denied the same question from you earlier.

he let out a low "wah" and cocked his head. "what's up with that? same major."

"really?" you leaned over the table. "what year are you?"

"third."

you put a peace sign next to your eye like you were posing for a photo. "second."

you couldn't help but giggle at the "pfft" that spilled out of jeonghan's lips as he laughed at you, muttering a "really" under his breath at your pose. he was running a hand through his extremely soft and fluffy looking hair when the buzzer went off, and you blinked yourself awake from your trance to nod after he said he would go get the drinks. 

admitting to it was the last thing you wanted, but you couldn’t help but hear mingyu’s voice rattling around your head, telling you that you would fall for jeonghan eventually. you had once thought he was completely up his own ass, but you kept getting glimpses of this really cute, really sweet version of him, and it made you want to get to know him better. additionally, it was getting harder to find people that would happily play along with your teasing, and he had no qualms teasing you right back.

when he returned with the americanos, you pressed your hands together in another thank you before taking a sip. he slid back into his seat and looked at you expectantly. "well? what do you think?"

you paused a moment, appraising the flavor. "delicious. thank you."

after he sipped at his own, he nodded. "the beans here are really good. balanced. i wish i could convince my boss to source better stuff."

you watched him sip again, letting out a praise under his breath. you sighed. "i have a confession."

his eyebrows quirked at you, and he did his best to not show the way his stomach flipped. "what kind?"

"i don't drink your americanos because they're shit."

there was silence as he processed your words, and you wondered if you had royally fucked up by saying something. suddenly, he was laughing, and you stared at him in shock as he calmed down. "oh my god, yeah, they are."

"wait, you know?"

"i-" jeonghan paused, rubbing his face, still laughing. "god, this is so stupid. i burn your shots."

your jaw dropped open, but a smile creeped across your face as you understood. "wait, on purpose?"

"you never smile!" he attempted to explain himself with a bit too much enthusiasm, finding his own pettiness ridiculous in hindsight. "not even when i smiled at you. i had a grudge. i'm sorry."

you were sipping your non-burnt americano with a sly look on your face. you wanted to be mad at the wasted money on countless gross americanos, but somehow, you couldn't be. "do you hold grudges against everyone or am i just lucky?"

"uh, depends," jeonghan said, crossing his arms and thinking. "when the prof that failed my roommate comes in, i burn his shots, too. i think he might like it that way, though, because he's always really nice to me."

you almost snorted. "well, you owe me a lot of coffee."

he nodded and sighed, resigning to his fate. "when you come in, your coffee's on me. and i won't burn it this time."

you pouted a second, and jeonghan barely caught it, but he thought the expression was far too cute. "i was hoping you would invite me out again."

"again?" he asked, letting a few 'ha's fall from his lips in quick succession. "you mean for the first time?"

you gestured to the cafe you sat in. "was this not your idea?"

he rolled his eyes. "you invited yourself out and held me hostage."

"does that mean you have stockholms?"

he laughed at the diagnosis, remembering the class you claimed you had both taken the year before. "you're a very charming captor."

you smiled at the compliment, despite the sinister implication.

the next time you saw jeonghan, it was saturday. you had rolled out of bed far earlier than you had intended to when you had fallen asleep at 4 am after a very drunk and extremely conflict heavy game of uno with the guys. you winced at the sunlight streaming through your shitty dorm blinds, fumbling your way to the water dispenser on your desk to rehydrate.

you stared at your roommate's empty bed, remembering they had said they worked early shifts this weekend as you brushed your teeth, and you wondered how they had dealt with you stumbling into the dorm in the wee hours of the day.

you almost gagged on your toothbrush. an empty room on a saturday morning with too little sleep and a nasty hangover, you thought. bad decisions could never be made under these circumstances.

"does jeonghan's cafe do breakfast sandwiches?" you thought aloud with a mouth full of toothpaste, leaning over the sink to spit. you kind of remembered seeing them on the menu, though you never thought to get anything beyond the occasional muffin. maybe today was the day.

after washing your face and cleaning up your hair a bit, you had to dig in your clothes to find your favorite pair of black sweats and a shirt to tuck in. you last minute decided to bring your good headphones, just in case hanguk's angel wasn't there to bug, and ran out the door with your wallet and phone, a pair of sunglasses shoved onto your face.

the walk to his cafe is short from the dorms you lived in, which was another reason you liked it there. it was warmer than it had been during the week, and you watched a big muscular dog running alongside its owner. before long, you were tugging open the door, seeing no line. you grinned at how lucky you were as you pulled your headphones down to your neck.

"yoon jeonghan! you are working!"

he seemed startled by your voice, his shoulders raising slightly as he turned towards the door. "oh, what the hell? what are you doing here at 9:30 on a saturday?"

you pouted, walking up to the counter and tugging off your sunglasses. "are you not happy to see me?"

his laugh was genuine and completely out of his control. "sure i am. nice eyebags."

that, you noted, was the first time jeonghan had ever greeted you with a smile, and it seemed appropriate that it was paired with an insult. "thanks, i'm violently hungover right now." you said, noticing your best friend's roommate standing further back behind the counter, pretty obviously pretending to not be listening to you.

"do you wanna redeem a free americano?" he asked, poking at the touchscreen register.

you hummed, crossing your arms and staring at the menu board. "not today, i wanna try a latte. something tasty, and something for breakfast. what do you think?"

jeonghan stared at you, and you stared back, a small smile on your face. he blinked. "have you ever tried lavender?"

"lavender?" you shook your head, genuinely surprised. "is that a good flavor?"

he nodded, looking down at the screen and adding items to your order. "we have this seasonal syrup that we make in house," he said. "it's my favorite one of the year. honey, lavender, and vanilla bean. big one?"

you blinked at the cup sizes, trying to remember how many bottles of soju you had bought the night before, and subsequently how much money was left in your account. "uh, yeah."

"will you be offended if i give you a vegetarian sandwich? it's the best one."

you cocked your head. "i mean, if it's the best one…"

jeonghan smiled slightly, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. "it's the best one. and it's my secret hangover cure."

you noticed his card too late. "hey, what are you doing?"

he quirked an eyebrow at you. "buying your coffee. like i said i would."

"that was way more than an americano."

"and i've burned way more than an americano," jeonghan reminded you. "and if you don't accept that, i'm buying you breakfast as a peace offering."

your eyebrows raised. "a peace offering?" 

he avoided your gaze. "i've decided you're not a pretentious asshole."

you laughed at his word choice, and how it mirrored your own. "i mean, i can be kind of pretentious sometimes. and a major asshole a lot of the time."

jeonghan grinned. "me too."

he washed his hands and passed along the sandwich order to his coworker as he moved to the espresso machine, briefly explaining to you that he was completely useless with food as soon as a heat source becomes involved, but assured you that seokmin was a master with a turbochef, and that your sandwich was in the best hands.

you giggled, watching his hands as he found a squeeze bottle and shot the contents into a glass. "i trust you."

his eyes flicked to you briefly, and you leaned against the drink pickup counter, squinting at the syrup. he held the glass that would soon be your drink up for you. "see the specs? real vanilla."

you hummed. "it smells good."

"it tastes like sunshine, i swear to god."

your eyes followed his hands as he expertly filled and packed the portafilter with fresh grounds. he felt you watching him, and did his best to suppress the itch to fumble. you watched him not burn your shots, stirring them with the syrup and pouring milk from a jug. he added ice, put a metal straw in the tall glass, then placed it on the counter in front of you.

you made sure to smile when you told him thank you, and jeonghan was pretty sure he would have collapsed from how cute he found you if he had slightly less resolve. 

"veggie sando for… y/n?" seokmin announced to the cafe, eyes creasing into a laugh as he appeared with a plate.

you gave seokmin a nervous smile. "sorry for staying over so late. i didn't know you worked this morning."

jeonghan looked between you suspiciously as seokmin assured you it was fine, claiming he was knocked out by midnight and didn't even know when you left. who did seokmin live with again? jeonghan chewed on his cheek as he put your drink and sandwich on a tray.

your eyes flicked over to the front counter as a few customers entered the cafe, seokmin already heading over to greet them and begin the order. you tried not to let your disappointment show when you told jeonghan you should probably let him get back to work. he tried to not let his show, either, when he nodded in agreement. neither of you did a great job.

"someone's clocking on in half an hour, i can take a break then. don't leave?"

his almost pleading tone made your lip twitch upward. "don't act so clingy, hannie."

he grinned, then stopped you before you picked up the tray. "first- hang on," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it, quickly going to the keypad as he looked over his shoulder at the customers. "give me your number."

your eyes met his briefly as you took the phone, quickly punching in your digits and tapping to add yourself to his contacts. he smiled at the profile name - "americano" - as you picked up your tray and headed to your favorite armchair. even as he was making other drinks and serving other customers, he couldn't take his eyes off you, sitting in your armchair with your headphones on. it had only been two days since he saw you last, but he hadn't thought of anything but you the entire time. he had almost considered asking shua to swap shifts with him so he could have a chance of seeing you the day before, but he knew his coworker would refuse to take the saturday opening shift. he spent his whole afternoon off sitting on the couch in his apartment, staring at the back of his roommate's chair, trying to figure out why he didn't ask for your number.

"hey," jihoon said, and jeonghan had only then noticed that his roommate had spun his tall cushioned chair around to look back at him. "i said, do you know when seungcheol invited people around tomorrow?"

jeonghan stared at him for a second, then sighed dramatically, rubbing his eye. 

"woah," the younger laughed and leaned back in his seat. "who'd you sleep with last night? i need to warn them you're crazy."

"no one," jeonghan pouted. "what the hell? i'm not crazy."

"hyung, i say this with the most respect i can," he said, leaning forward. "you're batshit, especially when you catch feelings for a one night stand."

"ugh, whatever," jeonghan pushed the pillow off his lap and ran a hand through his hair. "we didn't even do anything."

jihoon squinted at him a moment. "okay, hang on, i feel like our definitions of not doing anything are different."

he rolled his eyes. "we didn't do anything," he repeated, standing from the couch and walking over to the kitchen to get water. "like, nothing. we didn't even touch each other. not once."

jihoon looked around, trying to understand what he meant. "i'm confused. you didn't touch your one night stand?"

"it wasn't a one night stand!" jeonghan threw a dagger glare at the other before he drank his water, muttering a "really" beneath his breath.

jihoon's face didn't change. "so… you went on a date?"

jeonghan swallowed the water hard, putting the glass down on the counter and leaning against it. "kinda."

"you are really not making this easy for me at all."

"we got coffee," he said finally. "we have a class together, and we made a stupid bet over who would pay, and they fucking tricked me, so i had to pay for it and we talked for, like, a stupid long time, and i think i actually really…" he exhaled, both hands rubbing his face. "i think i really like them."

jihoon whistled. "i just wanna say before the moment passes that it is incredibly on brand for you to fall for someone because they conned you into buying them coffee."

jeonghan glared at the younger, but he couldn't argue. "we got coffee and talked and then they just…" his palms faced the sky as he gestured, shoulders raised. "they just left. i didn't even get their number."

"okay, and?" jihoon swivelled back and forth in his chair. "you have a class together. you'll literally see them next week."

he groaned, pressing his forehead against the fridge. "but i wanna see them now."

and now, he was seeing you. much sooner than he had expected, yet not soon enough. the saturday morning rush began to pick up, and even when an additional barista arrived, jeonghan wondered if he would actually be able to slip away for a break.

"go ahead," seokmin said, grabbing the steamed milk pitcher from his hand. "me and hyejoo can handle it for a minute."

jeonghan looked at the shrinking line and nodded, quickly pulling off his apron as he walked around the counter. he knew he didn't have a lot of time, and pulling up a chair seemed silly, so he instead just squatted and folded his arms over the arm of your favorite seat.

you looked up from your phone at the motion, pulling your headphones off and grinning. "hey! the drink is delicious and extremely not burnt."

he smiled, noticing it was almost gone. "i'm glad! it's still busy, so i can't really take a proper break, but i wanted to ask you something."

you squinted at him. "what kind of something?"

"do you have plans tonight?"

"depends," you said, turning your body to face him better as you sucked on your cheek. "what's going on?"

jeonghan exhaled, amused. "my roommate is having people over for a few drinks or something, it'd be cool if you came by?"

you looked at a light, gauging the state of your hangover. your voice almost cracked when you asked "tonight?"

