#my first creative writing professor said that there is no such as talent when it comes to writing

[naffeclipse]

Feel free to egnor if it's too personal.

But how did u learn to be so good a writing? Was it a passion. An inspiration that drove you. A natural talent?

Natural talent is not something you should think about when wanting to learn/get better at something you enjoy. I'm not saying someone can't be talented or have natural instincts for something, but a person can develop any skills they'd like as long as they dedicate themselves. This quote from Ratatouille comes to mind:

"Anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great."

So, I don't think I have natural talent. I rarely think anyone does. I think writing or any artform/practice comes from desire and dedication.

I started writing fanfiction in middle school because I was passionate about it! I had a lot of ideas for original books, and I wanted to explore them on the page and in words. My writing sucked when I first started. It was amateurish and unrefined, full of grammar mistakes and incomprehensible characterization, but I didn't stop writing. I was, and still am, having too much fun.

I think the only way to get good at something is to do it over and over. I've been writing for years, and now that I'm in my mid-twenties, I think that shows. The only real way to figure out and grow with your skill is to work on it every day. You will learn and better yourself naturally through exercise.

If you want to write, write! If you want to get better at writing, keep writing. Let what you love fill up your scribbles and smear all of your plotlines. Don't be consumed by being good or skilled enough because that's not the point. The point is to enjoy what you create. The rest will naturally follow.

[s-4pphics]

click! 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a reputation :p, they’re both rude as shit, crack, all ocs are black coded yeeahhh yeah, awkward meetings, slut-shaming, brief cunninglingus, mention of eviction, smut later yall know tha vibes 

two. three. four.

A/N: short part just stay w me lemme cook... excited 2 write this lets get this shit yall

“W-What do you mean you’re moving?” 

Your roommate and best friend wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you close. Tears flooded in your eyes as she whispered the daunting news, your heart cracking in your chest. 

“I’m moving soon, stink.” Too soon, according to her. She’ll be gone by next week. Amaya snickered sadly as she cooed in your temple. “It's for good reason, though.”

Your ears perk, a curious hum vibrating her shoulder. 

“I got that internship— “

All sadness melds into excitement for your favorite person. You leap into her arms with squeals of congratulatory joy, planting smacking kisses all over her squishy cheek. 

“Oh my god! You should’ve said that first, bitch! What the fuck!” You wipe your tears on her hoodie. 

Her laughter rattles through your neck, “I just found out after class! I almost got hit by a fucking bus reading the email.” 

Amaya sets you down, rambles about her new position as a songwriting intern spilling from her like an overfilled glass. Tears of joy flow from you and her as she retells every detail about her acceptance. She’s leaving in a week and a half and going farther than you thought. 

“Girl… you’re really moving to New York?” 

“Only for like… four months, max. But yeah… Boutta be on BET come next year— “

“Maya.” 

“Hm?”

“… I can’t pay rent by myself,” you whisper, cringing and embarrassed. 

You hate to ruin her moment, but you’re concerned; Living off campus isn’t cheap and moving in the middle of the semester is less than ideal. It’d be a fucking hassle, and — to be frank — you’re not a people person. 

People like having you around because you’re fun, sure. But your reputation isn’t what you hoped for it to be when you moved out of your dad’s place for school. You wanted to be recognized for your creativity, and while your professors never hesitated to praise your talents, your peers failed to see past the status that was placed upon you. 

Frankly, you’re deemed as a dumb whore, especially after your falling out with one of the campuses best softball pitchers. 

It wasn’t even your fault. One raunchy snap to the wrong person and people think you live for sex and sex only! Just when you think everyone is over slut-shaming… 

“You thought I was gonna leave you to fend for yourself? Guess what I did.” 

Oh God. “What?” 

She twiddles her fingers together villainously, “I may or may not have set up an application on the student homepage— “

The small glimmer of hope washes away, shoulders dropping, fingers coming up to massage your temples.  

“Maya…” You exhale, trying to keep calm, “You know those things don’t fucking work!” 

Roommate compatibility is a fucking scam. No one ever notes how they actually are in the application. You think you’ve found someone that’s clean, quiet, stays out of your space without permission and the next day you find dead roaches under your couch. College attendees have no idea what bleach is and it makes you sick. 

“Damn… you’re usually optimistic.” 

“I’m optimistic about good ideas. I’m gonna be living with a fucking freak from Craigslist, thanks a lot.” 

“C’mooon! You’ll be fine, babe, trust me.” Amaya wraps her arms around your neck once more, wetly smacking your cheek before turning to paddle to her room. “Plus, you’ll meet someone new!”

When you don't follow, she spins. She must’ve noticed your impassiveness, poutingly asking to help me pack? Tears overwhelm your ducts once more, quietly taking her extended hand as she leads you to her bedroom. 

DAY ONE of roommate searching began, and you were already prepared to move back in with your dad. Amaya had enough time to orchestrate the housing agreement with you, making sure to highlight some of your most important characteristics in a roommate. One of the main ones being cleanliness. Some form of organization. 

DAY TWO was easier… Someone finally made it to the in-person interview stage. They didn’t make it far, though; They wouldn’t stop smacking their gum and it drove you crazy. Back to square one. 

DAY SIX came around and you were losing hope; Why are frat boys applying to live with you? You’d rather jump into oncoming traffic than house with any of Abby’s annoying, dirty friends. You've seen their house on numerous occasions and it never fails to make your skin crawl. 

It’s DAY THIRTEEN, and Amaya’s gone. After the sobbing fit with your best friend at the airport earlier, you got back to work. 

DENY REQUEST. 

…

DENY REQUEST. 

…

DENY REQUEST. 

You sigh in exhaustion and lean back in your chair. If you don't take a break from your screen in the next five seconds, your eyes will bleed. 

Why are people… so odd? 

The number of applications you’ve had to deny in the last week is criminal; Why are cis-het men continuously filling out applications knowing they’re not welcome in your space?! 

Even the people that made it to the in-person interview stage are incapable of being… not strange. You’d rather die than live with someone who collects dead maggots in mason jars (yes, you did almost call the police when they described their fascination with death in depth)!

All you need is one fruitful application with an identity to match! Just one. 

Amaya still calls from New York whenever she has a moment of peace to see how the roomie-search is going, but you can’t ignore the sadness that fills your heart every time she misses a call. Her laughter is gone, and your day-to-day life feels empty. 

They’re already working your bestie to the bone; You hope she can feel your encouragement from thousands of miles away. 

You scroll and click, scroll and click, scroll and deny deny deny until you pause, your eyes skimming over the application with a familiar name. 

ELLIE WILLIAMS. 

Ellie from stats, you instantly recognize. Curiosity perks and your brows furrow, sipping lukewarm tea as you skim over her contact information, her pet preferences, all the way down to her additional commentary. A snicker left at her blunt statement. 

temporary request. my last roommate moved and i’m poor. just waiting on this job approval. 

… Ellie in a nutshell. How relatable.

At least she’s not a complete stranger. Every interaction with her stirs in your mind as you jot her number down on a lone sticky-note. They were nothing special from your perspective: the two of you exchanging notes, her holding the door open as everyone scurried out of class, you asking for a pencil (and her asking for it back after the lecture), and you can’t help but wonder why she would want to apply to share a space with anyone, let alone you. 

She's only ever been described as standoffish by your peers. From the outside, Ellie’s blank. Flat tone, flat expression, plain appearance, and the fact that you never know what she’s thinking is unsettling. You’re thrown off your game whenever she’s near and you hate it. 

But the spot is temporary; Amaya will be back in a couple of months, and it seems Ellie’s leaving sometime soon by her small note. 

You down the rest of your tea and stretch where you sit, pondering. Trying to imagine Ellie in your space.

“I don’t know why I can’t take Maya’s spot. I’d make an excellent roommate.” 

Your expression flattens, glare piercing through your good friend. 

Abby scoffs, “C’mooon! I mind my business...” She pauses, leaning across the table, nearly knocking your coffee over. Her whispers send a shock down your spine, “…and I give good head. I’m a package deal.” 

A brow raises. Abby’s sweeter than candy and she puts it down, but you already made the mistake of living with someone you fucked before, and you vowed to never do it again. If Amaya hadn’t given you a place to stay after the blow up between you and your ball-throwing sneaky link, you’re not sure where you'd be. Definitely not a student; The stress would’ve forced you to collapse. And drop out. 

“Sorry, stink. Not happening.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever.” She takes a sip from her drink, “Can’t believe you’d let that freak in before me.” 

You pause. “You’re a freak, too— “

“I’m the good kind!” She searches like someone’s watching her, voice dropping to a whisper, “Ellie’s fucking weird, dude. When’s the last time you’ve seen her interact with anyone? A literal fucking NPC. All she’s programmed to do is stand and look.” 

“And give out pencils,” You interject with a snicker, “Who cares. I don’t like most of the idiots here, either. I barely put up with your ass.” 

Abby raises her glove-covered palms in surrender, “Fuck it. When I see an alert about a missing student, I’ll know who it is.” 

“You’re so fucking extra— “

DING!

Your neck cranes towards the opening cafe door, shock surging through your body at the sight of the NPC in question. Ellie silently stands at the back of the line, headphones secured on her head and nose red from the cold, classically bored expression plastered on her face. 

“Oh, this is hilarious,” Abby huffs, “Go greet your new housemate.” 

Another glare is sent in her direction, “Can you shut up? Her name’s not on any lease. I barely talked to her.”  

“Do it now, then. Triple dog dare you.” Abby smirks behind her cup. 

You sigh and raise from your seat, “You’re a cunt.” 

“The wettest. Go.” 

You flick her forehead before making your way over to Ellie, who’s mindlessly scrolling through her phone. Her sniffles get louder with each step you take, metal music blasting through her speakers. 

You tap her shoulder and she jumps, sliding one of her ear cups over to hear. 

“Hey, Ellie,” you smile politely. 

“… Sup,” she mutters hoarsely, turning her body towards you, eyes filled with… nothing. Expected. 

Silence passes, and you fill it, “I got your app yesterday. Just wanted to come and introduce myself.” 

“Alright.” 

More silence. You can see Abby out the corner of your eye, mockingly swiping her tongue between her index and middle finger. You flush and stutter, and Ellie’s staring like you have two heads. 

“I, uh… yeah. I’ve been having interviews with some people that submitted a form. You free sometime this week?” 

“Uhh…” She glances down at her phone. “Yeah. Around five tomorrow.” 

More silence. Fuck, this is awkward. 

“… Cool.” You pull your phone out and text her saved number, the alarm ringing from her phone. “That’s me. Just call before you stop by.” 

She nods and turns her back to you, cranking her music to full volume. You gawkily shuffle where you stand before hustling back to your table, Abby cackling to herself. You plop down and kick her under the table, but she laughs harder. 

“What’d I say!” 

“Not a thing,” You hiss, “She’s just a little awkward. It’s not that serious.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“Oh yeah what.” 

“She’s definitely your fucking housemate.” She tsks in disappointment before a smirk appears, her eyes darkening. “Can I eat it one last time before she moves in?” 

A jolt surges in your tummy, your hand closing into a fist. You kick her again and she giggles. 

Time passes as you and Abby’s conversation carries on like normal. Another ding rings through the coffee shop after some time, and you watch Ellie’s backpack bounce as she rushes down the sidewalk; Abby’s rambles about a soccer player she’s trying to smash sound like gibberish. 