"you don't have to drink," he said, remembering what you had told him earlier. "and you can, like, bring a friend if you want. i know it's weird that i'm inviting you to my place."

you thought a moment. "don't you live with lee jihoon?"

jeonghan blinked. "uh, yeah?"

"i'll bring a friend," you said, tapping your fingers on the back of your phone. you looked back to him and smiled. "text me details?"

jeonghan stood. "yeah, i'll text you," he said, glancing up at the door where more customers were walking in. "fuck, i should go."

you followed his gaze. "i think i'll stick to weekdays. this place gets crazy on the weekends."

"tell me about it." he started to walk back to the counter. "i'll talk to you later?"

you smiled and nodded at him, and you waved enthusiastically at him as you were headed out about ten minutes later.

"i'm still waiting for a text," you teased, peeking over the counter as he made a drink.

he laughed. "i'll get to it when i get to it."

"thanks for the sandwich, seokmin! it was delicious!"

seokmin waved at you with a big grin and you looked back at jeonghan.

"i'll see you tonight?"

he nodded, a smug smile teasing his lips. "yeah, i'll see you tonight."

you didn't show the way your stomach flipped when he made eye contact with you, but you slid your sunglasses back on and put your headphones back on your head, and walked to the rhythm of love songs in the sun on your way to your friend's apartment, a stupid childish giggle threatening to surface the entire time.

"hey, is mingoo around?"

minghao blinked at you, standing at his front door with a smile on your face. "dude, you left like four hours ago. what are you even doing here."

"uh, no, myungho, i left like seven hours ago, get it right." he let you walk past him into the apartment. "is he still asleep?"

"is that actually a question?"

you trotted into mingyu's room, humming along to the song playing through the headphones around your neck as you pulled open his blinds.

"god, what the fuck," his rough voice went behind you. "the hell is wrong with you. go home."

"that's not a very nice way to treat the person that's gonna set you up with your future ex-husband."

mingyu's hair stuck in several different directions and his eyes were still squeezed shut, but he had pushed himself off his pillow enough for you to know you caught his attention. "which one?"

you grinned. "the one with the pretty voice."

"wait," mingyu fumbled with his comforter as he tried to sit up. "wait, hang on. jihoon?" you laughed and nodded as he sniffed noisily. "he is not my future ex-husband, y/n. he's it. he's the one that's gonna make an honest woman out of me."

"well, lady, get ready to be honest, because i got an invite to a kickback at his apartment tonight and i snagged a plus one."

he squinted at you. "what's the catch?"

you rolled your eyes. "there isn't always a catch. maybe i'm just trying to be nice."

"yeah, uh huh." mingyu flopped back onto his bed, rubbing his eyes. "why didn't you just text me or something? it's so early."

"it's like, barely morning."

"it's ten."

you exhaled. "it's 11:17, asshole. are you going with me or not?"

mingyu groaned and flopped around, his head aching from the drinks that had stopped too recently. "when?"

"uhh," you stalled as you checked your phone. no new messages. "not sure yet. i'm waiting on a text."

he squinted at you. "who's texting you? soonyoung?"

you shrugged. "sure."

"oh my god, it's jeonghan, isn't it?"

"whaaaaaat?" you deadpanned, walking over to mingyu's bed to sit on the edge, staring at your phone. "why would i be waiting on a text from that loser?"

"i knew you were acting stupid yesterday for a reason," he accused. "and you asked jun what his deal was. you like him, don't you? what did he do? did he corner you?"

"absolutely not," you said, sighing and throwing your phone down on his bed, slightly offended by him saying you were acting stupid but truly not being able to remember if he was wrong. "i cornered him, at his workplace, no less. then i made him buy me coffee. then i showed up to his workplace, again, incredibly hungover, and he still asked for my number."

mingyu's lips formed a pout as he hummed, rubbing his eye again. "never would have pegged jeonghan as the simping type, but sure."

"shut up," you laughed, and mingyu whined about whether or not you had washed your hands when you plopped your palm against his face. he pushed your wrists away. "do you still have that bottle of white wine?"

"you mean the one hao refuses to drink even though i spent good money on it for his fucking birthday? yeah, why?"

you grabbed your phone again, despite it not vibrating. "it'd probably make a good first impression if you bring a nice bottle to the kickback you were last minute invited to. i bet jihoon will be so impressed by your manners."

mingyu blinked heavily. "you're devious. what about you?"

"i don't need a good first impression," you said. "i already made an awful one and he still likes me."

he sighed. "you always have been a charming dickhead."

you grinned at your best friend. "thanks, babe."

mingyu groaned against his palms. "god, fuck, i was supposed to study for my exam today."

you clicked your tongue. "that sucks dick."

"you suck dick."

you pouted out your lips when you got a text from an unknown number. "i'm trying."

you hadn't fully decided yet how you were going to make sure jeonghan really liked you, especially after jun regaled his "disgusting sexcapades," as he described them. you took his words with a grain of salt, considering the guy had an extremely low opinion of him from the get go, but either way, could you really blame jeonghan for putting his incredibly good looks and charm to use?

you, however, found flings incredibly uninteresting. most of the men that went after you were dull at best, and definitely would have fallen for any stupid prank you had played on them. with jeonghan, though, there was a challenge. there was always the chance he would out-trick you. it was new and exciting. playing with people, you decided, was only fun when there were some stakes involved.

inviting you to have drinks at his place seemed like such a transparent ploy to get laid, but you couldn't help but expect more from him. something told you he knew that you wouldn't be that easy, and you wondered what his game was.

i think i'm here >

which apartment was it? >

you definitely could have scrolled up in your conversation with jeonghan to check, especially since mingyu was complaining next to you on the street outside the apartment building, but you preferred the power move of asking again. you hadn't considered, though, that jeonghan was absolutely the type to know exactly what you were trying as soon as he saw the notification and make you wait. you squinted at the window that clearly had a party going on inside of it, willing the boy to respond.

"bro, it's apartment 2-b. soonyoung says he's 'the b in 2-b' like, every chance he gets. let's just go up."

"hang on, i'm plotting," you said, putting up a finger and scrolling through your contacts.

mingyu groaned as you put the phone to your ear, pressing the cold wine bottle against his eye. "you are the most annoying person i've ever met."

"yet you ask me to hang out constantly."

mingyu glared at you with his uncovered eye. "i also watch a lot of shit television, so don't take my taste as gospel."

inside, soonyoung patted down his pockets when he heard his ringtone, then looked at the kitchen counter where he had left it when he was making drinks. he grinned wide when he saw the contact info and practically yelled when he answered the phone. "y/n! please tell me you're finally coming over?"

jeonghan heard your name, his head whipping towards the sound. he stared at soonyoung, phone to his ear as he laughed into it, and he exhaled when he realized what you had done. he looked down at the ignored notification on his phone, his thought process being that you would call as it became more urgent.

and you had, just not him. he cursed under his breath. you were always one step ahead.

"yeah, second floor! come on up, i'll meet you at the stairs!"

jeonghan watched soonyoung shove his feet into a pair of slides and exit the apartment, then quickly downed the rest of his drink. he was gonna need an excuse to ask if you wanted one.

you followed soonyoung down the hall as he excitedly chattered about how he didn't know you were coming.

mingyu laughed. "yeah, we didn't either. y/n got an invite from jeonghan this morning."

"jeonghan?" soonyoung looked at you. "i didn't know you knew each other."

"i enjoy being a mystery," you said, checking quickly to see if your message had been seen yet.

soonyoung couldn't help but laugh at the idea of you and his roommate, especially with a few drinks in him. "you definitely suit each other."

jeonghan hadn't lied when he said people were coming over for drinks, but he had definitely made it seem much smaller than it was. the living area had enough people that you didn't want to bother counting, but probably somewhere in the twenties. there was music playing, but the conversational chatter was still audible over the beat, and people were laughing with each other on just about every surface you could see. you noticed jihoon by the kitchen counter as you were taking off your shoes, and grabbed mingyu's arm to face him towards you.

"jesus, fuck," he stumbled over his own shoes. "why do i hang out with you?"

"he's in the kitchen and he's alone," you said, your fingers digging into his bicep. "now's your chance. ask him where you should put the wine."

mingyu peeked over his shoulder, then looked back at you with wide eyes. "are you serious? right now?"

"right now," you reassured. "you got this, big guy. you're hot, smart, and tall. say you like his music and blow his mind."

he exhaled, his lips forming an o, and shook his hand nervously. "okay. okay. thank you. i love you. i'm sorry i ever called you annoying."

you laughed, smacking his arm. "love you too, goo."

he shut his eyes and spun, walking towards the boy of his affections. you watched him for a moment, though slyly, as you wandered into the party. you wondered where soonyoung had gone so quickly, then clenched your fist in victory when you saw jihoon get wine glasses out of a cupboard and laughed at something mingyu said.

"oh, y/n!" you spun to the familiar voice, spotting jeonghan leaning against a wall casually, half engaged in a conversation. he pushed off it as you closed the short space between you. "you made it! why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"i did," you said, cocking your head at him. "but you probably knew that."

a sideways smile creeped onto his face. "hey, are you drinking tonight? i don't wanna tempt your self proclaimed alcoholism, but i've been sitting on an empty drink for a while, i could make you one too."

you eyed the red cup in his hand. "what's on the menu?"

"paloma," he said, lifting the cup. "but i can make you something else."

you thought for a second, then looked at him. you hadn't had tequila since the night you saw him sing. "i trust your taste."

he tilted his head as he moved, gesturing for you to follow him to the kitchen. you nudged mingyu with your hip as you settled against the counter next to him to watch jeonghan make a drink for you. he looked down at you, then put an arm on your shoulder as he sipped the wine he had brought, and you noticed jihoon had a matching glass. you smiled proudly.

"mingyu?" jeonghan asked, gesturing.

you nodded, then looked up at your best friend. "this is jeonghan," you said, pointing.

mingyu smiled at him. "good luck with this one. jihoon, this is my worst friend, y/n."

"i'm also the reason he's here," you said, leaning forward to direct the speech at boy you were being introduced to. "you're welcome."

jihoon looked at you, mouth parted into an almost smile. his eyes went to jeonghan, remembering their conversation the day before, then to mingyu again, who was covering his eyes with a palm in embarrassment. "this is why they're my worst friend."

jeonghan laughed, pulling your attention back as he popped open a soda with a bottle opener. "so you're like this with everyone?"

"i’m sure i don't know what you mean," you quipped, sliding out from mingyu's arm to grab the bottle and inspect the label. "jah…ritos?"

"jarritos," jeonghan corrected, pronouncing the h sound. "mexican grapefruit soda. it's the best for palomas."

"see, this is why people think you're a prick," you said, putting the bottle back on the counter. "you get fancy soda specifically for your fancy cocktails."

he just laughed at you as he poured tequila from a bottle into two cups of ice. "if i cared what people thought, i would have changed my ways years ago."

you let that marinate for a moment, then decided the two of you were much more similar than you had originally thought. he grabbed the bowl of cut lime wedges that seungcheol had prepared and squeezed two into each cup, and you watched as he topped the drinks with the soda.

"can you handle heat?"

you looked at him. "that's a loaded question."

he laughed again, and you wondered how many palomas he had before you arrived. "i like chili on the lime, but i wanted to be nice and ask before i did it for you, too."

"i'll try anything once."

then you tried it again.

and again.

jeonghan really was charming, you thought. and pretty. and he had a lovely voice.

at some point, soonyoung found you again, just to waggle his eyebrows at jeonghan when he thought you weren't looking, and you got introduced to seungcheol, who you both recognized and were recognized by. jeonghan rolled his eyes and shoved him away when he gave him a look, remembering how he described you at the bar ages ago.

you barely even noticed the time passing, but your drinks kept draining and you kept accepting more, and you wondered if you were really stupid enough to say yes if he asked you to join him in his bedroom tonight. but the more jeonghan talked, the more you were kind of okay with the idea.

"do you wanna get out of here?"

you blinked, chin in your palm and elbow on the counter, face inches from jeonghan's as he put down his cup. "and go where?"

he pouted as he thought. "i could really go for tteokbokki right now."

at that moment, you decided jeonghan really liked you. you grinned. "that sounds so good."

he smiled back at you, and you didn't comment on the way his eyes lingered on your lips, even if you really wanted to. "better tell your chaperone."

you rolled your eyes at the title mingyu had given himself earlier when he was trying to convince you to not take a fourth drink. "don't let his stupid height trick you, he's more of a lightweight than me."

"at least you don't have to worry about him, jihoon would never try anything. the poor guy is so shy, he was probably flustered just when mingyu said hi."

you quirked an eyebrow at him. "does he have to worry about me?"

jeonghan laughed. "if i wanted to get you drunk, i would have poured heavier."

"speaking of," you said, tipping your cup. "this one suspiciously tasted like not tequila."

he stood suddenly, palms on the counter, trying to force down the blush on his ears. "if you're gonna complain about every drink i make you, maybe you should stop asking for them."

you giggled, standing and imitating his stance. "just admit you care about me, yoon jeonghan."

he looked at you, a smile teasing his lips. "only after you admit you're in love with me."

you squinted. "a draw."

he grinned. "tteokbokki?"

[mariaiscrafting]

Thoughts on Wilbur Soot? I want a full-blown essay at least 10k words/j. All jokes aside, this is an amazing blog, I come to it every day to see if you've posted something new :]. Keep going forward OP, you're truly amazing.

That is so sweet 😢 (/gen)

I was really  gonna write, “I dunno, I just think he’s a nice dude,” but then you asked for 10k words, so now Imma actually rant. Wilbur’s probably one of the first people who got me back into Minecraft, around 2019, and he was the first person I felt comfortable enough watching the Dream SMP vods from, back in November. 

First of all, the guy’s fricking gorgeous, like, ???? I never see any simping for him on my dash, and I’m just like ??? I’m not very good at simping over people’s appearances myself, so all I will say is that he’s fricking beautiful, jfc.

Second of all, I’m a music nerd, okay, and I really fucking like his singing. Back then, I listened to his music covers so much that I learned the lyrics from songs I’d never even heard of before I started watching Wilbur, by heart. Lol it helps quite a bit that a good chunk of my musical taste is made up of Life is Strange-esque, shitty indie songs that fit right into the covers he made back when he first started streaming. I’ve listened to YCGMA so many times that I have that same familiarity I have with songs I’ve listened to for literal years, knowing exactly what song comes next and when each measure ends and when the breaths are taken, etc., etc. He doesn’t have much finnesse when it comes to the technical qualities of his singing abilities, but he’s a damn good musician. His lyrical composition, chord progressions, little guitar riffs, emotion - ahhh, I just love Wilbur Soot’s music so much. I’m certain I’ll be listening to YCGMA in the middle of the night, when I need a good cry, for years to come lol. 

Third of all, I really, really appreciate his openness about his mental health just, so much. He talks about his anxiety and getting depressed so candidly, he so easily lets his audience know about what kinda mental state he was in during uni and as a teenager and while he wrote YCGMA, and it makes me feel so normal. As dumb and cliched as it is to need a public figure to validate my own lived experiences, I do, and for someone like Wilbur Soot to succeed and be so talented, encouraging, empathetic, and socially active, despite losing motivation and energy at times, gives me a little bit of hope for myself.

Fourth of all, I mean, the guy’s fucking hilarious, are we forgetting this? People always talk about his talents music-wise and writing-wise, or how nice he seems to be, but they always gloss over his genuine comedic ability, and I ??? It takes so much to keep my attention these days, and Wilbur Soot’s videos are still some of the only ones that can manage that feat. He has undeniable chemistry with practically any CC he meets, his editing style is just *chef’s kiss*, and his laugh somehow makes even the most mundane of jokes seem fucking hilarious, it’s just such a delight to watch or listen to him do bits, man.

I left the best for last, lol. The main reason I fricking love Wilbur Soot is his political consciousness and the fact that his political beliefs align pretty well with my own. I’ve dealt with cishet, mostly white guys, both on and off the Internet, for so many damn years, and it’s exhausting. I am so tired of deconstructing myself and suppressing myself for the sake of social interaction, community-building, preventing ostracization, and being able to consume content without feeling enraged or hopeless. It is an exhausting endeavor to want to like and love all the gamers I’ve watched since middle school, and having to just push down and numb the parts of me that want to flinch at offhanded jokes and comments and exclusion from online spaces. Wilbur Soot is a whole other breed of CC. Lol uhhh, I guess he’s what most of the people in the social media circles I used to frequent would call, “a feminist cuck” and “self-hating white guy.” Which all really just means that he goes just beyond human decency. Don’t get me wrong, I do not by any means let white, cishet guys dictate my self-worth anymore, or even let them educate me; that’s what all the wonderful female and POC and queer CCs that I’ve discovered over the years are for. But there’s still something deeply satisfying about listening to this person who fits all the demographic checkboxes of the kinda person who used to make me feel so Other and Wrong, instead rant about how teenage girls can’t express their interests without being denigrated for them out of deeply-entrenched misogyny, or about how society needs to stop villanizing poor people and realize that government aid and social services do a great service for community betterment and are not just used by people supposedly leeching off the taxpayer’s dime. That’s not even to mention the fucking beautiful satire of the E-Girl Trilogy. I always wanted to rant about this, but I don’t know how exactly to put it into the proper words... Basically, as someone who has spent years and years retconning, observing, and caught in the midst of incels, conservatives, and just extremely depressed cishet men of all races, I am deeply familiar with all the resentment, anxiety, misogyny, homophobia, gender essentialism, and self-hatred that goes into creating the average 20-something man’s view on women, society, romance, friendships, and sex. The E-Girl Trilogy is fucking brilliant because it so accurately captures this cocktail of emotions and ideologies, creating a fucking perfect caricature of the average man who looks and is just like Wilbur Soot. The persona is so well-crafted that most listeners who aren’t familiar with Wilbur as a person, or his political views, actually believe these songs are genuine and empathize with the narrators, can you imagine? And the fact that, in the process, Wilbur himself realizes that all of it is a fucking joke, that the narrator’s views on his love interest are weird and creepy and not at all normal or correct, is what makes it genuine satire. He embodies something so perfectly, only to mock it in the process of showing off how much he can embody it... I love satire, but I fucking suck at writing or accurately embodying it, so I’ve always been so fucking jealous of and beyond impressed by the E-Girl Trilogy’s use of satire. 

Lol this isn’t 10k words, but it was much longer than I fucking thought it’d be. Basically, I really like Wilbur Soot, and writing all of this made me realize just how much I missed watching his VODs and streams...

[wolfandtheraven]

some tips that might actually help ;w;

if you haven't been writing in forever -> write something (anything, 1 word, 2 words) that could tangentially be related to a creative piece (i.e. the tiniest of a fragment of a poem, a weird dream you had, turn your shopping list into an acrostic poem, write about an object in front of you even if its a boring 5 word description) read something [reading literally anything, fan-fiction, novels, comics, poetry, anything, can give your brain a spark to write something like that. If you do get a spark just throw words on a page, phone notes app, iPad notes, a word doc, a google doc, anywhere]

if a blank page bothers you -> in Microsoft word you can change the background colour of your word documents which can make them not stark white! I've switched mine to black with white text cause my eyes/brain struggle with the black text on white pages, but it can also help remove that stuck point. Another potential helper is to open a document [on whatever device/platform you are comfortable with] and jot down words, then use that document the next time you write literally anything. I know that a blank page feels daunting so yeeting a bunch of stuff onto the same page can help.

can't write but you love talking? -> a lotta writing software has dictation now! (yay for accessibility!) talk to google docs/your word document and let it write onto that page for you, this can be a good way to get stuff out of your brain and down somewhere so you don't forget it. Which can also be helpful if you get stuck with "this needs to be worded exactly right or I'm not writing at all", because you're just talking about the thing rather than trying to write the thing it might mess up understanding you but you can edit it later if you actually want/need it to make sense

don't tie yourself to a single project -> as someone who's brain hates being forced to stick to one thing, especially when its suddenly interested in thing b, do not force yourself to work on a project for any reason [unless money is involved or you are absolutely required aka uni essays] writing bits and pieces for the 6 different ideas you have floating around is better than writing nothing at all

free yourself from "sit and write" bullshit -> all that advice of "making a habit" and "write x amount of words per day" and "do x writing activity"? throw it out the window, we don't use that shit here. write eclectically and wherever your brain can sync [if you get an idea on a bus, find a way to write even just the sentence that's on repeat in your head cause you think it sounds just perfect, it can help you later]

write with the idea that literally you and only you have to read your notes -> if you have a story/plot idea, don't write formally about the plot, don't even start writing the story itself if that's not your jam! write as if its a silly little post to yourself/your close friends [bonus this can make you smile later when you re-read stuff you wrote] write in memes! write in nonsense words that make sense to you! it doesn't matter!

if you're struggling to write content for the thing you want, make memes instead -> meme templates are easy to come by and can easily be used in MS paint it gives you the illusion of having been working on the thing without actually working on the thing, making it a bit easier to keep working or to work on it again in the future

don't be afraid to completely overhaul ideas -> I've been writing the same damn book for 10 years because I've had to overhaul it three times, and I finally don't hate looking at it, writing it, or reading it sometimes you really have to toss everything except some names/settings and start fresh to make a project work with you instead of against you

I hate writing advice on this website because it'll be a list of things to get over a writer's block and then one of them will be like

"Take a break :) sometimes if you're struggling with writer's block, taking some time away from writing helps :)"

bitch I haven't been able to write anything since 2014. This is a solution to a different problem.

[pundergrad]

Guys I. I've had a revelation tonight.

All my group essay team members put their work in the google doc and I had a read through most of it. And I. I don't know the emotion that I'm feeling. It's somewhere between humour and sadness.

The revelation is that I can just. Not care so much about school, apparently.

I'm in my fourth year of uni and I wish I was as carefree as my team members seem to be. Maybe this is a class they don't mind bludging, and they're only doing it to complete course requirements. But this essay is worth 40% of our grade so I thought maybe they'd bring some kinda Big Game to the table, y'know?

The quality of half of their paragraphs was... Not what I expected of third-year uni students. One person, who I will refer to as Shakespeare, had around 30% of their work written as direct quotes, and I couldn't tell where the description of research ended and analytic thought began. Another person, henceforth Bart Simpson, has basically written the same sentence about 25 times, all in slightly different ways, extremely vague, had missed so many citations, and hadn't connected the majority of points made across their paragraphs. The introduction could have easily been written last, because the person responsible for it, hereto-forth known as Skimp, was the last to upload their sections, and there were no references in the intro, so it would have been easy to make a bunch of vague statements about what would be mentioned in the body of the essay. But no. Instead Skimp wrote an intro that contradicts many of the points made in other sections of the essay, a lot of which is not followed up on in the body, and they haven't given even a single source for the definition they were tasked with.

I swear I must have collected 30 sources for my sections, dug deep into the digital libraries for original sources wherever possible, and tried so many variations of how to arrange my statements to create the smoothest flow - which is difficult when my sections would be so far apart in the final draft, but I tried. I tried to cover a broad range of topics as concisely as possible. I at least made an effort to use synonyms.

Shakespeare said at least 4 different things were crucial to understanding the topic. I get that it's easy to reuse words when the goal is to write 1700-ish, but William. Buddy. Thesaurus.com is right there. I'm pretty sure Shakespeare didn't fill their part of the word count, they must've been about 250 words short.

Meanwhile there was Bart Simpson, beginning and ending all their paragraphs with basically the same phrase, and filling out the paragraphs with 'the studies say this... But this isn't always true' and then not providing evidence for this contradiction, all the while leaving out citations and forgetting to finish half of their sentences. They got almost 1200 words out of this technique, with maybe 13 sources in total, one of which was the textbook for the class which is. Not a primary source. And they cited the author of the textbook as a researcher for the ideas that were mentioned, instead of the three very specific theorists these ideas came from during the second week of class. There's no way that'll fly when it comes to judging the extent of our research!

Finally, after the three of us have tried checking over each other's paragraphs, making edits, desperately trying to find clarity and extra words because we're still under even after I exceeded my word count goal, Skimp rolls into the doc. By this point, Shakespeare and I have finalised our sections, and proofread/edited each others work because that's what was agreed. Bart Simpson and Skimp were meant to proofread and edit for each other. If we had time, we'd go over the whole thing and try to make it coherent.