Ellie has a Spider-Man charm and laminated polaroid latched onto her zipper. 

… Cute. 

You’re going to fail statistics over a random.

Your professor’s voice sounds like white noise; Every pause she takes is used as an opportunity to sneak glances at Ellie. None of your notes are useful; The doodles and sloppy scribbles are solidifying that incoming F, for sure. Only fifteen minutes until you’re out of here. 

She’s two seats down from you, jotting down whatever she deems necessary for the midterm. You didn’t even register her answering the professor’s question, her rosy lips curving around her teeth with each syllable. 

Ellie blinks slowly, twice, three times before her eyes lock with yours, brows furrowed, evidently confused at your gawking. 

Your stomach drops with your gaze, fingers curled tightly around your pencil. 

The lecture finally comes to a close as your thoughts flurry, wordlessly shoving your books into your bag. A light tap on your shoulder yanks your attention. 

Ellie stands before you, puffer cinched under the bands of her backpack and cheeks just as rosy as before. 

“Hey. Can we switch the time?” 

“Huh?” Don’t stare, don’t stare. 

She sighs, “The time for the interview. Can we change it?” 

You blink dumbly, “Uh… sure. To what time?” 

Agitation creases her brows. “Now. Something came up and I can’t miss it.” She pauses, eyes flicking awkwardly around the room, weakly adding, “If that’s okay.” 

“Um… yeah, no problem…” You peer at the clock on the wall, “You want a coffee?” 

A slight wince from her. “… Yup.” 

She clearly doesn’t by the way her fingers are anxiously tapping on her thigh, but you nod nonetheless, hurriedly grabbing your belongings and leading her down to the student lounge. 

“I don’t want you thinking this interview is one-sided,” You pray your gentle smile is calming the evident nerves of the freckled girl. “You can ask me anything you want, as well. If you have any concerns, any questions, shoot.” 

Ellie’s eyes are glued to her coffee cup, but her head bobs, expression void. Silence simmers between you. 

“I usually start these off with an icebreaker to get the jitters out! Just list three facts about yourself and I’ll follow.” 

Ellie’s lone hand comes up to scratch underneath her ear before meeting your gaze. Her eyes are so pretty; Too bad there’s nothing behind them. 

“Or I can go, sure, so!” Your hands clap together, “I’ll start with myself. I’m majoring in graphic design, I’m secretly a theater nerd, and I dream about owning an eggplant farm.” 

The girl before you clearly didn't expect that last statement. Her brows crease and the corner of her lip arches upward in a barely-there smile. Foreign to her face. 

“That’s not a fact,” She mutters, the shell in her pupils cracking. Just slightly. 

“Who cares, I love eggplant. Best vegetable by a landslide.” 

“Sike.” 

You scoff in disbelief, “What?” 

“Everybody on the planet knows that squash is god-tier— “

You squint, “Squash? Are you deadass?”

“It’s fucking versatile!” Ellie’s voice pitches higher, and your grin widens, “You can put it in everything and you don’t have to do much. Eggplant sucks up everything in the pan and still comes out soggy and tasteless— “

Choked laughter leaves your mouth, “If you don’t know how to cook, just say that.” 

Her mouth drops in exaggerated shock. “I know how to fuckin’ cook.” 

“Right.” 

“I do, what the he— “

“Fun fact about Ellie: she can’t cook!” You kiddingly sneer. She chuckles and shakes her head, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. You almost miss her statement, “I take pictures.” 

“Hm?” 

“I wanna be a professional photographer... At some point. I take pic— “

Ellie’s phone vibrates on the table and she leaps into action, snatching her bag from beside her and standing from her seat. 

“Wait— “

“I gotta go,” She mutters as she straps her bag around her shoulders. “Sorry. See you later.” 

Ellie throws some bills on the table before dipping, her phone pressed against her ear, rambling about making time. She barely touched her coffee. 

Could’ve been worse, you utter to yourself. 

Days pass, and you don’t hear from Ellie. 

When you saw her in stats two days after the interview, she hardly acknowledged you, morphing into the hermit that you knew her to be. You noted how tired she looked, though. You would’ve asked if she were okay if she hadn’t run out of class without a word. 

You’re weighing your options: allowing a random oddball into your apartment, or allowing a random oddball who hates eggplant into your apartment. Rent is due next week, and Amaya’s space is still vacant. 

At this point, the roster is almost nonexistent, and Ellie was the least concerning candidate. Despite Abby’s concern, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to bury dead bodies in the front lawn. 

“I dunno, friend. She’s a little weird. Getting mad incel vibes from her.” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull as you munch on cashews, “You’re getting vibes from someone you never talked to. She seemed cool at the interview.” 

“Yeah, 'cause vegetable debates are so note-worthy,” Amaya scoffs. 

She’s starting to sound a little too much like Abby, “I think y’all are forgetting that this is a temporary solution. I’m not tryna spend the rest of my fucking life with her! I need rent paid and she needs a place to stay for a few months.” 

Your best friend’s sigh drags through the line, “Alright… It seems like you made up your mind.” 

“Like I said, rent is due. I don’t have many options.” 

“Stop stressing. You found my replacement, apparently.” 

She pauses before hollering, “BITCH, IT’S SATURDAY! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU INSIDE? WHERE’S ABBY?” 

“Out smashing soccer players.” You huff. 

“Damn… My fault.” 

“I’m chilling. I just need head.” 

“Go out! Find somebody!” 

You groan, “Then I’ll have to shave— “

“Nair exists, you bonehead! Just go! You keep calling in a bad mood and it’s getting on my nerves!” 

You ponder and glance at your digital clock. It’s not even ten… Abby did tell you that Kappa was throwing.

“I can hear the engines turning in your big head. Bye.” 

Laughter explodes from you at the dial tone. 

“Hey, Siri… call Abby.” 

“CALLING ABBY BIG DICK SLUT— “

Tonight has been a blur since you left your apartment. 

You remember making it halfway through Blam Boom before your speaker died, downing your last couple of shots of 1800, and Ubering to the location Abby pinged. 

It only took a few minutes for her to scoop you up onto the packed kitchen counter and shove her tongue in your mouth. One shout of I’m horny from you and she was yours for the rest of the night. 

Now you’re pressed up against some bathroom sink upstairs, Abby’s head shaking between your legs, your jeans and underwear flung onto the shower rail. Each flick of her tongue is both clumsy and precise, applying pressure exactly where you need it. 

Your clit’s throbbing under her tongue, the muscle igniting the flame in your tummy as your climax builds, zaps in your spine. Cries of her name meld with the booming music from outside, the walls rattling like nerves in your toes. 

Abby’s gorgeous under you, you know it, the drunk part of your brain knows it, your desperate cunt knows it, but you’re no longer thinking about her compared to earlier. Your mind is elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn’t be. 

You’re thinking of freckles. Green eyes instead of blue. Chapped, rosy lips, and you don’t know why. But you succumb to it. Ellie’s trapped underneath your eyelids, crowding your senses, your empty head suddenly full of images of her in any way you could conjure. 

Your orgasm shatters you, but you’re silent, trembling hand glued over your mouth as Abby groans in your cunt. She’s a doll, easing you back down to earth, dragging your underwear and pants up your shaky legs and getting you back home safely. 

When you’re showered and your teeth are brushed, she tucks you in, gently kissing your forehead. You beg her to stay with you, but she declines with I know how you get before silently departing. 

Your phone is squeezed between your fingers after minutes of trying to sleep, eyeing Ellie’s saved contact until darkness overtakes you. 

The pounding on your door is worse than the ones from inside your skull. Fuck Tequila, from the bottom of your heart. Waves of nausea crash over you with every waddle, hobbling your hunched form over to yank the front door open. 

A bored Ellie stands in front of you, a large camera and headphones hanging from her neck, seemingly cozy in her sweater and puffer, large duffel bags packed to the brim with clothes dangling from her shoulders. Your cheeks warm instantly. Gray sweats, gray sweats—

“I’m here,” She states plainly. 

“… Why?” You croak.

Ellie’s seems just as confused as you, her eyes piercing as if her appearance is obvious. 

“To move in.” 

“… Why?”

Ellie sighs and snags her phone from her jacket pocket, swiping a few times before nearly blinding you with her screen. 

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. When the fuck did you send that? 

“So, I’m here,” she slips her device back in her pocket. “Which room am I in?” 

“E-Ellie, uh… there's been a mis— “

“Look,” she holds her pale, veiny hands up. “I don’t wanna beat around the bush anymore. I got evicted and I need a place to stay until I secure this job. I’m willing to put down whatever’s needed for rent but I don’t have time to bullshit.” 

Ellie proceeds, sarcasm slipping, “Respectfully.” 

She pushes past your stunned form, bags accidentally brushing against your bare legs. You can't even move to stop her; You merely watch Ellie shuffle to inspect the living room, the small kitchen, pausing in front of the abstract painting you made for your dad before eventually moving down the hall and into Amaya’s empty space. How the fuck did she get in the building, anyway?

Your deer-like eyes lock with her void, mossy ones as she peers over her shoulder. 

“I still have some stuff to pick up. Please leave my key under the mat if you go somewhere.” 

Before she enters the empty room next to yours, you hear her gruffly say, “Leave the lease on the table so I can sign it, too.”

Amaya’s — Ellie’s door slams shut seconds later, the soft click of the door locking follows suit. 

…

What the fuck just happened. Gall almost surpasses your anger. The audacity...

For the first time, you’re grateful that your shift is in two hours. You need to get the fuck out of here before you cause a scene and catch a case. 

tagggiiiesss missed yall ;3 : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane

[psychic-refugee]

Wenvier Bingo - Professors

Thank you @heavenlyvixen for being a sounding board for my ideas. I wouldn't have the inspo for this without you. I'm sure some of the dialogue will seem familiar. 😜

Eugene was buzzing with excitement to attend Innsmouth University. It was the premier school for melittology with a focus on apiology, a branch of entomology. He found his people in the science department, and although he got tired of repeating and dumbing down what his field of study was for his degree, he was able to succinctly tell people:

“I’m gonna study honeybees.”

If it were up to him, he’d spend all his class time in the biology department or working in the apiary club called the Hummers.

But alas, Innsmouth had a general studies requirement and encouraged students to be “well rounded.”

So, he took a painting and a creative writing course.

The two professors could not be more different.

Professor “Call me Xavier” Thorpe taught Intro to Painting. Professor Thorpe, Eugene was never going to call a Professor by their first name as it was ingrained in him since private preschool to never be so informal with a teacher, was talented and knew what he was talking about when it came to colour theory and technique.

But he was the most unserious professor Eugene had ever come across.

Professor Thorpe wore camo pants to class, he was often mistaken for a student by other members of the faculty, invited his students to picnics on the quad, and often took the class on field trips to art museums where he wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty to kneel or squat when enthusiastically educating them on the artwork.

Even for the decorative molding which wasn’t technically part of the exhibit, Professor Thorpe saw art in everything.

Eugene could admire and respect the love of art Professor Thorpe had…but was baffled when the professor was found asleep on one of the art exhibits on campus and he wondered how he kept his job.

Then there was Professor Addams. She never offered for anyone to call her by her first name, but she was the type of severe teacher that Eugene was convinced she didn’t have a first name. Her name was Professor Addams, and no one could tell him otherwise.