Skimp struts into the group document and starts reading from the beginning. Keep in mind, I had to take on the role of editing and proofreading Bart Simpson's work. So as the realisation dawns on me that, when Bart Simpson reported to the professor that our group was doing Really Well and we were On Track for the Deadline - filling me with dread because I felt like I hadn't written a thing of worth - they were really saying I Don't Care If This Essay Flops, 'at least we wrote words', etc. But then.

Then Skimp starts editing from the beginning of the essay. Making edits to Shakespeare and my sections, which had been finalised. Filling up our email boxes with tens of Suggestions, instead of leaving Comments. Following up on comments that I had already made with further Suggestions that repeated what I'd commented about. My phone is buzzing every five minutes with Suggestions. Anyone who's used Google Docs knows that Suggestions clog up the body of text with incoherent blue text. I am drowning in a sea of blue Suggestions.

By now I've finished editing Bart Simpson's work for Skimp. The comments I left asking for citations are half followed up on, half ignored. I still don't know whether they edited the unfinished sentences, but a promise was made to do so. Bart Simpson has decided to collate everyone's work even though they won't be available tomorrow for final revision, so I left it up to them to fulfil their part of the editing.

Skimp finally finishes giving Suggestions on the whole essay. Despite the chat history for this group, Skimp only now realises that my and Shakespeare's sections had been finalised, and that their Suggestions probably won't be involved in the final draft. Skimp approves their own work for the final draft and sends their sections to Bart Simpson, who - if their responses I'm the group chat are anything to go by - I can only assume is fed up from my relatively excessive editing and comments, and also from the delay in the finalisation process. Bart makes a promise that they'll be at work for all of Submission Day, so the three of us will be responsible for the final product. Sure. Work is a commitment. We were behind schedule. That's a reasonable outcome. But this was coming from someone who copied a dot-pointed list from the source into the essay and forgot to cite it as a direct quote, which would have put us all at risk of plagiarism.

I haven't read the rest of Skimp's sections. Frankly, I dread the potential plagiarism charges that we'll get from directly quoting so much content. We are barely scraping the minimum word count. This essay doesn't make a lick of sense.

Maybe there's reasons for this. I don't know what my team members' lives are like. They could be Going Through It right now.

But they gave me the impression they were 100% on board, in sync, and on task for this essay. I thought I was the one falling off the horse, with how badly my executive dysfunction hit when faced with such a massive assignment. I thought I was a Science Student in a group of Social Studies Geniuses. I haven't felt this responsible for a group project since seventh grade.

I can't believe I put off two other projects for this, and got an extension for another. I'm tired.

[caitlyn-comics-honors]

Vision Statement(?)

I wrote a vision statement in class today, not sure if it’s good or not because I didn’t get feedback on it but I’ll put it here anyway. I did get to discuss what my idea was and he thought it was an interesting idea. Success! Until he asked what I wanted to do once I’m done uni and I floundered...So I’ve been told to work on that so that we can tailor my project towards the job I want....looking forward to that!

The Salem witch trials is a widely known tragedy where many men, women and children were accused of witchcraft and sentenced to death, resulting in more than 200 people being accused. This trend was carried on through fear to many other countries in Europe. Scotland is not exempt from this part of history, although many people don’t know about Scotland’s part in the witch hunting hysteria as it is a part of our history that isn’t taught. Edinburgh is a city that boasts many supernatural stories and bloody parts of history and they teach a small part of their own witch trials to tourists but the only monument to explain the history and apologise to the victims is a small “witches well”, which is easily missed if you don’t know where to look. This well does a poor job of honoring those who lost their life as it states: “some used their exceptional knowledge for evil purposes while others were misunderstood and wished their kind nothing but good.” It’s easy to understand how this monument is criticized for its historical inaccuracies. This is why many have signed a recent petition for the government to pardon, apologise and erect a national monument which truly honors those who were killed unjustly.

For my honors project, I aim to create an educational essay-style comic to highlight the campaign to a wider audience. I’m using comics as the medium in order to access a wider audience and provide a large amount of information in an accessible medium. Comics and graphic novels have been proven to be better for development than reading regular literature as it exercises both sides of the brain, one side works to understand the words and the other side works to break down images and understand them. This is why I think comics is a great medium for education and can reach a wider audience by including people who are dyslexic or are not open to reading large research papers. The target audience is anywhere between teenagers who regularly buy comics to adults in historical professions who could learn that comics can be used to inform a wider audience. 

 I’m doing this because I didn’t know about Scotland’s witch trials until I found the campaign and I believe that this is important local history that should be taught. This is local history to many people in Scotland with places like Edinburgh, St Andrews, Perth, Glasgow and even Orkney being areas where people were put on trial and sentenced to death for something that was not true. This is local history locals have never been taught about. It’s important that we work to correct history and learn from the mistakes made in the past. We can’t change what happened to these victims but we can, at the very least, apologise for what was done to them and make sure that they are remembered.

[inthesummerswelter]

Michael Clifford goes to uni with a mountain of advice on what to expect.

None of it, it seems, turns out to actually be true.

University was supposed to be the best time of his life. Or, that’s what everybody told him, citing all the enlightening courses he would take, the raging parties he would attend, the rampant feeling of indestructible freedom he would exult in.

They failed to mention how he would be waiting in the laundry room at three in the morning because all his clothes were frankly beyond stale-smelling and starting to offend his roommates. They failed to mention that all the dryers would subsequently be filled with like, five loads of pink lacy things during his quick run to the minimart for a midnight snack to tide him over until next morning’s breakfast. They failed to mention how fucking long it takes for like, five loads of pink lacy things to actually run through a drying cycle.

Michael Clifford sits in the basement of his dormitory, a pile of dripping laundry beside him in a plastic basket with one of the handles broken, trying desperately to not fall asleep. It smells like dampness and mold and copious detergent spills.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs along his neck, checking to see if there’s any excess dye from his escapades earlier with a bottle of purple he'd picked up on a whim last Thursday. There is, of course, and he wipes his palm along his denims.

Except he's forgotten that he's not wearing his black denims because they're all stacked up beside him. He's just wiped a streak of dark purple all down the leg of his last clean pair of pajama bottoms.

"Fuck me," he says, grumbling and rummaging among his laundry things for one of those fucking stain sticks that Calum always bugged him about getting whenever they went to the shops together. His fingers snag it but, as he's trying to extricate it from the tangle of wet, black fabrics, it slips out and rolls under one of the dryers that's still chugging along.

"Oh, fuck me."

He's so exhausted, but Michael knows from past experience that the stain will set if he doesn't treat it soon.

So, he gets down on hands and knees and just as soon as he's gotten his whole arm shoved under the dryer, fingers searching the dusty cement for the stick, and his face pressed up against the glass front of the dryer, there's clattering footsteps coming down the stairs.

"God, you fucking perv!"

What?

It takes him a second to determine that it's him that the shrieking voice is addressing, mostly due to sleep deprivation and the fact that one ear is filled with the tumbling thunder of the machine.

"What?" He didn't say he understood why he was being addressed. Through his one available eye - the one not stuck up against the glass pane showing all the pink lacy things - he can see a flurry of long limbs flying towards him and instinctively throws himself away from the dryer.

A girl stands before him in a floppy set of sweats, arms crossed and arms furious. “You think it’s cool to drool all over a dryer with my knickers in it, huh? Think you’re smart or something, perv?”

Immediately he puts his hands up defensively. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, no! I dropped something under the dryer and I was just trying to reach it. Jesus!”

Grumbling under her breath, she whips through the laundry room towards the row of dryers and, in one economical movement that defies the laws of physics, manages to pile all five loads of pink lacy things into a basket, and leaves in a hurricane.

                                                          +

When they told him about university, there was a lot more emphasis on the amazing things he would learn and less on the amount of time it would take for him to learn them. A lot more emphasis on renewed perspectives and a lot less on how long it would take sitting at a table in the university library reading things dead people wrote over seventy years ago to actually understand why his perspectives needed renewing in the first place.

They also neglected to mention how much of a maze the university library was and how all of the easily-accessible tables were always taken ridiculously early in the evening.

Michael Clifford sighs as he pushes himself through the gaps between the shelves, turning his body sideways so he can get back to his table as quickly as possible and still have some time to complete his coursework before today turned into tomorrow.

Of course, as he’s making the final turn at an insane angle in a narrow passage that makes it impossible to see around the other side because this is university and why would anything as simple as walking back to his table be easy for chrissakes, he bumps into another body.

Well, bumps really isn’t the right word. Crashes is more accurate. Vaguely, his mind catalogs the sensations as he begins to fall backwards from the collision: long hair whispering along the side of his neck, sharp pain in his chest from the edges of textbooks, the condensation coating the outside of a water bottle soaking into his shirt.

“Shit!” The word explodes from his mouth as he bumpers off the shelves behind him, thankfully not knocking any books off the shelves.

He’s immediately chastised by a harsh whisper.

“Will you keep it down? We’re in a library, genius.”

Snarking back automatically, Michael says, “Oh, really? I thought this was a zoo.”

“Well, it might be,” the girl on the ground replies, giving a pointed look at his hair as she readjusts her glasses.

It’s the pink lacy girl, this time dressed in an entirely different set of baggy sweats, not a speck of pink or lacy anything on her.

Fuck this, fuck his history of religion paper on transcendentalism in 19th century America. What did those dead people know anyway?

“I don’t need to put up with this shit, thanks,” he says as he picks up his books from the floor and heads out the door.

He’s going to go take a nap.

                                                          +

When they told him about the textbooks that he would have, they expressed how miraculous they would be, how every page he turned would bombard his brain with information he couldn’t live without now.

They failed to mention how much each of those pages cost. After his trip to the bookstore at the beginning of term, one would have thought that each book was bound in genuine Italian leather and illuminated in gold leaf by an isolated sect of monks who only work once every eight days and take three month-long holidays each year.

Which is why, two days later when he actually goes about writing the essay on transcendentalism in 19th century America because he really doesn’t want to flunk out of uni and have to head back to the Southern hemisphere, he’s having a mild panic attack.

His book is gone, his history text that cost him more than two weeks’ worth of wages at his part-time job, and in its place is a pro-fem book detailing the struggles of minority women after the end of the Civil Rights Movement.

It’s actually quite intriguing, and he finds himself reading through the introduction before he remembers to look in the inside cover for a name.

Michael Clifford finds what he’s looking for in blocky script written with a hunter green gel pen: Tal Harrison.

To his horror, he searches her name in the student directory and finds that she lives in his hall, on his floor. The other end of the hall, granted, which is like over fifteen doors down, but still. On his floor.

His horror mounts as another realization strikes him. If he has her book, then she must have his.

The thought of more confrontation with the pink lacy girl makes him a touch queasy. Not as queasy as shifting the majority of the food-money in his monthly budget over to paying for another copy of this book, though.

Mustering up his nerve, he takes one last look at her room number before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing her textbook. He shuffles down the hallway, counting the doorways under his breath.

He needs to know exactly how far away from him she is so he can forevermore maintain that distance at all costs.

Stopping in thirteen doors later, Michael bites nervously at his lip before bringing his hand up to knock at the door. Three knocks, then a pause.

Which stretches out obscenely long.

He knocks again, three more times. Another pause.

Goddamn, he really needs his book back, especially considering he’s fallen into another fit of procrastination and left off the essay until tonight, even though it’s due tomorrow morning at the beginning of lecture.

Michael is just about to knock again when the door to his left opens up and a head pokes out of the frame.

“They’re never in this early, so I would suggest you stop knocking and leave. Some of us are trying to study, y’know.”

It’s the girl. The pink lacy girl. The girl that has his book.

Tal Harrison.

He starts to talk, to try and defend himself and also to ignore the fact that he failed to correctly count to fifteen, when her eyes widen, gaze dropping down to the cover of the textbook he’s still got in his hand.

“Hey,” she says, “You’re the asshole who took my book in the library! And the asshole perving in the laundry room!”

“Excuse me, I’m the asshole trying to return your book right now, thanks. And I was not perving in the laundry, Christ! I was waiting for a dryer to open up because you had filled up every single one with your shit.”

To his surprise, Tal – he figures he better start actually using her proper name now – colors, cheeks pinking up just a few shades lighter than her pink lacy things.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I…mis-prioritised. Left the wash until I ran out of everything.”

“Is that even a word?” The question is out before he can catch it, and his face flushes, realizing exactly how rude he probably sounded, especially after she had apologized.

“Nope.” She pops the p, motioning him over to her doorway. “Here, I must have your book then, right? If you have mine, we must have switched them accidentally.”

Her room is nothing like what he had expected. Although, granted, his only expectations – bare walls with a magenta punching bag in the corner – stemmed from aggressive encounters with a girl who wears loose sweats and pink lacy things.

Instead, there’s only a minimal amount of painted brick walls exposed. The rest are covered with whiteboards, which themselves flash in a rainbow of dry-erase markers detailing out complicated-looking diagrams and equations with too many foreign symbols for him to understand.

There is a neat, patterned bedspread in shades of dark blues and purples as well, along with a full bookcase and well-organized desk crammed into the rest of the space in the small single.

“Here,” Tal says, locating and extracting his history book easily from one of the stacked piles at the corner of her desk. “That’s yours, right?”

He takes it from her absentmindedly, eyes still overwhelmed by the formulas on all the whiteboards. Michael honestly thought Luke was the only one crazy enough to be into all that maths shit.

“Physics.” She plays with the pencil behind her ear and readjusts her glasses. “I’m Physics and Gender Studies. Joint degree.”

“That’s…” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Totally weird, I know, it’s difficult to explain --”

“I was gonna say that it’s really impressive. Like, really impressive.”

She pinks again, looking pleased. “Oh. Oh, thanks. What’s yours? I’m Tal Harrison, by the way.”

Now he’s the embarrassed one. “History, just history. And I’m Michael, Michael Clifford.”

                                                          +

Someone is being killed down the hall. If there’s any way to judge by the noises, Michael would suppose that whatever the method of homicide is, it’s not a clean one.

There’s another piercing scream that cuts through the guitar solo blasted through his ears.

They didn’t mention anything about mass murder in when they told him about living at uni.

Okay, hell, they really didn’t tell him anything actually applicable to life at a university in general, so he’s just going to stop mentioning it at this point.

Five more seconds of shrieking later, and he gets up in a huff, pulling on a jumper over top his boxer shorts and puts on his slippers again. Trekking out into the hall only amplifies the noise as it bounces down the narrow passage and back up.

After some investigation, Michael finds that the sounds take him to the door to the women’s washroom.

Fuck.

One lengthy internal debate later, he tamps down the urge to walk away and turn the volume back up on his headphones. The screaming has intermingled with sobbing now, so he grits his teeth and slowly pushes the door open.

In hindsight, knocking first may have been a good idea.

The door to one of the shower stalls has become inexplicably unlocked and now sways inwards. The contents of a shower caddy are dumped across the floor, shampoo bottles and those weird poofy things that his mom keeps in their bath strewn and rolling around on the slick tile.

Tal is in there, water turned off with the world’s tiniest towel preventing him from getting an eyeful, body quivering and legs knocking.

She’s staring, petrified at the drain in the center of the shower, shallowly breathing.

He clears his throat. “Um, Tal?”

Head snapping up, her eyes widen. “Michael, thank God. Help me, um, please?”

She gestures down to the drain, motioning to the thing he previously thought was just a clump of hair in stuck in the metal grate.

“Holy hell.”

There’s a big-ass spider down there, sitting on top of the drain. He stares at the big-ass spider. The big-ass spider stares back at him and twitches its legs threateningly.

Tal shifts nervously. “Michael?”

He and the big-ass spider exchange glances once more. The eight beady eyes only serve to harden his resolve. “Okay, you’re gonna have to jump over here. I’m not getting any closer to that.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah,” he says, motioning to the little bench where the plastic shower caddy once sat. “Just, like, step up there and jump across to me and I’ll catch you. No worries.”

She wavers, indecision showing as her eyebrows furrow. “But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you.” He sounds much more confident than he actually is. He hasn’t worked out in a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure that chicken-boy Luke could bench more than him at this point.

But, when she does jump, she does slip. Everything slows down to half time, and he can only watch, arms outstretched to catch her, horrified as she throws her hands out to break her fall. The world’s tiniest towel drops to the ground just as she crosses the last bit of the gap between them and lunges into his chest.

Boobs. Boobs pressed against him.

Michael takes a long, hard look at the ceiling tile and contemplates his grandmother’s undergarment choices and the last time he found Calum in their room dancing suggestively around to the newest emasculating pop song.

He tries to ignore the sensation of her wet hair dripping on his collarbone as she shakes, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I touched it with my foot, I touched it, oh my God.”

“Tal,” he starts after she’s beginning to calm down. “Tal, um, I’m going to let go of you now and close my eyes so you can get your towel, okay.”

“Okay.”

She’s not brave enough to get anything else besides her room key and robe, and, honestly, Michael’s not either. So, they end up in his room, her in his borrowed shirt and sleep trousers – the one with the purple stripe down the leg because he didn’t end up getting to it in time after all – perched on the edge of his desk chair while he sits on his bed and makes them a cup of fortifying coffee.

They end up talking until three in the morning, even though they’ve both got early lectures the next day.

                                                          +

Okay, he lied. They did tell him one thing about uni that seems to be marginally true.

There is, often as not, a greater chance of finding really good mates at university. Some of those friendships might happen after traumatic incidents because, hey, sometimes, near-death experiences with spiders in bathrooms really bring people together.

Some of those people might be certain particular girls. Those particular girls might live on his floor.

Those particular girls might be named Tal Harrison and smell nice and are the optimum combination of really fucking smart and really fucking cute.  

Michael Clifford might have a little bit of a crush.

Tal ends up routinely saving him a spot at her reserved table in the library when he wakes up late from his afternoon nap. In return, he supplies the coffee and the occasional apple that he manages to steal from Calum’s hoard of assorted fruit.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. “Make yourself at home.”

Silently, he presents the traditional offering of coffee and fruit and they settle down to their work, her on more physics coursework and him on a mountain of history readings he needed to complete by yesterday.

He can’t keep quiet for long though, as he’s distracted by the question that’s been burning on his mind for weeks. It finally bursts out.

“Why were you so mean to me when we first met?”

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as she continues to copy down notes from her book. “Well, you were in a compromising position. You were kind of a dick. And kind of cute. So, I got flustered.”

Michael blinks. Cute?

“Also, you really did look like you were perving on my knicks so I was totally justified there.”

“You’re cute.”

Oh God, he said that out loud.

She pulls her head up to look at him for a long moment, before her eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

So, when he takes her hand later as he finishes his reading and she works through the rest of her notes, it isn’t weird at all.

This is the one thing he’s going to write home about.

[peaceisadirtyword]

Shared (Modern!Ragnarssons/Reader)

A/N: Remember that writer’s block? I think it’s better now, but I'm still not able to finish the fourth part of Crush, so I followed some advices and wrote something else. I can’t promise it’s good because it’s not, but I was feeling down, I started writing and, well, here it is. I would love to write more parts some day, but only if you like it. I hope you like it though♥️

Warnings: smut, lots of smut, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, spanking, threesome... I’m going to hell. Also polyamorous relationship. And please remember I'm not very good writing smut😅

Words: 3222 

gifs belong to @ivaraddict and @honestsycrets♥️

This part is mainly Ivar/Reader/Hvitserk, if you want another part with more Ubbe, tell me💜

You sighed in boredom, looking at the screen and wishing the storm outside would make the lights go off and turn off the tv. 

When you agreed to spend your week of holidays at the Lothbrok's house, you expected an exciting week, not laying on the couch and eating pizza as the three brothers focused on the television. Apparently, there was an important football match and their favorite team was playing. At first, you agreed to watch it with them (though now you wished you were curled up in Ivar's bed reading one of his books). They liked football, and you were more than willing to make them happy by letting them share those things with you. At first, Hvitserk let you sit on his lap, and explained to you the details of the game in your ear, which was enough to make you interested for the first twenty minutes, until the pizza arrived and he abandoned you for a few slices of food. 

Actually, you enjoyed watching the match, but you would enjoy more the attention of the three brothers that now cursed and yelled in danish sometimes, startling you. 

You were even wearing a new set of lingerie that Ivar bought for you the week before. It was red, his favorite color, and you had planned to use it to thank him for helping you to write an essay. 

Sighing again, you looked at Ubbe. While Ivar and Hvitserk could be a bit careless, Ubbe was like the perfect boyfriend who was always there for you, comforting you when you needed it, picking you up from uni when it was too late for you to go home by yourself, always asking if you needed something, if you were okay, if you had enough food for the week... He always paid attention to you, but that night he seemed too focused on the football, like his brothers. 

Putting away the blanket, you stood up, glancing at Hvitserk one last time. He had promised he would fuck you senseless that night when you had arrived, whispering into your ear as he caressed your ass. 

"I'm going to bed" you announce softly. 

Ubbe and Hvitserk nodded, not even looking at you. 

Ivar turned his head and his blue eyes bored into yours. You knew what that meant. 

Go to mine. 

It had been your first option, to be honest. You just loved Ivar's room, with his king sized bed, dark sheets and comfortable mattress, a full bookshelf, which he always renewed so you could read as many of his books as you wanted. It was your favorite bedroom ever. 

And probably that meant that he wanted to join you later. 

A bit more excited, you made your way into Ivar's room. Each brother had a huge room with a private bathroom inside. You had the privilege of having free access to all of them, well except Sigurd's one, empty now that he moved out with his girlfriend. 

Yawning tiredly, you climbed into the bed, after picking up a book from the shelf. The sheets and pillow smelled like Ivar, which made hard for you to focus on the book. 

After ten minutes, you gave up and left the book on the bedside table, pushing your head into the pillow and closing your eyes as you inhaled the smell. The pressure between your legs had been there since you stepped into the house that evening, and since no one seemed interested in taking care of it, you would have to do it yourself. 

Your hand softly caressed your body. You were glad you decided to wear your favorite summer pajamas, because the temperature in the room and under the thick duvet was making you sweat already. 

It didn't feel the same now. Before you met the brothers, you used to masturbate all the time, thinking no one could pleasure you as good as yourself, but they managed to prove you wrong, and now it didn't matter what you did all by yourself in the darkness of your room, it wasn't enough. 

When your fingers found your clit, you bit your lip to suppress a moan. You had forgotten to close the door and they could hear you easily... And if Ivar caught you fingering yourself on his bed without his permission... Well, you'd be in trouble. 

A small moan escaped your lips when you pushed two of your fingers into your dripping sex, closing your eyes as you imagined Ivar punishing you. His last punishment lasted a whole night, in which he made you cum six times until you begged him to stop, just to pass out a minute after that. 

"Oh my god" you moaned, louder than you intended. Immediately, you covered your mouth. You tried not to be so fucking loud, but you just couldn't. 

But your hands stopped moving and you opened your eyes, startled, when you heard someone clearing his throat on the door. 

Ivar. 

Gulping, you put your hand away, sitting up on the bed and looking at the door. Ivar was standing there, leaning into his crutch. 

"What are you doing, little one?" he asked, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk. His eyes were dark with lust and that was enough to press your thighs together again. 

"Nothing, Ivar" you blinked, trying to look innocent and "Just trying to sleep"

"Yeah" he raised his eyebrow, he didn't like it when you lied, and you knew that "Who gave you permission to finger yourself, Y/N?" 

You looked away, trying to hide the excitement of hearing that low voice, the one that announced that you would have problems walking the next day. 

"I didn't have permission" you admitted, biting your lip and looking at Ivar through your eyelashes as he approached the bed.

"And why did you do it?" 

"Because you were busy"

His expression softened, and he pressed his lips together, nodding. 

"You're right, we haven't taken care of you properly tonight" he sighed "I understand you needed it, but you know the rules, kitten" he tilted his head, and you bit your lip.

Ivar was the only one who could truly punish you. Ubbe was too caring, and too afraid of pushing your limits and hurt you, and Hvitserk was too impatient to tease you like that. Ivar seemed to know your own body and mind more than you. 

"Yes Ivar" you tried to hold back a smile, but he knew you too well. 

"You're not supposed to enjoy it" he raised an eyebrow. 

"I don't" you promised, smiling softly when he leaned into you to kiss your lips. You kissed him back hungrily, pulling him closer yo you until he throw away his crutch and climbed onto the bed with you. 