She taught creative writing and specialized in the macabre and mystery genre. She even had a popular series based on a heroine named Viper de la Muerte. He was surprised she was even teaching as there was a rumour on campus that she had just gotten movie deals for her series.

Professor Addams was the consummate professional. She was always pristinely dressed and well put together, and she put the fear of God into her students. So much so that they jokingly said The Devil Wrote Mystery Novels, and when she walked across campus, people got out of her way.

One day, when someone said she was married to Professor Thorpe, Eugene literally laughed out loud and went about his classes. When others tried to convince him that the beautiful creative writing professor was married to the goofiest teacher Eugene ever had, he laughed again.

It wasn’t until he saw them kissing under a gnarled oak tree on the quad, did he finally give credence to the rumours.

“How in the hell are those two married?” he asked his classmates while at the art studio, before Professor Thorpe arrived. He would never have done it in Professor Addams’ class, too afraid she might accidentally overhear.

He looked around, paranoid she may be around the corner.

“I know, right?” Pugsly could only laugh as it was a ridiculous thought. “They’re so opposite of each other.”

“And not just in demeanor and how they dress,” Yoko added, “He’s a tall and she’s a smol.”

The class laughed as they got their supplies together.

“She’s like a tiny koala and he’s a eucalyptus tree,” someone else commented.

“Yeah, I bet she climbs him like a tree,” Yoko said suggestively. That was when the girls in the class heartily agreed and giggled.

Eugene just rolled his eyes. While he thought Professor Thorpe was goofy as hell, many of the women on campus swooned over his 6' 2" height, dreamy green eyes, and heart stopping dimples.

Their words, not his.

Despite his bafflement at their relationship, they both ignited a love for the arts in him. After that semester, he decided to double major in writing and did painting as a hobby.

The Hummers’ beehives were treated to a makeover and had never been as colourful and beautiful.

He happily consulted with Professor Addams on how one might die from a swarm of honeybees for her next novel.

He gave both professors excellent reviews on RateMyProfessor.com.

Card under cut

[expecto-kedavra]

Hey buddyyyy I was wondering if you could write about Slytherin male MC discovering their healing powers and healing Ominis of his blindness and Anne of her curse. I’ve read fics of those individually but never together

Keep up the good work 👍🏼

Hey! I love this idea. Fun fact, the first ask I ever sent on Tumblr was to the ever talented @hogwartslegacyreactions and it was how the HL characters would react to Ominis being cured of his blindness. Be sure to check her out! Scarlet is a lovely writer and I adore her blog. I owe much of my inspiration to her This was originally a bit long all together, so I'm going to split it into multiple parts. ONWARD!

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

The Healer, pt 1

Ominis was definitely frustrated. He was having a lovely night's sleep when the Margaret the Diricawl landed on his chest. I was going to send a Niffler, but I didn't trust any of them to deliver a message swiftly and efficiently. Especially Ricky. I rescued him from a particularly grouchy vendor in Irondale, said he "pilfered the town and should be sent away to Azkaban." The last thing I needed was detention for the little stinker stealing Professor Ronan's hat, or Weasley's glasses. So I sent Margaret with a note tied to her- "Come to the Room please. I have something to show you." She was the sweetest of my Diricawls, one who wouldn't peck my dear friend's eyes out. They were very important to my plan. Anyways, the grumpy Gaunt stumbled into the Room of Requirement, muttering and cursing. "What? This could not possibly be more important than my rest." I laughed. I wasn't sure if it was really early or really late. I had been working for hours. "Oh trust me my friend. It is." I stared at the small vial that was the reason behind all this. A clear liquid glowed inside, occasionally flashing a brilliant blue. "Go sit on the couch." I ordered, and Ominis agreed. I had definitely piqued his interest.

"You told me that your childhood healers tried Phoenix tears and it didn't work." My heart was in my throat. This had to work. For him, for Anne..for everyone. "Right." He replied. "They thought that if that couldn't give me sight, nothing could." He was very stoic, I knew he had long accepted his condition and made it work. "Well. They didn't try everything. Mainly because this didn't exist until now." I brandished the small vial. He blinked slowly. "Wow. How incredible. I am in awe." He said flatly. Oops. "Oh right. Sorry. I call it Miracle Tears." I was tired. Naming stuff is hard, why do you think two of my pets are named Margaret and Ricky? Being creative was hard enough while not sleep deprived, Miracle Tears was going to have to cut it. "And who's tears might they be?" Ominis laughed. It was good to hear his tone shift from sleepy grouch to his usual sarcastic drawl. "Mine. Helios shared some. So did Diana." I replied. Ominis had met my phoenix, and my herd of Unicorns, so he recognized the names. "What? They cried for you?" He sounded shocked. "Yes, they are my bestest friends and they were much nicer when I woke them up." I shot back. "I thought of every healing substance I could think of. Phoenix tears, of course. Then Unicorn blood, but I knew that was out of the question. I consulted with Poppy, and we theorized that the tears could be used to a similar effect. We tested our theory, and we were correct." I didn't mention that our method involved jumping off of the balcony in the Room. "However, it wasn't as powerful, only healing partially." I said sheepishly. "Wait. Was that why Poppy was in the Hospital Wing for three days?!" Ominis more so sounded disappointed in me rather than upset. "You're getting off topic." I was glad he couldn't see my face reddening. "The last healing power I could think of was my own. Isidora went insane by removing pain and absorbing it. I did not want to risk that, so I thought up another way to bottle this power." He was quiet, I could tell he was thinking. "Listen. MC. I know you want to help me and Anne. But we've both made peace with our lives. As hard as it may be to hear, I don't need this." He was right. I knew he didn't. "I know. Sebastian does." I said softly. He was silent. Since the end of last year, Sebastian had fallen into a funk. His punishment of losing his twin sister was wearing too hard on him. He rarely spoke, and ate even less. I worried for him, and I knew Ominis did as well. "If it doesn't work, you can say you told me so and I will forget about it. But he's our friend, and he's slipping. We are losing him." That was enough for Ominis. "Alright. For Sebastian." I handed him the vial and he drank.

Ominis fell to the floor, writhing in pain and clutching his face. Shit. I didn't know what to do, or what to say. "My eyes! They burn!" He screamed. I ran into my potion room, frantically looking for something...anything. Dittany maybe, I can brew a Wiggenweld...I tried to focus, but my friends pained screams were throwing me off. As soon as I was about to scream for Deek, he stopped. He picked himself up off the floor, blinking. "I...can see." Ominis looked up at me. His normally pale eyes had turned into a deeper shade of blue. It worked. "Sorry my ragged mug is the first thing you saw." I laughed. He tackled me with a hug. "This is the world...the real world!" It was quite adorable seeing him staring at everything, his smile lit up the room. "We need to find Sebastian."

[never-blooms]

hi beth 💜 i just wanted to come in here and blabber on about how much i adore your writing! i think i've said it a million times but there's a sort of beautiful, mystical quality to the way you construct sentences and i just get so lost in every story you publish. i think you're so talented and i really, really love gobbling up everything you give us!

a few questions for you:

what (if anything) do you use as writing inspiration?

what writers/poets etc would you say have had the biggest effect on your writing?

do you have any plans to ever write an original fiction/have you ever written an original fiction?

First of all — 🥹🥹🥹

I'll endlessly be saying thank you for your kind words! And thank you for such introspective questions! This got looong so I apologize.

Oh, so many things. I was once told by a professor that the role of a creative (especially a writer) can sometimes feel like the life of an observer. I’ve always loved that. Much like Carlos in What is Sown, I’ve always felt like I straddled a line between two words—and in order to maintain my spot in one world while assimilating into a new other world, I became a pro at observing. Sometimes inspiration is a song and sometimes it’s something so intangible that my observations turn inward, forcing me to ask questions and seek the answers in the form of a story. BUT I’ve also been following along with Suleika Jaouad’s Isolation Journals since the pandemic, so I typically journal through one of the prompts before I start writing and that tends to get the words flowing! 

Sandra Cisneros! Her work was life changing when tiny me had no idea it was okay to write in two languages 🥹 Poets Audre Lorde and Elizabeth Acevedo are a gut-punch and a fierce hug. Lyricist Natalia Lafourcade is pure and beautiful alchemy. But my most favorite storyteller is my mother. As with most other Latine cultures, our elders and ancestors received little to no formal education so our history is preserved through storytelling and, my god, does my mother enchant with her stories. 

I hope to! I’ve written some novellas in the past and there’s at least two that I’d like to expand on, but original fiction feels so intimidating. Maybe one day I’ll peek back into those dusty docs!

Thank you again! I can't wait to ambush you with kindness 💛

[deulleya]

"amoroso, beklemmt, intenso."

the fourth instalment of my musical translation series — following the creative process of a disillusioned composer as he struggles to regain his inspiration through murder. within the pages soaked in blood, lies a harrowing tale of friendship, ambition, love, guilt, and at the heart of it all, music.

the videos are not mine, but all translations are my own.

musical: sonata of a flame (광염 소나타)

cast (2024): [j] yang jiwon, kim zychul, hyun seokjoon, park junhwi • [s] kim kyoungsu, yoo seunghyun, yu taeyul, kim junyoung • [k] lee si-an, lim byeongkeun, lee hyunjae

synopsis: once hailed as a prodigy, the composer j now struggles to write even a single piece, stifled by the overwhelming success of his debut. fearing he will soon be forgotten by the world, j seeks out the acclaimed music professor k, hoping to revitalise his songwriting career. yet inspiration still does not strike — until the night j accidentally hits someone with his car. amidst the cloying scent of blood, a melody takes shape in his mind. that night, j feverishly pens the first movement of a sonata. learning the truth behind j's composition, k spurs j towards killing, and three more movements are crafted with spilled blood. the talented pianist s worries for his longtime friend j, all while j's inspiration dwindles yet again — and at last, k incites j to complete the final movement with the death of s. will j be able to finish writing his sonata?

the composer who completes his pieces through murder. the bloodstained five movements begin.

production: nangman barricade, theater yeonwoo (twitter / youtube)

- ☽ -

- ☽ -

빛바래지지 않게 – so that the light doesn't fade

kim junyoung as s, yang jiwon as j

[S] What is it that you wanted to say? Hmm? You said you had something to tell me.

[J] I want to listen to your playing.

[S] What?

[J] Will you play for me, for the last time?

[S] I will, but only if you say it’s not the last time.

[J] I’m not joking around right now.

[S] I’m not joking around, either.

(S relents, then plays a silly tune on the piano.)

[J] What do you think you’re doing?!

[S] You look too solemn right now!

[J] Can’t you take me seriously for once?

[S] Then what should I play?

[J] A song that inspires you.

[S] Inspiration… Alright. The song I like most.

[S] Do you remember this? The first song you composed. Back then, when I hadn’t had any hope… Do you know what I thought upon hearing this song? "I want to pursue music too, just like you." Come here, let’s play together like we used to.

[S] Upon the keyboard, my fingers dance I’ll become the music notes, and you’ll become the rest signs Mormorando; quietly, as if whispering

[J] Sforzando; playing just that note with emphasis

[S] I'll quickly complete this music

[J] And go to you

[J, S] So that the light doesn’t fade

[ other pairings here (kim kyoungsu, kim zychul) and here (yoo seunghyun, yang jiwon), for different actors' interpretations of these characters and their (doomed) relationship. ]

- ☽ -

- ☽ -

이름 없는 사람 – a person without a name

kim kyoungsu as s, park junhwi as j, lee hyunjae as k

[K] Do you know why I accepted him as my protégé? Those eyes. You wouldn’t know. I know that gaze better than anyone. The nature of that emotion. That anxiety, which you ultimately gave him.

[S] Don’t speak as if you know everything about us.

[K] It is impossible to linger forever in a fleeting moment of beauty. Realising that, he grew anxious. That’s why I helped him find freedom.

[S] Stop it! That filthy logic of yours is what pushed him to this extent. Why won’t you recognise that?

[S] A person, who respected Your music, to the tips of your fingers That person is eternally sacrificed within your greed With even his name erased

Those infernal late nights Born from your filthy lies How much did he tremble, in that darkness?

That so-called musical inspiration Has become an offering to your avarice As he composed pieces in that darkness How many tears did he shed?

[J] I can’t feel anything. Nothing at all!

[S] I wanted to see it The scene of you walking upon A path more torturous than death Even if, every night, I kill you again and again That person without a name can no longer return

My one and only person

[ bonus sitzprobe video, for a highlight medley of some numbers. ]

[ original korean lyrics here. ]

[lumalalu]

thanks @aposemetric ! i love games :3

if you get tagged in this, answer the questions that are written and make sure to swap out one (1) question at the end of it for the next person to answer. just to make it a creative group project bc why not

#1 Are you named after anyone else?

no not really lol. my deadname was after my grandma! i changed my middle name to be after her too

#2 When was the last time you cried?

oh i dont remember. probably a few nights ago.

#3 Do you have kids?

nope lol

#4 Do you use sarcasm?

ehh. i have a flat way of delivering jokes but i dont intend to be sarcastic usually

#5 What's the first thing you notice about people?

their hair and their clothes :) i notice small things next like nail color jewelry etc TATTOOS

#6 What's your eye color?

people have argued about it u_u grey or blue

#7 Scary movies or happy endings?

THEYRE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. anyways scary movies obvs

#8 Any special talents?

animals love me.

#9 What traits in others draws you to them?

transgender

#10 What are your hobbies?

writing!!! i also have plants!!!!

#11 Do you have any pets?

yes! i have a kitty! ren said we can share his kitty also!

#12 What sports do you play/have you played?

do i look like a jock to you

#13 How tall are you?

4'11" idk how many cms that is i always forget

#14 Favorite subject in school?

creative writing + mythology + ap lit were all taught by the same teacher so i was in his class like half the day. they matched up with each other so often like we were doing comedy/tragedy in ap lit at the same time we were doing antigone in myth. good shit.

#15 Dream job?

no. i used to want to be a college professor

replacing #4 with What supernatural trait would you give yourself?

tagging @funkedup @agent-gravityfalls @nebula-nights @concrete-brick @firstsonoffire @actualcanontrash (if u want lol)

[twin-wolves-123]

a rant about writing. or my professor. maybe both.

I don't know who the hell will see this, the only thing my blog did in the past two months was collect 20 bot followers it looks like but

today (well yesterday, i'm writing this past midnight)

i had a class. It is my intro to fiction writing class.

I've responded to like, what one writing prompt on here? idk i think writing is fun, creative writing is cool, id like to be a better writer, i might like to do something with it someday, i grew up on ff.net if that means anything to people nowadays

My professor, im sure, is a very talented man. he's had published shit and is a "good writer"TM

we submitted short stories, like 10 pages ish for today's class. And one thing my professor did for the first student's story discussed today was ask, "Why did you write this?"

This kid wrote a story about the country hypothetically having a government replaced by AI. Work doesn't exist anymore, everyone is like partying, living it up or whatever and the story is about a character in college who basically felt like he worked hard his whole life for nothing and is, understandably, upset about the changes. College class gets suspended and nobody is like, doing anything with their life. It was pretty interesting. Most of the class agreed.

And when the kid responded that he was interested in how this one character would respond to a scenario like this, and he was interested in the development of a society like this given how popular ChatGPT is becoming and whatnot, the professor basically said that those answers weren't good enough.

What the fuck?

I still don't really understand the answer he was looking for, he did say something like it has to be, like, what the author is "trying to say", i guess what emotion or thought they're linking to the story

And so he eventually said, he was thinking that maybe a scenario like this could happen to him in the future.

ANd the professor goes, "Well if it's anxiety about not having a job in the future, why didn't you just write about that instead?" ANd then he proceeded to make several comparisons to other anxious scenarios that i felt were way off base, like getting a divorce...

What the hell? Like, he wrote about what he wrote about, what is the justification FOR writing about those other scenarios?

anyways, the kid whose story got discussed before mine he liked, I guess. It was about his immigrant father and one of his father's story which becomes an extended metaphor and like, growing up in the states as his son kind of- i won't go into too much detail. The point is, he liked it.

Because right after discussing his, he explicitly made a point. And I am not making this up. That he doesn't ask people who wrote "good" stories (and he said a qualified good, as in he also said he knows that they can't be good, but they're good for what they are, or whatever) why they wrote this, because those stories already have a right to exist on their own. And then he turns to me, and says very pointedly, "Why did you write this?"

What the fuck is your problem?

Like, if they wrote a good story good on them, if I wrote a shitty one oh well, but what is the point of you explicitly reiterating that point to the entire class to emphasize how bad my story was? How does that help me? Before you've even actually given me any valuable feedback?

I wrote a story about a wannabe filmmaker who recruited two talented actors to help him make a short film to submit for a film competition. So i told him why i wrote this. I had a scene in my head that I wanted to continue about a shitty filmmaker getting yelled at by the actor (after the director is trying to critique how the actor played one scene), who is much more talented than him, and I wanted to flesh out this character. "Why? Why did you want to flesh this out?" he asks. And I talk about wanting to write about someone with very little talent working hard, sucking, but potentially being able to make something out of it. "Why?" Because it's relatable? "Everything is relatable. Why did you write this? Why are you writing this about movies?" Because making movies requires technical skill that's difficult to learn on your own, and I thought it was fitting. "Everything can be difficult to learn. Why is the story not about music, or someone getting their grades up?" No matter what answer I gave, he wasn't satisfied. (this is going back to the first kid he critiqued, too. It's not the story because that's not what I wrote? I didn't find that as interesting, and those aren't the stories I wanted to tell?) I didn't say that, i eventually just answered, "I don't know how to answer your question. I don't know what form my answer should take if I shouldn't have written the story for those reasons."

So he eventually changes it to, what am I trying to accomplish with the story, or make the reader feel? So i answer: sympathy and hope.

This is another part that really fucking grinds my gears.

So he asks, "Why is this not a comedy?"

What?

And basically he talks about how, he thought it was comical. This nincompoop (he used this word) director who hasn't put in the work trying to make a film with these actors who do know what they're doing, like, yeah. That's fair. He deserves to get yelled at. Why should the reader feel sympathy for him? I think it's funny. Why wouldn't anyone be annoyed by this character? Haven't you been annoyed by people like that?

First of all, maybe I don't think like that? Why is that your first instinct?

And i respond to him that i can be annoyed, but I can still be sympathetic toward them? Why do those have to be mutually exclusive?

And the question that I still have in my head is, what? Yes, he hasn't put in the work YET, but the point is that he's new and trash at this. And how the fuck is someone supposed to get BETTER at anything if they're not given a chance to try?

Is this really what you think of other people?

I do ask him how I was supposed to make the reader sympathetic toward him, to which he does give a couple of answers, like be more in the filmmaker's head, or have the actors be worse rather than talented (but that's not the point of my story... they're supposed to be more experienced than he is...)

But this whole time, he's still pretty much just been asking me the question, "Why?" Or "Why not x other thing?"

He critiqued some of my awkward dialogue and descriptions, sure, which was some actual advice. But not one thing he's said during that constant asking of "Why?" has been valuable feedback for what I put down on the page, nor has it made me a better writer.

And like, I eventually pose to him my own question of, "I don't have an answer to why NOT it's about those things (like the music or the grades thing), but I don't understand why it HAS to be, and why it can't be what I wrote about."

And he then goes, "have you been on a movie set?" And talks about how, if I write a story in a world of movies, I have to be convincing enough that I know what I'm talking about. Like how to make a movie, the lighting, the process, the set, etc. And if I can't be, it's not smart to write the story about that to begin with (which you could've just said in the first place and moved on to critiquing my actual writing, I feel like?).

This part, he has a point that I understand. But now I'm left with, am I only supposed to write about things I'm already very familiar with? I can't write about imagined scenarios or anything outside my field of expertise? Because I feel like that's just so limiting. And I, frankly don't have mastery in many fields. So I just, can't write about anything? What?

He also didn't give feedback for me on anything past the first scene.

tldr.

Yes, I'm an amateur, I don't see how you making a point of how garbage my story was compared to the last one helps with that.

Why should people not be given a chance to better their skills? Isn't that the point of this whole class, actually?

And I have no real refutation for the last thing: yes a story is better and more believable if the writer has specific knowledge about certain aspects of the story but... Something about that just doesn't sit right with me. Wouldn't the world be deprived of a lot of really amazing work if people could ONLY write about things they're extremely familiar with? I'm sure you're a great writer and all, and I'm sure that, as an amateur, there's a lot that I maybe can't understand, but why can't people write about what they want to write about? Why can't people explore certain characters or scenarios because they find them interesting? Why can't people tell the stories they WANT to tell?

Why is that insufficient?

plus you spending half an hour asking why i wrote something when i already wrote it, asking "why" again to each answer i give that you deem insufficient, instead of actually going over better writing technique, how to do plot/characters, and critiquing what's on the damn page...

Maybe I'm talking out of my ass. Maybe this is just me being too amateur or immature to understand, but there has to be a better use of time than that.

[otherworldworldy]

As a professional artist, these are really important skills in order to complete work. Like a muscle, the more you work at it, the better you will become!

(This tips pertain to working professionally. These are my personal experiences. They may differ from person to person, project, creative field, and workflow)

Set the bar lower: Everyone wants to make something amazing, but depending on your time/budget/available labor, you need to be realistic about what you can get done

Simplify your task: Seriously. Your eyes are almost always bigger than your stomach in terms of what you can accomplish in any amount of time. Simplify now, you can always add more on later.

Take twice as long: one of my college professors said “If you think it will take you an hour, schedule yourself two hours. If you think it will take you a day, schedule 2 days.” There are a lot of factors that can come up, like delays, technical problems, running out of material, etc, on top of days where you have a hard time focusing or finding motivation. Creativity is hard work. Be kind and give yourself space.

Neglect the unimportant: everyone has a perfect image of what they want to accomplish, but we are trying to be realistic. It helps to break down your project down into 3 categories:

1) the bare-bones. The absolute minimum required to complete a project. No bells and whistles, only the most important elements required to do the job while still being cohesive.

2) things you want add to the project. Textures, story elements, extra limbs, anything that adds depth to your project.