"What about the match?" You asked, gasping when his lips travelled down your neck.

"I don't fucking care about the match" he groaned.

You moaned as his hands roamed over your body, pulling at the shirt of your pajamas until you stopped him to take it off before he'd rip it apart. 

His smirk widened when he saw your red lace bra, and you could swear his eyes were darker in an instant. 

"Are you wearing this for me, kitten?" He whispered into your ear, his fingertips softly caressing your breasts. 

The punishment was being too soft for your liking. It was more an apology than a punishment, and though you loved soft Ivar, you needed something else. 

"No, actually" you smirked, looking at him on the eyes "It was for Hvitserk, but he's too busy" you pouted, pretending to be disappointed "I'm glad you like it too, though"

Ivar's smirk disappeared, and he grunted before turning you around roughly, making you lie upside down and pressing his muscular chest against your back.

"You're pushing your luck, kitten, and you don't want to angry me, do you?"

You didn't answer, too busy trying to press your ass against his already hard member. 

Ivar growled, and soon your pajama shorts joined your shirt on the floor. 

The red thong that matched the bra made your ass look bigger, and you actually felt sexy and confident wearing it. 

Ivar moaned softly against your shoulder and his fingers traced the end of your back and the curve of your ass. Moaning again, you arched your back, reaching back to caress his hair as his lips kissed your neck again. You were sure you'd have a mark the next day. 

Ivar took your wrists roughly, pressing them together over your head. 

"You don't deserve to touch for now, kitten" he bit your earlobe "Punishment, remember?"

You moaned softly in protest, but didn't fight as he gripped your wrists together. 

Ivar didn't waste any time to put aside your underwear, his fingers finding your clit easily and pressing onto it. He moved his hands to caress between your folds.

"It's not Hvitserk who made you this wet, is it?" He growled. 

It didn't matter how you moved your hips, trying to end his constant teasing, Ivar didn't push his fingers into you, and continued pressing on your clit. 

"Ivar" you whined, moving your hips against his "Ivar please" 

"What?" He was smirking. Of course he was smirking "Tell me, what do you want?"

"Please, your fingers..." You moaned when he pushed one of his fingers inside you, immediately taking it out "Fuck, Ivar!" You frowned. 

"Yes?" He bit on your neck, and left you trembling under him. 

"Fuck me" you begged "With your fingers" 

"I don't know if you deserve that yet" 

"Please, Iva..."

He pushed your fingers into you, hitting that exact spot that made you almost scream, pushing your face into the pillow.

Ivar was an expert with his fingers, he managed to make you scream with only two fingers, he knew exactly how to curl them to hit that spot... 

You noticed that familiar warmth building up on your lower belly, and your body tensed, readying itself for the intense orgasm. 

But Ivar noticed. He always knew, even before your walls started clenching around his fingers, he knew. Your moans were louder and you moved faster. He added another finger, which made you scream his name. 

But then he just put his hand away. 

"Ivar!" You protested, your legs trembling. 

"You don't deserve to cum" he grunted, his fingers caressing your ass, spreading your juices all over your skin "You haven't been a good girl tonight, kitten"

You knew what was going to happen when he put his hand away from your ass. 

The first one didn't hurt. Ivar pushed your limits, and though he was rough, he would never hurt you. When he spanked you, he did it because he knew what it did to you, and he loved to see your soft skin reddened. 

You moaned again, and again, every time his hand collided with your ass, it sent a wave of pleasure directly to your core. 

"Have you learnt your lesson?" He whispered softly, now caressing your flushed and hot skin. 

"Yes, Ivar" you muttered, closing your eyes at the feeling of his lips against your cheek. 

But I'll do it again tomorrow. 

"Good girl" he smirked, knowing it wouldn't be the last time. "I suppose you deserve to cum now... But not on my fingers"

You bit your lip and moved your hips in anticipation as he turned you around again, making you face him. You tugged at his t-shirt until he took it off, and leaned in to bit your lip roughly. 

He pushed his trousers down to the middle of his thighs, just breaking the kiss to reach his bedside table and take out a condom from the drawer. 

You didn't waste any more time, pawing eagerly to touch his hardened cock. 

"Fuck, Y/N" he moaned, pressing his head into the crook of your neck as you took his cock in your hand, moving it up and down, when he raised his head, he saw you, looking at him with swollen lips and doe eyes "Stop or I'll cum now" he grunted, pushing your hand away before taking out the condom and putting it on. 

He pressed the head of his member against your wet entrance, pressing his forehead against yours and pushing his hips into yours and smirking when he saw your facial expression, your parting lips and your closed eyes. 

"You're so fucking sexy, kitten" he moaned against your lips "And you take my cock so well... Fuck you're so wet and tight, you'll be the death of me woman" he growled, moving his hips even faster. 

You moaned his name, loud and clear, and Ivar rewarded you with an extra-hard thrust.

It wasn't long until you came, screaming Ivar's name, your walls clenching around his cock and your legs around his waist. Your nails scratching his bare back. 

Ivar cursed and groaned before his thrusts became sloppy and he moaned your name, coming just after you. 

Your lips joined in another kiss, this time slower and softer. 

"You're amazing" he whispered, kissing your cheek before laying down on his back, by your side. 

When Ivar's body rolled off you, you gasped, startled while seeing someone on the doorstep, watching you with a small smile.

"It looks like you're having a good time" 

"Hvitserk" you whined "You scared me"

Hvitserk smiled, approaching the bed quickly. Ivar looked at his older brother with an eyebrow raised. 

"Wow, princess, you look beautiful" Hvitserk licked his lips, looking at your body, only covered by your underwear that Ivar hadn't bothered to take off. 

You smiled widely and kneeled on the bed, leaning in to hug him and kiss his lips softly.

"Thank you" you smiled "Ivar bought it for me"

"Good choice, brother" his hands roamed over your body "Did Ivar let you too tired, princess? Or can you take one more?" He asked, muttering into your ear while his hands caressed your waist. 

"Ivar only let me cum once" you pouted, feeling Ivar's glare.

Hvitserk frowned, looking at his little brother, who was laying down with his hands under his head. 

"It was her punishment" he shrugged "I found her touching herself in my bed"

Hvitserk chuckled. 

"It didn't sound like a punishment, to be honest, but I'm sure she deserves a reward, doesn't she?" 

"She does" Ivar agreed and you smiled widely at him "Do your best, brother"

Hvitserk's eyes darkened and his playful smile turned to a darker one. You were already shaking in excitement and anticipation, wet and ready. 

Hvitserk pushed you back to the mattress, taking his shirt off and kicking his pants and boxers down. 

"I love this new set, love, but I prefer to see all of you" he softly took off your thong, and you sit up a bit to take off your bra, exposing your breasts. 

You heard Ivar next to you, cursing in danish. His hand took his member, which was already hard.

Hvitserk hummed, smirking as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss. You knew what he was going to do when he started kissing down your neck and collarbone, between your breasts and down your belly and stopped just before your dripping sex. He caressed your thighs and pressed his lips just next to your clit, making you gasp and gulp in excitement.

When his lips touched your clit, you moaned loudly, closing your eyes and throwing your head back. Your hands found Hvitserk's hair and you moved your hips against his mouth, moaning. He smirked against your sex and put a hand over your hips to make you stay still. 

You felt Ivar approaching you, and suddenly his mouth was on your right breast, while his hand covered your left one. He took your hardened nipple between his teeth, and you hissed and moaned even louder. 

The brothers chuckled, enjoying the sounds you made. 

While Ivar could make you scream only with his fingers Hvitserk could send you to heaven and back with his skilled tongue. 

And you were lucky enough to enjoy both of them. 

You came again on Hvitserk's mouth, and he licked you clean until you moved away from his tongue, too sensitive. 

"On your hands and knees" Ivar whispered "Come on, kitten"

You obeyed, and Hvitserk caressed the curve of your ass as you positioned yourself, feeling the head of his cock pressing into your sex. 

Ivar was just in front of you, pushing your hair out of your face and kissing your lips softly. But he broke the kiss just before Hvitserk thrusted into you. 

"Hvitserk" he scoffed, leaning to his side to grab another condom from his bedside table. 

You were on the pill, but both Ubbe and Ivar always insisted on using condom, just in case. Hvitserk, though, wasn't that careful, and you often forgot, so you both had a few tense days whenever your period was late. 

Hvitserk sighed, opening the package and putting the condom on. Ivar watched his movements as he thrusted into you, and his eyes flicked to your face when he heard you little moan, that one which almost made him cum for the second time. 

Hvitserk moaned and gripped your waist, but you didn't have much time to moan his name, as Ivar softly cupped your face and guided you to his member. Your mouth watered when you saw his hardened cock just before you. 

You took it with one hand, softly massaging it and liking your lips before kissing the head of his cock softly, then licking all his length and finally taking it in your mouth, trying to relax your throat to take all you could. Ivar hissed and his hand tangled into your head, pushing your head down. 

"Fuck kitten" you heard him, and moaned, clenching your walls around Hvitserk. He hissed and gripped your hips tighter. 

When you came for the third time that night, you dragged both of them with you. Hvitserk moaned your name and Ivar sighed, throwing his head back and cursing in danish. 

You lied down, moaning tiredly when Hvitserk kissed your back softly. 

"You did so well, kitten" Ivar kissed your forehead, letting you rest your head onto the pillow. 

"Hvitserk" Ubbe was on the doorstep, smiling softly "Come on, go to sleep and let her rest, she sleeps with Ivar tonight"

Ubbe had taken you to two dates that week, and Hvitserk picked you up from work a few times, you only spent a couple of hours with Ivar, and you missed him. 

You covered yourself with the duvet, yawning.

"Ivar let her sleep, okay?" Ubbe smiled softly to his little brother and approached the bed, kissing your cheek lovingly "Wake me up tomorrow and I'll make pancakes for breakfast, okay?"

You smiled back at him, while Hvitserk winked at you from the door.

"See you tomorrow princess"

When Ubbe closed the door behind him, Ivar lied down next to you, and took you into his arms. You weren't used to his soft side, the side that cuddled you to sleep. 

"Get some sleep" he muttered, caressing your hair softly. You closed your eyes, smiling softly. 

Just before you fell asleep, you could swear he whispered something else. 

"I love you, kitten"

It seemed that the holidays were starting well. 

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @anarchy-is-coming @gruffle1 @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @sallylebecks @hellogabysblog @trashcanx @winchesterwife27 

Sorry if I forgot someone!😰 if I did please tell me.

I hope you liked it💕 part 2 with a bit of Ubbe and breakfast?😈

[thewriterslament]

how to write that 17-page essay that’s high-key giving you anxiety

so it’s 4am and you’ve had three cups of coffee but you’ve only written two sentences. you look at the prompt and find it has ceased to make sense. “how the fuck am i gonna turn this into a 17-page paper” you ask. 

never fear! your friendly neighborhood college fuckup is here with an answer. buckle down and get another cup of coffee; you’re in this for the long haul. (literally. this post got long because i’m apparently incapable of writing short posts, but i also pulled a 3.9 cGPA using this method so i’d say it’s worth the read.)

first, a cheat: email your professor and ask if you can use subheaders. subheaders eliminate the need for smooth transitions between portions of your argument and also create a ton of white space, which can help you reach page count. 

second, a tip: don’t be afraid to meet with your prof. this essay probably isn’t a take-home exam; it’s likely that your prof set this paper to give you a chance to learn and write about something you enjoy. shoot your prof an email saying “hey, this is what i’m thinking, this is what i’m struggling with, can i meet with you to talk it out?” 9 times out of 10, your prof will say yes. if they say no, talk to another prof in the same discipline. otherwise talk to your uni writing center or a friend of yours. worse come to worst, shoot me a message.

what you’re gonna do now is outline the fuck out of your paper to procrastinate actually writing it. 

step 1: take apart the prompt. it’ll be asking for a few different things; mark these things with different cues: brackets, underlining, different colored pens, whatever. this structures your response.

if you don’t know your thesis yet, that’s fine! let it develop naturally as you conduct your research and plan your argument. you can change it as you go - that’s the point of researching the topic. no one will know what your first draft thesis was.

step 2: look at the dismembered prompt. write bullets with brief explanations for how you’ll attack each part of the prompt. these can be detailed or as vague as “look up that one reading and use it as a counter argument.” then figure out the best way to organize the bullets. if nothing makes sense, that’s fine too. you can write each chunk of your argument and structure it later.