3) things you would like to add, if you have time. Things you would like, but don’t need. Extra flourishes, scenes, textures, etc. Anything that will give your project that extra little sparkle

Breaking down project like this will not only make things easier to achieve, but also make you feel more accomplished, and give you a better idea of what you’re capable of

Kill ‘until’: this one is a bit tricky in the professional field, because there is a lot of what is called “hurry up and wait.” You can’t move forward until you get approval from a client or get materials. However, with larger projects, there are always things that can be done. You can preplan your next steps, prepare materials, or work on different scenes that don’t require approval at this time. If working on a sequence-based project like animation, movies, or writing, you can absolutely work out of order of events. If scene 1 is held up in the approval stage, you can start prepping/working on scene 15 in the meantime

Get rid of secret rules: I personally had to work to kill this one. Going through college, I thought Disney or Ghibli quality animation was the ultimate goal. But working with so many talented people, I came to realize how varied art actually is. You don’t need gorgeous animation to tell a good story. You don’t need 30 frame per second to make movement look good. Have very simplified characters. Use references. Trace your own hands sometimes. Steal other people’s colour pallet. Your passion is what gives your art life, not rules. When you are able to break out of expectations about what makes “good art,” you are able to give yourself more space to experiment and learn

Have fun with it: absolutely have fun with it. Figure out how much creative control you have over your project. Add bits that make you smile. One time, I was working on a series of MAD shorts that were boring and not very funny. For one short, I asked if I could do what I want, and my boss said yeah. So I animated the character’s walk cycle really goofy. She was taken aback as first, but it got approved, and it became the funniest part of the bit.

Trade perfect for done: Being able to complete a project is one, if not the most important part about doing art professionally. At the end of the day, the client needs the thing that they paid for. To employers, it shows your determination in the face of challenge. And often, your work is honestly better than you think. Another time, when working on an interactive kids website, I had animated 20+ character reactions that day and my last animation looked like garbage. My boss said it looked like garbage, but because of our deadline, she had to send it anyways. It turned out to be the client’s favorite piece lmao. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt!

Working as a professional creative is hard work and requires a certain mindset. It’s okay that it’s not for everyone. But if it’s something you genuinely want to pursue, I hope these tips can help you get there :)

How to Finish

I drew this poster for Jon Acuff and his FINISH book tour. Big thanks to Jon for this collaboration, his book has some great ideas about how to complete creative and life goals.

[donnedulac]

Tagged by @coughdrop80. You are the hottest girl I know! Thank you!! Mwah! 💋 (absolutely loved your answers btw, you had such creative flair and originality)

1. Are you named after someone? Yes, my great-grandmother, whom some family members believe I’m the reincarnation of (most normal Brazilian family dynamic).

2. When was the last time you cried? Tough! I tend to keep strong emotions out of mind, for better or worse. My pms strikes hard tho, so I’ll try and say it without embarrassment: I was listening to the Brazilian version of the prince of Egypt soundtrack, and was suddenly overcome by the emotion present in that story. While I’m often moved I’m not often moved to tears, so it was a striking moment.

3. Do you have kids? No, but I want to. Preferably multiple.

4. What sports do you play/have played? I go to the gym a lot, but I was always awful with group sports, so none really

5. What’s the first thing you notice abt someone? Hmmm interesting question. I suppose face, especially facial expressions? I think you’re appearance is much more abt how you animate it than your body in and of itself

6. Eye colour? Blue! 💙

7. Any talents? I would love to discover the balance between vanity and humble honesty, but I’m not there yet. Regardless, I’d say I’m of above average intelligence, and that I write reasonably well. I also have a real knack for languages

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Both have their place. I like being made to feel, whatever the feeling may be

9. Where were you born? Recife in Pernambuco (the coolest Brazilian state flag if I do say so myself)

10. Hobbies? Reading, bideo games (the least noble form of sodomy, a wise man once said), listening to music intensely and attentively. There are also things I enjoy doing, such as going to the gym, that I’m not sure qualify as hobbies since they’re partly and obligation. My favourite thing by far is walking in nature, alongside rivers, inside caves… also exploring cities and museums. I also watch the occasional movie and read the occasional manga. I also indulge in yaoi, frequently.

11. Pets? A cat, who, quite sadly, lives with my parents, not with me. The dogs are theirs, not mine

12. Height? The correct one, 5’2”

13. Favourite school subject? I’ve been away from school long enough that it’s all blurred together into one highschool themed cloud of misery

14. Dream job? I don’t dream of labour as much as I dream of having a house and being married with children. I do entertain the thought of being a university professor or writer on occasion though

Im tagging @the--s--laughterhouse. If anyone else who follows me likes to do these games pls just go right ahead and I’ll tag you whenever I come across the next one 🥰

[chiefarbitermoon]

Making It As A Writer?

For alumni of-a-certain-age, it might be time to kick-back, smell the roses, stop frantically ripping open those monthly envelopes with the 401K numbers and start working on some of those “me” projects. Now, if your direction takes you to writing you must find the topic(s), the writing space, the time and the sticktoitiveness to complete that epic poem or your personal offering for the Great American Novel. 

When it is finished, you would naturally sit back and wonder which you should pursue first: The financial reward or the artistic adoration? Perhaps you should meet Daina Smith (FCRH Class of 2008). You don’t know her-for good reason-but she has already completed 10 feature film scripts and 2 TV series. She has earned 2 options for her work and has two scripts current in pre-production with talent and award winning directors attached.

(IMDb.com)

“I wrote my first screenplay at ten years of age,” said the Westchester County native. “So, I went to Fordham and concentrated on independent study in the art of acting, literature, and film and had a concentration of screenwriting.”  

Listed in Forever Fordham under her maiden name of Defrancesco, the one time Finlay Hall resident (that’s ‘Old Chem’ to some of us and the former home of the medical school to no one alive today) once completed an internship with a Broadway producer. A passionate writer for most of her life, she spent her college years focusing on screenwriting and attending meet-ups with her mentor, former Fordham professor Meir Ribalow,  at The Players in Manhattan. After graduating she began teaching Visual and Performing Arts courses, while keeping her writing goals at the forefront.  

Question: Screenwriting, show biz, seems so foreign, even dangerous, to many of us. I recall reading that people like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Heinrich Mann went to Hollywood and figured it would be easy money. (After all, if you can write Great Gatsby or The Blue Angel how hard can this movie stuff be?) Yet they got frustrated and both apparently became alcoholics.

Heartland, a Canadian TV Show, that stars Amber Marshall and Kerry James. These two have signed on to star in and produce Daina’s original screenplay called Elke’s Magic that is in pre-production. Daina wrote the screenplay based on the novel Elke’s Magic by author Inger Margaret Foster. Stay tuned!

A Question That Came With Its Own Answer

Hearing this talk about Canada, I noted the other three names mentioned above were all born in the Great White North. I asked if she did much traveling?

At that most opportune moment, her 5 year old daughter came into the room. She apparently had a “bump” and  needed comforting; mom had to call me back. 

Question: Do you travel much for these assignments?

Smith: (The now Connecticut resident confirmed) In addition to being a writer I’m also a full-time Mom to my 5 year old daughter and 7 year old son. 

For Those Who Want To Get Involved

For those who want to take on writing on their own, she offers help in the form of Scriptwriting Coaching, Script Coverage, and Creative Copywriting services. She has written everything from screenplays to Bosch advertisements to radio scripts for 106.7 Lite FM. 

Question: It is said that the toughest thing for a person who is new to the craft of writing is to avoid too much expository writing. 

Smith: It is very important to remember that it is better to show something than to tell something. If “Laura is sad, don’t tell me that Laura is sad. Say that “Laura is sitting in her chair, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Just as the phone RINGS she begins to cry.” It’s a tricky thing to learn, but once you understand that this is a movie- and it’s all about visuals- you become accustomed to SHOWING what you mean. 

Daina can be reached at https://dainasmithwrites.com/ 

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

Other Fordham Connections

Daina wanted us to know that her father is a full-time member of the Fordham faculty as a lecturer, in marketing, for the Gabelli School of Business. He has held that position since 2009 after completing a career with Pitney-Bowes. Her brother Matt is a Fordham Prep alum, and her brother Anthony is a Fordham Graduate School of Business alum as well. The DeFrancesco (Smith) family obviously loves Fordham!

   Anthony DeFrancesco

https://www.fordham.edu/gabelli-school-of-business/faculty/full-time-faculty/anthony-defrancesco/

[professional-benaddict]

for the paramedic prompt: ex-military medic peter (thinking of his cherry look pre the addiction/ptsd part) and maybe it's been a bit since he's back and he's having dinner or a coffee with Strange who was one of his professors at the academy to catch up and Tony is nearby and he starts feeling bad (heart attack? something wrong with the arc reactor?) and Peter jumps in when they call for a medic, without even realizing that Strange could do it? Whumpy with a side of finding out your new career lol ft. twunk peter!!!

my lovely lil remi was kind enough to beta and support me when i got self conscious of my writing sksk bUt here it is now!!🥺🥺💓💓 and i hope its not shit👉🏻👈🏻

Ex army medic Peter, ER doctor Stephen, CEO Tony, Tony with mental health unsolved/repressed issues, panic attacks, mentions of hospitalisation and treatment, strangers to ‘can i get your number?’

“No, Strange, I- I really appreciate all the kind words, but-“

“First of all, it’s Stephen to you. And second, I don’t wanna hear more excuses. I’m sorry, but your talent will go to absolute waste working at a fucking Pizza Hut.”

Peter huffs as lightly as he can. He sips his coffee while letting his mentor talk. He knows well by now that Stephen likes the sound of his own voice. Unlike many of Stephen’s other mentees, Peter is not put off by that trait, nor any of the others the surgeon has. So, like in the old days, Peter has a little twinkle in his eye as he looks at his mentor over the rim of his coffee cup.

“You have everything you need to be a paramedic. It’s the perfect job for you. You work extremely well under pressure, you think creatively and you solve problems without panicking. And, you work for people, not just with them.” Stephen lectures, then picks up his espresso. “And I’d feel a bit more relaxed in the ER knowing you are out there.”

“Oh, I see what it is!” Peter giggles. The doctor across the table looks at him with a puzzled expression. “You just want me out there so that you’ll get less work in the ER, with me stabilising all the patients and doing all the work for you. Remember, I can do a lot with a shoelace-“

“I know you can.” Stephen muses, chuckling fondly. He has heard maybe a dozen times how Peter saved a man’s life by tying a bleeding artery with a shoelace out in the field.

The smile in Stephen’s eyes when he says that fuels Peter with life. It adds to the compliment of being recognised for his creative efforts by his role model. These types of praise and moments where Peter generally feels more than okay about himself have been few and far in between the last few months.

Getting home from a war zone in one piece is something one should always be grateful for, but in that dusty place littered with bullet shells and bodies, Peter lost something. He lost whatever it was that had given him direction and purpose. The army had once filled that, much to Stephen’s dislike back then. The fact that Stephen did not come to say goodbye to Peter at the airport said as much as the fact that he was the first one to contact Peter when he got back home. The doctor’s opinion couldn’t be clearer. He still likes to voice it however, since he likes the sound of his own voice.

Peter lets him talk, and takes whatever praise and compliments he finds in between the persuasive words. Stephen’s direction and purpose for Peter is clear, but to the ex army medic himself, it is not.

“How’s everyone else at the hospital? You and Christine still…?” Peter tries gently to change the subject. Stephen’s nose scrunches at the mention of his ex.

“She’s good, she’s good. She moved to peds a month ago, so we don’t see each other much. I hear she’s happy, though.”

“That’s good, I’m glad. Peds fits her well, I think.” Peter smiles. “What about the others?”

“Is there a doctor here? We need help!” A voice calls out into the café.