these bullets make good subheaders. js.

step 3: under each bullet from step 2, list out what info and evidence you need for that aspect of your argument. don’t worry about details yet; focus on structure. write these bullets as though you’re talking to a friend about what your argument is and why is works. let it be stupid. let it be simple. say shit like “freud was a bitch and i can prove it.” 

step 4: now that you have a rough draft of your outline, go back and fill in the details. remember, you’re still outlining! you’re basically redoing step 3 with the bullets you made in step 3. this is the part where i take the most time and put in the most effort.

i tend to reach page/word count easily if my outline is half the length the paper needs to be, so i keep outlining until i reach that point. this ratio might be different for you. if you can figure out your ratio, it can tell you if you need to look for more info or if you’re good to go.

make a note of what you’re citing but don’t worry about actual citations. i like using gdocs because you can easily paste a link to your source in a comment. this way, the sources don’t clutter up your doc or artificially inflate your page or word count.

be silly! be stupid! use swear words and memes and internet lingo. you’re just outlining right now; you don’t need to sound smart and professional. you should be focusing on what you want to say, not how to say it.

by the end of this process, my outline is basically my paper in bulletpoint format, without any fancy jargon or quotes or cited evidence, and usually not in complete sentences. i’ve essentially tricked myself into writing my paper by saying “i’m just outlining, it doesn’t really matter.” it’s also less daunting to write the rest of the paper when you know you already have 9 pages done instead of 0.

step 5: write the damn thing! open a fresh doc for your paper and view it side-by-side with your outline. now you get to make your bullets sound pretentious and academic. insert quotes and other evidence. turn “freud was a bitch” into “freud knowingly perpetuated several falsehoods for the sake of his personal gain, thereby undoing decades of progress in the field of psychology.” 

don’t worry about citations right now, though! do what you did in your outline and insert the citations as comments at the points where they need to be. creating citations will interrupt your flow.

step 6: once your paper is done, go back and add citations! this can take up to an hour depending on how many sources you have, so budget your time appropriately. 

holy shit! you just wrote a whole damn paper! i’m proud of you, buddy. go buy yourself a milkshake and take a nap. 

[serenagaywaterford]

I am reading up on Phyllis Schlafly, really infuriating stuff. Definitely seeing a lot of her in Serena (on the show only), right down to even her looks... so I can see why people hate her so much. I don’t know without Yvonne’s nuanced performance, I would’ve had much sympathy and empathy. Or maybe I am just a slut for Yvonne. Oh well... Btw, any interest in Mrs America? It’s got a great cast, although for some reason, I get a sense you aren’t a big Cate fan? Or I got it all wrong?

Well, Schlafly was one of the prominent anti-feminists Atwood based Serena Joy off of so it’s only natural to see the similarities! (The other was Tammy Fay Baker. Amongst, I’m sure, many other women of that ilk during the time period Atwood was writing.) They did strip basically the entire Tammy Fay aspect of Serena out of the TV!Serena. (Which is a shame in some ways, but sort of understandable in others. Book!Serena was a lot to translate, and yet strangely less developed somehow than the show version. Or am I crazy?) I have read some of these women’s essays and such, originally not voluntarily lol but part of a feminism course at uni and the prof thought it was absolutely necessary to read the other wide’s views in order to understand the entire scope of the issues. 

I think it’s pretty much majority opinion that without Yvonne’s specific acting choices and skill (and I suppose–let’s admit the director’s get some credit too lol) for bringing Serena to the screen, most of us wouldn’t find the character so fascinating. And I am not going to pretend to even lie, her looks help too. ;)

Of course I’m interested in Mrs. America. The content of this series is exactly up my alley. I love shit like this. And I have a gross little fascination with cults/terrible social movements and terrible conservative women and why they are so fucking awful lol. (Which leads into my slight preoccupation about how to change their minds so they can be feminists too. So many of them are intelligent, driven women who… my God. If they just could break that patriarchal bullshit mindset… Although admittedly, some seem to be just plain horrible to their bones. And I’ll admit it’s more appealing in fiction, than reality cos in real life people don’t change as easily or dramatically.) 

I’ll tell everyone here a little secret:

I know I probably give off a different vibe lol, but I don’t choose TV shows to watch based on who the actors are. (Subjective opinion time: If I did, I probably wouldn’t have watched THT cos I don’t like Fiennes, Bledel, or Moss all that much. Well, Moss as an actor has grown on me in time, lbr. Fiennes has always bothered me, so he’s perfect for Fred then lol but I still don’t think he’s an excellent actor, and Bledel is such a one-note actor imo. I know, sacrilege. Throw me to the lions, or whatever. Which is why I was pleasantly surprised by some of her scenes in THT, and not shocked when she didn’t deliver in other ones. And, I will fully admit, I didn’t care who the fuck Yvonne Strahovski was prior to her becoming Serena. I’d seen her in Dexter and she never really left an impression. So, based on casting alone, THT would not have been something I particularly cared about. Ann Dowd is about the only actor in THT that I had positive thoughts about cos she is stellar and always is, but she is hardly a main character in THT lol.) 

So, disliking an actor isn’t really an issue unless I particularly loathe one and know I wouldn’t be able to stand watching them under any circumstances. (This is rare.) Yes, sometimes I’ll give something a shot I otherwise wouldn’t cos I love a specific actor in it, but that doesn’t mean I will stick with it even if it sucks or say it’s great when it’s clearly not. I’m not one of those completists that must watch everything a certain person has been in. (Not anymore, anyway lol. When I had time and money in my youth, that was a different story. You bet I watched everything I could that had Natalie Portman, Laura Linney, Olivia Wilde, or Amy Adams in it lol.)

About Cate Blanchett. Um. I don’t dislike her? I actually enjoy her work as an actor… mostly, from what I’ve seen. (I very much disliked Carol, which is perhaps where you’re getting my dislike of her from? I thought it was a slow, boring, underwhelming movie. And I hated the age gap. But that’s not Cate’s fault. I also dislike Rooney Mara…so, yeah.) 

I’ve watched quite a few other films with Blanchett. Some were great, some sucked. As most actors have in their filmography. I adamantly don’t follow the tumblr/twitter lesbian trend of mooning over Cate because I am firmly and obstinately opposed to stanning straight people as “lesbian icons uwu” or “honorary lesbians” (See also: Hozier, Taylor Swift, Rachel Weisz, Harry Styles, etc etc.). I hate it (esp when it’s straight MEN) and I will not join in, even if they are outspoken activists for gay rights. Which none of them are. That just makes them a decent person, not a gay icon/honorary gay.

“Rather, I mention it as a reminder to myself, and to you, of an unfortunate yet undeniable fact: Heterosexuality is an overwhelmingly common trait for our so-called gay icons.

Celebrity fandom is really just a bizarro reflection of ourselves: who we are, what we value, who we want to be, and, sometimes, who we want to fuck. Our faves are us, basically, just in that creepy sexy lady Snapchat filter. And as fans, we invest in the celebrities we love. We help their interview clips go viral; we see their movies in theaters then stream them at home; we loudly cheer their awards season campaigns on social media. The celebrities we choose to uplift reap our time and our attention and our clicks and our money. They accumulate both our cultural and literal capital; they gain buzz and caché and glossy magazine profiles; they get bigger roles and bigger paychecks.” [this article is a basic explanation, but doesn’t get nearly as nasty as I would if I wrote it, lol.]

That doesn’t mean I don’t like Blanchett. It just means I don’t have the energy to waste on gushing over her cos she wears suits really well, goes to a drag brunch, and has played a lesbian once (that I know of, like, I’ll admit I don’t follow her career lol). She’s good. She’s done good roles. She’s not gay and shouldn’t be a lesbian icon, nor is she my fav ever. So, meh. She’s fine. I do appreciate her… energy? If that’s a thing. It’s a very self-assured, self-sufficient female energy that she emanates in her acting, and offscreen I would argue. It’s refreshing. I love confidence without arrogance or egoism. (Altho, lbr, all famous actors are egoists. It’s basically a pre-req. Some are just excellent at not letting it show.) But if I want to talk about an otherworldly tall lanky blonde actress, I’d prolly lean towards Tilda Swinton lol.

I’m looking forward to her in Stateless and Mrs America. I think she has potential to do both roles quite well. Although… I will say her American accent often leaves a lot to be desired lol. But it’s getting better. If I’m going to gush over any “lesbian icon” in Mrs. America, it’ll be Sarah Paulson. 

[beelzebvbs]

            avan jogia + cismale + he/him.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear ( i predict a riot by the kaiser cheifs ) playing in the distance ? oh, thats just ( beelzebub ), a ( chaotic neutral ) member of the league of ( villains ). i suspect they might be ( jai virani ), a ( twenty seven ) year old ( nightclub owner ) with the ability of ( living being possession ). according to my sources, ( he ) can be ( eccentric ), but also ( uninhibited ) which is probably why they remind everyone of ( unwashed hair, leisurely strolls at midnight & pounding drum and bass ) so much. anyway, a ( supervillain ) or not, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them! ( jd, twenty one, gmt, she/her )            tw: substance abuse, death/murder mention, overdose

do you get bohemian rhapsody stuck in your head just looking at the word beelzebub?  bc i’ve had nothing else in my head since i wrote my app and hope you get  cursed with that same fate.    ur welcome.  

a little about me:  howdy, i’m jd. sadly no affiliation with the one from heathers. from the uk, uni student. have too much time on my hands so this happened.  i’ve been in my fair few rps but jai is a new kid for me so bare with me whilst i figure out his character a bit as i write him. but yeah, here’s what i can tell you so far.

his upbringing:   grew up with rich & strict parents. his mother is a lawyer and his father owns a real estate firm. he always had money but his parents were the kind of people who encouraged their kids to work for what they wanted.  his sister put herself through law school and got a job at her fathers firm through her own merit.  jai never liked work though so he planned on becoming a company boss like his father so he could just boss people about. didn’t factor in that he’d have to work to get to that point. 

discovering his mutation:   jai was fourteen when he discovered signs of his mutation. he’d had sensations relating to it before then but just assumed they were splitting headaches so he smoked weed to block out the feeling. it was when he was high that he ended up accidentally possessing his best friend ( as you do)  but just assumed he was off his face and forgot about the incident. over the years more and more incidents like that happened but he just took more drugs to cope with it until he overdosed at 17. in order to protect his consciousness, he possessed the paramedic who came to help him.  seeing as how, when he’s possessing something his eyes turn black, everyone figured something was wrong.  when the paramedic he questioned was clearly unable to do his job, jai freaked and went back into his own body. which is when it became very evident he was abnormal.

the aftermath:   for jai discovering he was a mutant made everything click, for his family not so much. his parents assumed it was a medical condition that could be fixed. as they worked on that, he worked on his mutation through online forums & stuff.  he found a way to split his conscious so he could stay in his own body as well as other peoples.  when the tension in his house got too much he possessed his own father to give him all his credit cards and cash then his car keys. so yeah, lil bit of grand larceny.

now:  jai fell in with other mutants when he started hanging round late at night. they helped him get his skills and eventually he strengthened his mutation. he bought one of the underground dingy clubs they used to hang out in with his fathers stolen credit cards and named it ‘luxor’ you’d think with a mutation to play with jai wouldn’t turn to drugs again but  nah.  he gets bored too easily so he ended up turning his club into what was essentially an ecstasy lounge.  bc why the fuck not?  the only reason most people go to his dingy af club is to lose their inhibitions.

personality:  jai can be a real dick.  he doesn’t bite his tongue for anyone. does whatever he wants.  has a stigma against humans due to his parents reaction to his mutation.  also thinks they are very weak willed.  he’s pansexual because his tastes are non existent.  likes to think he’s one of the key players in the villain world but is legit just a nuisance who needs people to tell him he’s the shit. 

mutation:  jai has the power of possession.   he can transfer & split his conscious into several parts and possess any living or formerly living thing.  it takes more energy to possess something dead though. at the moment he can split his conscious into six parts.  his power doesn’t tend to work on telepaths though.  he has better control over humans as well.  when it comes to making a person be violent, it’s quite simply to do but when it comes to actually killing, it tends to work better if the person is weak minded or has desires to kill someone themselves.  

i think that’s about it ( she says as if she hasn’t just written an entire essay)  i’ll probably harass a few of you for plots bc everyone here looks neato.  like this post or hmu if you’d like to sort something out. open to anything.  and don’t forget love my son.

[divinefelt]

FLASH POINTS 001.

what are some of your favorite tropes?  -  400 POINTS

honestly , anything angsty.  villans with redemption arcs ; long lost family members meeting again ; everything around your character falling apart and there’s nothing they can do to fix it.   really , anything that will make me tear my heart out and cry.  but also , the happy fluffy moments.  reunions ; snuggling by the fire on a cold night ; a night on the town.

do you have a favorite character you’ve written, in or outside of shiver? if so, what makes them your fave?  -  550 POINTS

lucan , my ancient weyr boi.  he’s been a muse of mine for five years?  maybe six years now?  i’ve played him both on an indie and in groups and everytime i bring him in i just love it.  there’s slight alterations i make each time from improving my past horrible writing to plotting and making more connections for him and furthering his story.  i love his character because he’s past the climax of his life.  with many of my other characters , they’re just starting to realize their potential , but with lucan he’s been there and done that.  he should’ve died so long ago , but he’s terrified of the nothingness ( or if you dig down deeper , he’s frightened that his actions would lend him to a place of torment for the rest of eternity ).  him finding a sense of purpose , or the courage to face that nothingness.

do you prefer writing with small casts of characters or large ones? what are some of the pros and cons?  -  400 POINTS

kind of both?  when i initially look at a group to join and they have dozens of muns i get a bit intimidated.  i get confused and overwhelmed easily and i’d hate for that to stifle my muse for that group.  but i absolutely love joining groups that are just starting out.  i feel like we’re all learning together , plus then my muse and i are there for the entire run and not entering at a potentially awkward spot.  lol does that makes sense or am i just dumb?

what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done in the name of outlining/worldbuilding (timelines, research, maps, spreadsheets, etc.)? - 500 POINTS

there was one rpg i had in which i had to create an entire world.  i believe this was during the summer so basically i just sat at my computer for hours on end researching everything.  i am also very organized so i made a complete map in photoshop , timeline of the history , species lore , ect , ect.  it took me hours everyday.  but i didn’t hate it.  i can get into a goove while researching , whether that’s for a uni essay or for roleplaying purposes.  but i think the most ridiculous thing i do on the regular is that i will look for a perfect faceclaim for hours.

share the last paragraph you wrote you’re most proud of.  -  650 POINTS

does a section of zahra’s bio count cause omg if i’m feeling angsty i will cry over this.

“ years turned to decades and decades to centuries. the world moved on as she was locked within her prison and soon even the visitors seeking the legendary aži dahāka would stop coming. her cavernous prison became lost to the world and so would she.  zahra herself would begin to wither and decay , but her heart would remain beating. the effort to keep up her human guise was soon lost and the great dragyn would lie upon the floor , fire gone from her eyes as her scales lost their strength and her wings became dry and taut. her darkened eyes would close but her mind would continue on. her years were spent dreaming of fire and blood. “

describe your current muse’s physical appearance using only one, over the top sentence.  -  400 POINTS

eyes of flame and something feral raging beneath her skin draws you into her raging inferno ;  it isn’t long until you see her blackened scales made alight with what was surely the life blood of those that came before you ;  maw widens and you know she’ll swallow you whole.

if you had to write a novel about one of the characters in or outside of shiver, which character would you choose and why?  -  600 POINTS

lucan maybe , for the reasons above.  

but also maybe zahra.  a whole series about her life and maybe eventually finding happiness and answers.  she’s a character i’ve had in one version or another for five or six years now so i’ve put a lot into her lmao.  i can go back and read my earlier stuff and cringe , but also reminice a bit.  every iteration and tweak i think makes her just a bit better.  but then actually writing a book about her i think would just add so much more.  i could get into her head more in her early years and expand on relationships , the world she lived in , and more.  

[gaming-grandma]

Skyrim and Breath of the Wild: My Two Favorite Open World Games

While botw doesn’t really qualify as an RPG, it still has many elements similar to one that I feel like this comparison is fair. Even though a large gap of time, graphical style, aesthetics, music, and story splits the two in feel and theme, I still feel like both games plucked the same heartstrings for myself, albeit in different ways. This is a long, long essay type post with no pictures. I wrote this instead of doing a reading assignment, so enjoy.

Both of these games came to me at opportune times in my life. Skyrim came to me right in the middle of my ‘golden-days’ of highschool, where I had the absolute most amount of free time and no responsibilities. I delved into the game and devoured it whole, and when my brother would take it to uni with him I would spend hours into the night until 2, 3 AM pouring over the guidebook and analyzing tactics and build ideas and roleplay elements I could incorporate into it the second I got my hands on it again. I almost convinced my dad to buy me the game so I could play it while my brother was away, but for my own good and those of my grades I failed. I would play Skyrim until sunrise, and then until sunset again, and I would go on to make probably actually hundreds of characters, each with different back stories and approaches and methods of play and skills. They would all feel unique and I would treat each one like an experience and go new places, or even go to places I knew well on purpose to see if I could put new spins on it. The world was so open and ready to manipulate and bend to your will that I, the moldable teenager I was, was utterly bent on feeling every square inch of this game hundreds of times, like a baby given a new toy they have to shove in their mouth for hours. I’m not proud of the amount of time I spent on Skyrim, but I am glad I got to, and I’m proud of some of my accomplishments. I invented this method of infinite Magicka regeneration as long as you were in a circle of a certain spell by making myself a vampire Breton with 100% magicka absorb (which involved using a glitch allowing you to use the same constellation stone twice) and casting a banishment spell on myself with the perk that makes restoration affect vampires. I spent days perfecting this until the final product: I could walk into a dungeon and cast a circle of light on the floor, walk into it, and unleash untamed power and destruction and anything I wanted anywhere until the circle wore off, and I’d cast it again. When my brother walked in on my working on this his jaw kinda dropped.

 Similarly, I would go on to invent all sorts of my own clever elements to the game as I mold it to my will, like one of those shake lights you have to break in a bunch of places to get it to light up. I would play the game dry over and over. Graduation came, and I slowed down. Other things came into my life and I had other games to play, new experiences to mull over. New worlds to bend. I would always go back to Skyrim for a few days, trying to pick it up again and feel the same awe and excitement and pure wonder I did when it first came upon me, but I would eventually realize “I’ve done this exact same thing too many times now” whether it be the character, route, skills, or style, I’d done it already. To this day, it’s the only game I’ll actually pull out and play sometimes when I’m truly lost or have nothing to do or feel depressed or broken. It’ll always remind me of my youth and make me have something to look forward to again. I’ve still already done it all, but that doesn’t really matter sometimes does it? Sometimes it’s just about remembering and being a totally different and older person sitting in front of the screen that gives you the same experience and joy no matter what you’ve been through.

I don’t trust Bethesda with TES6 anymore. I don’t think it’ll work for me, and I don’t think it’ll be a great game. I’m excited for it, as I’m naturally inclined to be and I won’t shut myself up over it, but it won’t be the next Skyrim for me. It won’t make me a wide-eyed 14 year old again, nothing can do that. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, I’m sure I will. But I don’t trust Bethesda’s methods as a company, and I don’t know if they’ll ever achieve what they did in my eyes when I was a kid. I’ll sit and listen to the music sometimes, and it’ll hit me in waves; the world, the awe, the excitement. The memories of coming home from big life events like finals or job interviews or trips and being able to relax and play it again. It almost sounds like an addiction at this point, and my brother would joke that I was, but it didn’t harm my social/professional life in any way, so I don’t think it was a true addiction.

Then I realize they don’t even have the same guy on music for TES6 as they did for morrowind/skyrim again and I remind myself it won’t be the one.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a gullible hope that TES6 will do all those things to me again, though. But when it comes down to it, Skyrim was the biggest and most influential game on my life as a teenager. It was just a great game. I loved it, everything about it. That’s all there is to it. It’s one of those games I wish I could erase my memory of and do all over again.

And you’re wondering why the hell this essay is titled with BOTW, and here’s the connection; the only other game I truly would like to erase my memory for and experience again is Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. But this is for a totally different reason.

BOTW came into my life at a similarly critical point of my life in young adulthood; I was at the end of my community college career, having only 2 classes for the entire semester. I had a job, but I hated it and was depressed over it. I felt like I was going nowhere fast, and BOTW came out with the switch and I decided to buy into the hype and see what it was like. BOTW is an untamed love letter to everything that made Skyrim amazing to me, and yet it was totally new and unseen and alien. It was huge in scope, the awe and wonder it hit me with was the same as when I first realized how huge the province of Skyrim truly was; this was even bigger. The immersion and aesthetics were beautiful and appealed to me in ways skyrim never did, but I still fell in love with it and played this game up and down and inside out. I just checked and it’s still my #1 most played game on the switch nearly 2 years later at 120 hours. That’s not even 1/10th of how long I played Skyrim, and yet it managed to have that insane appeal to it that drove my young eyes wide in pure thrilling excitement. The minimalist music accompanied by beautiful sounds of nature reminded me of the frozen tundra of the mountain sides watching sunrises in the Throat of the World, or exploring the sun glazed Rift. None of this was actively in my mind as I played it, but I knew that the same heartstrings that Skyrim tugged on were being tangled with by this amazing game. As a Zelda game it blew me out of the water, and if I devoured Skyrim whole, then Breath of the Wild ate ME whole, because I was not in control of this world; I was merely a spectator trying to survive and watch it for as long as I could.

My biggest gripe once I finished the game to pieces that fall was that there was “nothing to do”. “There’s nothing to do!” I whine as I sit on my 120 shrine, 600 korok seed save file that had a full inventory of every best weapon and nearly every side quest completed save file. The DLC would then come out but I never felt compelled to play it or finish it. I’m tempted to today and that’s why I’m writing this. I did everything the game had to offer, or at least I thought, as I would late learn of lots of different activities I never got to finish, but I enjoyed it and I wouldn’t trade that time for any skyrim experience.

BOTW struggles to stand up to Skyrim’s depth, but its scope is ambitious and accomplishes its own voice without relying on anything ever created besides the actual Zelda franchise characters and lore. Skyrim, on the other hand, is an achievement of a long struggle as a gaming studio, the ultimate pinnacle of what Bethesda has learned in creating open world games. BOTW is most certainly an easily accessible game, and is not nearly as dated as the launch graphics of Skyrim, but I still have to give Skyrim the title of my favorite open world game, not purely because of the nostalgia, but because of the depth and variety you could get out of multiple playthroughs. BOTW only has 1 link, and link only has so many skills. You can use them to screw with the environment and do some crazy cool stuff, but nothing will top the pure blank canvas that was a new Skyrim file in my eyes. BOTW doubtlessly takes a hard 2nd place.

[pragnificent]

First mandatory lecture attendance can go die in a hole... Even if giving a lecture to only a couple students while everyone watches online makes me feel lonely. Mandatory workshop demonstrations. These are wonderful. Student are 1. Forced to stay on top of their work, they are a good transition from the hand holding of highschool to the self learning of university. And 2. An excellent way for students to get constant feedback on their work rather than waiting for the major assessments. 1/2

They also allow us to identify students who are struggling when there is still time for helping then. BUT!! any university worth a damn has systems in place to allow students to complete the demonstration at another time, or allow for an out of class demonstration. Or easily allow for a 1 week extension because you are sick (mentally physically I don't care, but actually can't attend not just CBF finishing it) . TLDR: please do not blame weekly signoffs/demonstrations that essentially make some classes mandatory for fucked up uni systems that fail to realise students are real people with actual lives and their own issues and occassionly need some leeway/allowances. We saw ~25% increase in the pass rate due to "mandatory" workshops which also allowed students to finish first semester/year with very well established study habits.

1.) I have been teaching undergrads since 2015. 

2.) I don’t think you really even read the original post. You decided to get mad at the idea that university should be accessible for all students and wrote me an essay on something entirely different. Like I made it really clear if your university or department is forcing you to grade for attendance that isn’t on you. 

3.) But since you brought it up, mandatory workshops are if anything worse for disabled and mentally ill students, since there’s generally no way to complete the associated assignment if you miss a session, even if you aren’t automatically failed due to missing the session.