In the other end of the café, opposite the table where Peter and Stephen are sat, there’s a company of three people in a booth. There is one red-haired woman in a smart looking dress, a middle aged man in a suit and another man in a similar suit, but with tinted sunglasses on. The latter seems to be the one in distress, with the way he is clutching at his chest and trying to undo his tie with a shaky hand.

Stephen is just about to respond and make his way over, but Peter is quicker. It is like Peter is on auto-pilot, and the fact that Stephen outranks him in medicine does not register in the adrenalin-driven moment.

“Yes, I’m a medic!” Peter says, hurrying over to the party of three in the booth. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing!” The man in the middle snaps, although he does not sound convincing. He has to heave for breath after raising his voice like that, and the woman gives him a slightly stern look.

“Tony, don’t be stupid. He’s here to help.” The woman says.

“Tony, is it?” Peter asks, crouching down a bit to meet the man’s eyes. “I’m Peter, and I’m a medic. Are you having trouble breathing?” He asks, starting off basic.

At first, it seems like Tony wants to answer no, but then he thinks better of it. He glances quickly at his two friends by his side, and then nods.

“Okay, when did it start?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” The woman answers. “We were just discussing some work things- we all work together, you see, and Tony started acting odd.”

“Has this happened before? No? Do you have any allergies? No, okay Are you experiencing any other symptoms?” Peter asks, taking Tony’s wrist gently and looks at his watch to take his pulse. It is elevated, and his blood pressure is high.

“No-o, jus- just heart racin’ an-and… Fuck.” Tony heaves, tilting his head back a little. He lifts his free hand up to his face, since Peter is still taking his pulse. He covers his eyes in a way that makes Peter think of other explanations.

“Do you have any medical conditions, Tony? Do you take any medication regularly?” Still no, and Peter suspects he might still be getting somewhere. “What about any mental illness?”

That makes Tony pause, and he takes a deep breath before facing Peter again. His eyes tell Peter that he struck a nerve with that question.

“You think this is all in my head?”

“The mind and body are both very complex, and they rely on one another. Sometimes, our brains can make us really sick. But, your pain is valid nonetheless, and I’m here to help you, Tony.” Peter explains, taking advantage of the fact that the man doesn’t have much breath to scare for snide remarks or rants.

Tony meets his eyes again, and this time his gaze is softer, more vulnerable. Peter smiles gently at him, and in that moment he feels like they share a wordless understanding.

“What’s wrong with him?” The red-haired woman asks. Both she and the other man Tony is with, seem quite worried. Their brows are knit together, and the look in their eyes demands an explanation. Tony bows his head a little, letting Peter do the talking.

“I think Tony’s had either an anxiety attack, or a panic attack.” Peter answers.

“Aren’t they the same?” The man asks.

“No, there are some differences, but the outcome can be quite similar. But, I’d still like you guys to head to the ER, just to be sure. Or did you call 911 already?”

“No, no.” The woman admits, looking a bit embarrassed. “It came on so suddenly, so I didn’t think of it. Lucky for us, you were here.”

“That’s all right. Can you drive Tony then?”

“I’ll bring the car to the front.” The man says, and hurries out of the café. Peter watches him go, and only then does he see Stephen standing behind him.

“Hey! Uhm- were you here the whole time?” Peter asks, looking embarrassed as well now. Stephen smiles at him knowingly, but then a pained groan cuts them off.

By the booth, Tony is standing up, much to the red-haired woman’s upset.

“Tony, just hold on-“

“Pepper, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Tony argues back, a little wobbly on his feet, but upright nonetheless. “The medic boy saved me, didn’t you see?”

Peter chuckles lightly. He doesn’t take Tony’s snide remark personally. He guesses the man is shooting daggers around him since his little secret about his mental health seemed to be revealed. It would only be natural to get defensive in such a situation. At least everyone in the café isn’t watching him anymore, thanks to Peter coming to the rescue so quickly. But, the cat is out of the bag now and there is no forcing it back in. Peter can imagine the woman, who’s name is Pepper, bombarding Tony with questions once they get into the privacy of the car.

So, Peter thinks of something.

“Do you guys want me to come along? I can keep an eye on him till you get to the hospital?” Peter offers.

Pepper nods right away, looking relieved.

“Yes, that would be so kind of you. He looks better now though. How you feeling now, Tony?”

“Never better.” Tony says. A bold-faced lie, and Peter is the only one who laughs lightly.

There is the sound of a car honk outside. Pepper puts an arm around Tony, and guides him out the door. Peter tells them he will be right outside after he has said goodbye to his friend.

It seems that Stephen has been watching the whole scene unfold, but his opinion of it, Peter cannot read from his face alone. It makes Peter a little nervous, so he assumes he must have done something wrong.

“Why didn’t you correct me? You outrank me.”

“Yes, I do, but there was nothing for me to correct.” Stephen shrugs. It makes Peter want to cry, in a good way. “You did everything right, Peter.” The doctor adds.

Peter holds the tears welling in his eyes back, but he has to show his gratitude somehow, so he launches himself at the doctor in a hug. Stephen seems surprised at first, and Peter is so quick with pulling back again that he barely has time to return the hug. With the same speed, Peter turns on his heel and heads to the door. He speaks over his shoulder to his older friend.

“Could you send me the link to the paramedic job application?”

“What? You changed your mind?”

“I think I found it.”

“Found what?”

“I’ll tell you later. I’ll have to see how my patient is doing! I’ll text you!”

And with that, Peter is out of the café and climbing into the sleek car waiting outside. The tires screech on the pavement, and soon they are headed in the direction of the hospital.

———

3 months later

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“At least you were driving. There’s vomit on my shoes too, goddammit…”

“If there’s any comfort, then my ears are ringing from all her screaming and crying.”

“My ears are ringing more.” MJ says, shoving at Peter lightly, making him raise his hands in surrender.

A violently sick and crying toddler ended up being Peter and MJ’s last mission of the day, and what a way to end the day. Poor MJ has, true to her word, vomit on her shoes, including on her uniform pant leg. Peter has had his fair share of vomit all over his uniform, so he knows that what MJ needs is a shower and for Peter to treat her to a candy bar, and all will be well.

In a few days, it will be two months since Peter got hired as a paramedic. Like Stephen had said, there was little competition for Peter during the hiring process. And lucky for him, one of his own classmates from school, MJ, also got hired. They are both new to the hospital, so they still have frequent shifts with senior paramedics, but now and then they will work shifts together as partners. Peter cannot remember a time in his life where he has laughed more than he does now when working with MJ.

In addition to his amazing partner, Peter has an ally in the ER. Whenever Stephen is the doctor on call and taking the incoming patient, Peter tries a little harder to impress the doctor. After all, he owes the doctor so much.

But, right now, Peter owes MJ a candy bar, as emotional support.

“Which one do you want?”

“A Snickers would be great. Oh my God, I’m so hungry! Can you get it for me right now, while I shower?” MJ asks, carefully pealing off her uniform in the changing room. Peter steps away from the clothes soaked in vomit, and heads to the door with a chuckle.

Peter is more than familiar with the little store in the corner of the hospital lobby. There is a whole aisle with different gifts, but Peter walks right past it to the little candy aisle. He grabs a Snickers for MJ, and then thinks better of it, and grabs one for himself too.

There is another man in line at the cashier, and Peter makes his way over. From behind, he does not recognise the man at first, but when he turns around after paying, there is no doubt about the man. It’s the man from the café that Peter helped months ago.

“Hi!” Peter blurts out before he can think better of it. The man’s dark eyes flicker to meet his, and his eyes soften. Peter blushes before the man has time to reply.

“Oh, it’s you!”

Tony looks… good. But, then again, Peter did meet him for the first time at what possibly was one of the worst moments in his life, so anything then that would be considered an improvement. The smart suit from the café has been switched out with a more relaxed look of jeans, a t-shirt and a blazer on top. The panicked look in those dark eyes in long gone as well. In a way, the man looks more vulnerable now than he did back then.

Peter is very curious to hear how Tony has been, since after arriving at the hospital, Tony was whisked away and Peter never heard from him again. They were essentially strangers, and Peter felt silly about the fact that he thought of the man embarrassingly often afterwards. Seeing him now is surreal, and Peter doesn’t respond immediately. Luckily, Tony has the good sense to let Peter pay for the Snickers and then linger so that they can catch up.

“So, how have you been? Since, you know…” Peter tries gently.

The two of them are stood in a quieter corner of the hospital lobby, letting busy people pass by.

“Oh, well, heh-“ Tony starts. He touches his upper lip with one finger. “I was admitted for a few days. They wanted to watch my heart and- well, my mental state.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I-I got through it, just one more panic attack during my stay, and then I was released on the promise that I’d find a therapist. And I did, and they wanted me to go see a psychiatrist too. I did it just now, so.” Tony explains as best as he can. Not only does Peter’s heart ache for what Tony is going through, but also with gratitude to him for being so open about it. To him, of all people.

“I’m glad you’re getting help. It’s not an easy thing.”

“Thanks.” Tony smiles back, but his gaze flickers to the floor. Peter senses that he is about to say more, and so he stays quiet a while longer. Then, the older man adds. “It was you actually, who made me go. Like- inspired me, if that’s the right word.”

Peter smiles and chuckles lightly at that, bowing his head in a thanking gesture.

“To be honest, you inspired me too.” Peter replies.

“Really?” Tony asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah! It’s a long story, but I’ve been lost for a while, but helping you made me realise some things. And so, I applied for a job here. And I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” Peter admits, gesturing to his paramedic uniform he is still wearing. At his hand gesture, Tony also looks him over, nodding his head.

“It looks good on you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, so much so I’d fake a panic attack right here to have you help me in that.” Tony jokes, clutching at his heart. Peter yelps a little before realising it was a joke, and before he knows it, he has grasped Tony’s shoulders. They both laugh for another second before pausing. Peter pulls away reluctantly, and judging by Tony’s shy look, he wouldn’t mind being held a little longer.

“I-I couldn’t possibly get your number, could I?” Tony asks, his eyes meeting Peter’s again.

“Only if I can get yours too.”

“I think that was obvious.” Tony smirks.

———

Half an hour later, in the changing room while eating the Snickers, Peter gets a text message.

“I forgot to say; thank you for helping me back then. I really cannot express how much I appreciated that.

Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?

PS. The uniform looks really, really good on you.”

Peter was a little late to reply, since he had to show MJ first and explain the whole story of how he ended up getting such a text. But, eventually, he managed to calm his racing heart and send a reply.

“Like I said, you helped me as well, so thank you for that.

And yes, I’d love to go out for dinner.”

[merakiui]

So i just had this idea

yandere gorou x reader x yandere kazuha modren AU (maybe college AU )

And i can’t stop thinking about it but my creativity went 0 I can’t imagine any scenario

so any thoughts about it ?

( English is my second language so there might be so mistakes)

Wait!! This is actually an amazing dynamic, considering Kazuha and Gorou get along nicely. If we’re thinking about them in a college setting, then I have an idea!

(cw: yandere, stalking)

Gorou is in the debate club at your university and he’s actually very skilled at it! His fellow club members put him on a pedestal because they believe he’s got a true talent for debate. Gorou claims it’s just a hobby and that he didn’t intend to go this far, such as winning major tournaments and racking in all of this praise from his peers and professors alike, but he appreciates it all the same. Debate gives him the opportunity to be direct in what he’s trying to say and persuasion isn’t as hard as it seems when you learn various tactics on how to do it properly and convincingly.

Many have said that Gorou’s a natural-born leader who has honed his leadership skills in debate and in group projects in class. His peers look up to him and he’s more than happy to assume the position of leader when no one else will.

He’s also the resident advisor in his dorm, which is how he meets you. You’re pointing a freshman in the right direction, happily noting that everyone goes through these types of things their first year. That’s just part of the college experience, isn’t it? As an RA, he does his best to help those who need it and so he catches the both of you to find out what’s going on. Gorou’s never actually talked to you before. He’s seen you around the dorm before, has caught you in his peripheral when you’re heading to your next class, and even sees you when you’re doing your morning walks with a friend. But between balancing his classes, debate club, and his duties as an RA it’s impossible to find the time to get to know you.

You’ve already done his job for him, though, and the freshman thanks the both of you before heading off. Gorou smiles at you when you finally look at him, cheerfully introduces himself, and thanks you for your help. Tells you that you didn’t have to do all of that and that he appreciates it. You’re like an angel when you smile and act like it wasn’t a big deal. The sunshine only adds to your seraphic qualities and he finds himself intrigued. Even though you didn’t do anything incredible, it’s still the thought that counts and he offers to take you out to lunch sometime as a way of showing his appreciation. Not one to turn down an offer, you agree and Gorou’s eagerly awaiting that day when the two of you go out for lunch!

Until then, he’ll do what he can to learn more about you. He stalks your social media accounts, follows you from a distance when you’re running every morning, walks you to your room so he knows exactly where it is and what floor it’s on. Gorou does what he can to learn your schedule and he writes it out so that he won’t forget it. When you bump into him as you’re leaving class and he pretends like it’s fate or some strange coincidence, you think nothing of it. He’s a friendly face who you see around every now and then, helpful and optimistic. You wouldn’t even realize he’s a stalker because of how easy it feels to talk to him. And that’s good because it gives Gorou the opportunity to secretly learn all about you.

Kazuha’s a friend of Gorou’s, who often hangs out with him whenever he has free time. Though free time is limited with Gorou, Kazuha has a lot of it due to his schedule. He often lingers in the library or in coffee shops, where he’ll read, write, or work on an assignment. On the surface he’s quiet and respectful, polite to a distant degree. Beneath all of that is a different story, but you wouldn’t know about that. You only know him from that one English course the two of you shared for a semester. You sat in front of him and there was a specific project that called for partners. Seeing as you were too lazy to get up and search the class for a willing partner, you turned to see if the person next to you was free. They were already pairing up with someone and so you looked behind you and Kazuha was sitting there with a gentle expression on his face.

It didn’t take much for him to agree to be your partner and so the two of you ended up spending that week talking over the project. You spent a lot of time together and by the end of it you’d passed with a good grade and compliments from your professor, who praised the both of you for your hard work. That’s why you have his number and why he knows where your dorm is. You invited him over so that the two of you could work in peace, as your roommate was often out and about and Kazuha’s wasn’t much of a people-person. You might’ve forgotten about the sleepless all-nighters the two of you pulled to finish that project or the moments where you’d meet up at a local café to hang out and have breakfast, but he hasn’t.

You stopped talking to him after that. Kazuha didn’t make much of an effort to keep the friendship alive, so he figures it’s partially his fault that the two of your drifted apart once the class ended. When Gorou asks him if he knows you, he says yes and only because he’s reminded of that one project the two of you were paired up for. Other than that, he doesn’t truly know you. Kazuha can claim he knows your favorite pastry because you’d always order it at the café, but what good will that knowledge do? He needs to know what you’re like outside of class—wants to know what you do when you’re stuck in a boring lecture. Wants to know what sort of things you like so that he can like them, too. It feels like he’s trying to steal your personality with how similar his interests and routines are to yours.

Gorou’s more than happy to talk about you with Kazuha. It’s so obvious that he’s got a crush; you’re all he talks about now. If Kazuha brings it up, Gorou gets bashful and tries to pass it off as a simple admiration. Nothing more than that. And when Gorou finds out that Kazuha’s interested in you, he’ll be overjoyed to know that. Now the two of them can talk about why they like you so much and it won’t be awkward.

As great as stalking you is, it’s not the same as being a part of your life. As being the friend that you text night and day—someone you call upon when you’re bored or simply want to vent. They’re not at that level of familiarity with you yet, but that’s okay because they’ll get there eventually. It’ll take time, but they can be patient. Sooner or later they’ll be the only ones you have, so it’s best to get friendly with them!

[hyungieyoongi]

See You

Pairing: Professor!Hobi x Professor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers + fluff + angst + Hobi and Reader have some personality conflicts at work but should really just make out or something and stop acting like they dislike each other + this entire fic is inspired by Hobi’s look in that gum commercial I mean he screamed professor with that turtleneck and plaid blazer (thank you @moon-write​ for encouraging this vision)

Word Count: 3.2K+

---

“No, no, please tell me you’re joking,” you groaned, eyes scanning over the classroom assignment list posted on the faculty board in the hallway over again, hoping you were seeing things wrong. A third look at the paper confirmed that your fears had in fact come true – you and Hoseok were teaching next door to each other the entire fall semester.

Hoseok was the History of Dance Professor in your department. He was hired at the beginning of last year, three years into your career as one of the youngest faculty members in the Music & Arts program at your university. While he was bubbly and energetic, you were the more typical academic – down-to-earth, a little bit serious. He was beloved by his students for his positive personality and passion for teaching; you were well-regarded as being a natural talent who wanted to hone your students’ abilities.  

It wasn’t that your students didn’t like your course. No, it was well-reviewed and relatively popular considering it was an elective. But once Hoseok arrived, you felt like you were competing with the star of the program. Every student, even the ones who didn’t like dance, were lining up for his course, pushing your class and others into smaller classrooms with dwindling numbers. He, of course, got the large lecture hall this year.

He was the pain in your side, constantly flashing his bright smile to get his way in the department, dazzling your colleagues. Students would often be buzzing in the hallways about how they didn’t have to take an exam in Professor Jung’s class like they did in Professor Y/L/N’s. They got to go to a local show instead and analyze the dance performance. Hoseok was creative and intelligent – that much you could agree with – but you rolled your eyes every time you saw another one of his students attempt to flirt with him.

Hoseok and you figured out you got on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. He would always play music too loud in his office while you were grading papers – he timed how long it took you to show up at his door to tell him to turn it down every afternoon. You would make it a point to have your students play samples of their pieces they’d written on the piano while he was in the middle of a lecture, leaving your classroom doors open so the notes of the instrument would float down the hallway to the lecture hall. You’d have a satisfied grin on your face when you heard the telltale noise of the lecture hall doors slamming shut.

The entire department knew about this little game the two of you would play with each other, not to mention the sarcastic comments from you and teasing jokes from him that were on repeat any time you were in the same room. The bickering was bound to get worse with the two of you in such close quarters all semester.

“Y/N!” you heard a loud voice call down the hallway. You hadn’t heard that voice in two and a half months thanks to your summer vacation. You gritted your teeth, turning with a tight-lipped smile toward your least-favorite coworker.

“Hoseok,” you greeted with a nod. As usual, your semi-chilly behavior toward him didn’t faze him.

“Y/N, come on, I thought I told you to call me Hobi!” he said cheerfully, his eyes squinting from his smile. He was wearing a cream turtleneck tucked into his khakis, plaid blazer over his shoulders. He had dyed his hair from the black you were accustomed to, his strands now a platinum blonde. You realized, begrudgingly, that he looked more attractive than he did last year.

“Well would you look at that, we’re neighbors,” Hoseok said after scanning the list on the board.

“Try to keep the gaggle of screaming fans away from the hallway when I’m teaching, would you?” you said sarcastically. Hoseok’s hand flew to his heart, acting like you had personally attacked him.

“Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse my students of being so frivolous,” he said dramatically. “Just because we have more fun in my class, doesn’t make it any less serious than yours.”

“Oh, please, save the theatrics for the students who signed up thinking your class would be an easy ‘A’. I know for a fact that you gave out four D’s last semester.” Hoseok’s eyes twinkled at your challenging tone.

“And how many did you give out, Professor Y/L/N?” Hoseok asked in a sweet voice.

“None, thank you very much. Since my students actually learn something in my class, I don’t have to give out such low grades,” you quipped. Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“Maybe I should sit in on one of your classes this year. Learn a thing or two,” Hoseok said, stepping toward you. You flushed momentarily at his low tone, immediately stepping back. He smirked at your reaction.

“It’s invite only to audit my class, Jung,” you said before turning on your heel to walk toward your office down the hall, “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You heard Hoseok laugh, and you cursed yourself for giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his teasing had gotten to you.

You had promised yourself at the end of the summer not to play into it this year – you were going to be professional, courteous. But the first time you see Hoseok, bam, it goes right out the window. 

You would just have to avoid Hoseok as much as possible.

You sighed once you closed your office door behind you. It was going to be a long semester.

---

Two months into the semester, the leaves had turned to burnt oranges and red, signaling the return of fall. Hoseok was sitting in one of the auditorium seats, his legs crossed over each other, looking down at his fingers with a soft smile playing at his lips. The delicate notes of the piano were playing from your classroom, the noise piercing the thin walls separating your classroom from his.

His class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and, based on the lack of students having straggling conversations in the hallway, yours had, too. He often waited after he was done teaching to see if you would play when you thought no one was listening. The notes you played sometimes indicated your mood; the music was soft and flowing, other times dark and intense.

Today it was, melancholic? He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him think about the change in seasons. He wondered if that was on your mind. The song was fluid, making him want to choreograph a piece to it, the dancer’s body matching the tempo of the music. He shut his eyes, picturing the movements behind his closed lids.

He’d never admit that he indulged in this as often as he did – he knew you wouldn’t be playing if you found out he was your only audience member. You had been avoiding him this semester. He had tried all of his old tricks – the loud music during office hours, teasing comments during staff meetings. But you wouldn’t blink.

He opened his eyes, the song transitioning into something light and happy. It made him think of sunshine.  

---

You stopped playing, your hands lifting off the keys like they burned you. You had been playing mindlessly, your fingers starting to pluck away at the keys in the melody that you had thought of when you would think of Hoseok.

The more you avoided Hoseok, the more you seemed to miss his overly positive personality. You would see him at staff meetings, always giving you a big smile. One day you came in late after a meeting with a student ran long, and you came into the room to see that he had saved you a seat next to him, the last one left empty in the room. 

He was still playing his music too loud, but you had stopped bugging him about it, and you noticed that it was gradually getting quieter.

You closed the cover over the keys, willing the thoughts about Hoseok to go away, packing up your papers and laptop. He was just your annoyingly happy colleague; there was no reason he should be taking up this much space in your mind.

---

“Are you honestly suggesting that the music composition class shouldn’t be considered a prerequisite for all music program students going forward?” you questioned angrily. You and Hoseok were at a standoff in the department meeting, his normally pleasant features tense, arms crossed in front of him.

“If that means that it prevents funding from getting diverted from the dance program to the instrumental students, then, yes, that is what I’m suggesting,” Hoseok countered.

“That’s ridiculous! Music composition is a fundamental building block for all students – including dance, Jung!” your voice had risen, and the department head looked between you both, deciding that the meeting had gotten too out of hand to continue.

“Professor Y/L/N, Professor Jung – why don’t the two of you take a walk around the building, get some fresh air. The rest of you, dismissed. We’ll resume this conversation, civilly, next week,” the department head declared.  

You were fuming, angrily shoving your notebook and pen in your bag before storming out of the building. You felt someone else’s presence, and you turned, groaning when you saw the last person you wanted to see standing behind you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Give it a rest, Jung, I’m not in the mood,” you said grumpily.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the bookstore to grab a coffee and put this behind us,” Hoseok scoffed, smile wiped away. “But, I guess not.”

“Not everyone wants to just roll over and play nice when you flash them a smile, Hoseok.”

“Well, not everyone wants to act like they have a superiority complex, either.”

Your lips pursed, hands beginning to fidget with how angry and upset his comment made you. The two of you had been annoying last year, sure, but you had never been mean to each other. Until today.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said quietly, heated tone still evident despite the low volume.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hoseok said harshly. “It’s not like you’ve even tried to get to know me. You immediately disliked me from day one. You never even gave me a chance!”

“That’s rich coming from you. All that shit with the music and the comments – it’s like you wanted me to dislike you,” you replied.

“I wanted you to talk to me, Y/N,” Hoseok said, exasperated. “Forget it, I can see now that it was useless to try.”

“I was trying to play nice this semester,” you said, glaring at Hoseok. “You came in like a damn bulldozer last year, disrupting everything in the department. And everyone just did what you wanted because you’re ‘mister nice guy’, and you make people laugh and people just think you’re perfect. Well, I don’t buy it.”

You took a deep breath, leveling your gaze at him.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” your voice was stone-cold. Hoseok’s eyes flashed, lips in a thin line before he responded bitterly.

“Perfect.”

---

Things had been quiet between you and Hoseok since your fight outside of the building a few weeks ago. You politely nodded at each other in the hallway when you passed by, avoiding eye contact. You would grimace when you heard his laugh during lectures next door to yours, wanting to block the sound out.

You couldn’t get what he said to you out of your thoughts – you really didn’t know Hoseok very well. All you knew is what he presented to the rest of the world. He was bubbly and positive and optimistic; he probably thought you were just some brooding, academic stiff.

Hoseok noticed the songs you were playing lately were rather intense. Sometimes he would hear you smash against the keys like you were angry with the piano for not producing the sounds you wanted to hear.

He knew the feeling. He was spending more time in the dance studio lately, dancing aggressively to loud hip hop music, trying to drown out the frustration he was feeling at not being able to make you crack and talk to him.

That’s where he found himself tonight, trying to get rid of his stress. You were stubborn, but you were also beautiful, intelligent, passionate, tenacious. He turned his music up louder, drowning out the thoughts of you.

---

You had re-read the same sentence four times, red pen poised in your hand ready to edit the student’s paper. The loud beats were still audible from the practice rooms. It was late, and the building had been closed to students for the past two hours.

You decided to go down there. You weren’t going to get them in trouble for staying past close, but with finals coming up, you were sure the students needed a gentle reminder that sleeping was just as important as practicing.

You walked down the dark hallway, going down the steps to the practice rooms on the floor beneath the faculty offices, finding the one with the light on, music blaring through the glass panes separating the space from the hall.

You glanced into the room, seeing Hoseok dancing. You had never seen him in his element before, and it was captivating. He was wearing a black pair of sweats, an oversized yellow t-shirt adorning his slender frame. The music seemed to be moving through his body. He was grounded in the floor, an intense expression on his face as he hit heavy movements on the beat, fluidly moving through other parts depending on the music. You felt like this was personal, like you weren’t allowed to be watching, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Hoseok looked into the mirror, his eyes looking toward the shadow in the hallway. His eyes met yours, his gaze burning into yours through the glass. You gulped.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of water and pausing the music. You figured that was your cue, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

“Was it too loud?” Hoseok asked, voice light despite the obvious tension in the room.

“No, it’s okay uh – I was grading papers, and I thought a student was still down here,” you explained softly. “I thought I’d tell them to go home, get some rest.”

Hoseok had a curious expression on his face. If he was surprised to hear why you were down here, he didn’t mention it. You felt the need to fill the silence, so you spouted the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re really talented, Hobi,” you said quickly. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the nickname you never called him. “Hoseok – sorry, I meant Hoseok.”

“Watch out, people might think we’re friends,” Hoseok joked, but it came out strained.

“Hoseok – Hobi. I’m sorry about what I said a few weeks ago. I was heated, and I apologize,” you said, looking down at a scuff in the hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry, too. What I said was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Last year, this semester. Anything I’ve done that has made you mad or annoyed. I’m sorry,” Hobi said sincerely. “I-um, well…”

You looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“I just wanted your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted your attention. I wanted you to want to talk to me. I wanted you to get to know me. Not the version of me that I show my students. I wanted you to see me. Really see me.”

You gulped, Hobi’s vulnerability making you nervous. He took a step toward you, and you willed yourself to stay in place.

“I know you do the same thing; you hide. Hide behind this persona you’ve created. I think it goes away when you play piano.”

“How do you–what do you mean?” you asked incredulously.

“I hear you play. After class. I never told you because I selfishly wanted to keep listening. Your music it – it tells a story. About your day, your feelings. If you didn’t tell me yourself, at least your music did.”

Your cheeks burned knowing that he was audience to all of the time spent in your classroom, working out your feelings on the piano like it was your therapy.

“Everything goes away when I play,” you stopped, thinking about how distracted you had been lately trying to compose. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s how I feel when I dance,” Hobi admitted with a gentle smile. You nodded, realizing that the two of you had this in common, at least.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you said, backing away from Hobi toward the door.

“Wait –,” Hobi said, slightly flustered. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes widened. Hobi laughed, and you hated to admit that you had missed the sound.

“Come on, just trust me, Y/L/N.” You waited while he picked out a song, holding out his hand. You placed your fingers in his, and he pulled you close to him, leading you around the studio floor to the song. He made you feel light on your feet despite your lack of dance experience, his hand tightly gripping yours, his other floating over your waist. Your skin tingled from the contact.

He spun you around twice, your hands landing on his chest as you tried to regain your balance. You looked up at him, genuinely enjoying yourself. His bright smile you used to roll your eyes at lit up his features, causing your smile to match his.

“Can you see me now, Y/N?” Hobi asked, referencing his earlier confession. “Because I see you when you play. When you tell a student crying in your office that everything is going to be okay. And I see you now when you’re dancing with me like this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” You nodded, recognizing his reference to your fight outside of the department building. “I don’t think that’s true. But I know there’s so much more to know. And I want to know everything.”

Hobi’s hand came up to your cheek, softly placing it on the side of your face.

“I want to know you, too, Hobi,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, his breath fanning over your lips, “Want to start now?”

You gripped his t-shirt in your hand, pulling him the last few inches to your lips instead of answering. You felt him smile against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as you caught your breath.

“Does this mean I can start playing my music loudly during office hours again?” Hobi teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, brushing against your skin.

You made a face at him, causing him to laugh. He kissed you on the forehead, then on the lips again to make you smile before answering.

“Not a chance.”  

---

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[thedisguisedaltruism]

fond stares, vast place, loud heartbeats

genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, concert au

pairing: wonwoo/gn reader

summary: wonwoo hates the crowds, but he has to save up all his energy since you’re taking him as your concert buddy for taylor swift’s 1989 tour. little did he know, he will soon realize that he was actually in love with you, thanks to taylor and her wicked songwriting.

word count: 2,192

a/n: dumping this shit because too much feels for you are in love live :((

2015

“Wons, turn it up, turn it up!”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but snort from your excitement to see your longtime idol live. You worked hard to save enough so you could see Taylor Swift since then, and now you’re about to witness your turning point in life.

...together with your best friend, not to mention how he loathes crowds.

I Know Places is currently playing on the car stereo and you're warming up as you hit the high note in the chorus, dramatically pressing your chest with eyes shut. Wonwoo takes his final turn as you finally arrive at the stadium.

"Missed the note there, my friend." He teases. You could care less from his assed remarks because your mind's been in euphoria since you woke up from a power nap a few hours ago.

Outside the venue has already gathered a big crowd, and you patiently wait for your best friend who's double-checking the doors if they're surely closed.

Wonwoo has been your best friend for five years, and being grateful to have him is an understatement as he has witnessed your ups and downs in college. He knows that apart from your family and him, Taylor and her music has already played such a great role from adolescence until adulthood.

As a sucker for books, Wonwoo was undoubtedly impressed by Taylor's songwriting prowess since he listens to your discussions during the free time about the lyric analyses that you read across the internet, and you usually play her live performances whenever you pull off all-nighters that's why he agreed to be your concert buddy because he wants to see the person who could give rainbows to the person he likes.

Yes. The person he likes.

Wonwoo thought being in a Taylor Swift concert is not bad at all. It's like having a big crowd of best friends gathering in one huge place to have fun with their most talented best friend. Everyone's perfectly singing along to every lyric, breathing to each punctuation, and screaming at the top of their lungs.

Honestly speaking, he was having fun, and boy, he could sing along to a few songs while waving with his light-up bracelet. 

Aside from being fascinated by the live performances, he would sometimes steal glances at you, making him amused by your kaleidoscope of emotions you've shown from the past eight performances. Sometimes you'd turn to him just to sing while holding your chest, and go back to screaming how much you love Taylor Swift.

After the succeeding crowd-jumping performances, Taylor comes out with her black Gibson acoustic guitar to perform an acoustic version of her song just like the old days. The crowd has once again roared, and you scoot close to Wonwoo to whisper that Taylor's going to sing your favorite song from 1989.

He knows the story behind it. You told him on your graduating year at the rooftop of your college building while chugging an energy drink just to keep yourself awake from pulling off an all-nighter for your thesis, it was about Taylor’s known actress friend falling in love with her producer on this album—someone with the name Jack—if he could still guess correctly.

Taylor has already ascended for a clearer sight of crowds from the top seats, instructing everyone to sing back the specific words. Wonwoo watches you hugging yourself while craning your neck so you could see Taylor from above.

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast

You play it back

Buttons on a coat

Light-hearted joke

No proof, not much

But you saw enough

  You and Wonwoo first met at the same elective during college freshman year. You were sitting near the door, sparing the next seat with your bag since someone from your class politely asked you to but unfortunately, she never came back and it was perfectly timed that Wonwoo immediately spotted the vacant seat beside you, exhausted from running before he gets late (yes, in a goddamn first day of class). 

  He learned that you’re taking up creative writing that’s why said elective was important for your course. He told you that he was taking up computer science, but he still needs to take the elective.

  ...and then, your friendship started.

  You have friends, but they’re few for your liking because socializing is exhausting. Wonwoo, on the other hand, despised being exhausted around people and that’s the reason why both of you became friends quickly. Reading was Wonwoo’s stress escape and yours was binge-watching k-dramas and reality shows.

  You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

You are in love

  Since both of you chose to live in dormitories at college, sometimes you’d walk together around the university park late at night and talk about stuff happening in your life outside academics. One time, you told him how you’re pissed at your family’s insights about coming out since they happened to share once about how your cousin came out at a family gathering and the next moment, he was already in the hot seat. You told Wonwoo that you wished you were there to end all of your religious hypocrite relatives.

  Wonwoo, within the years of friendship, was never the type to initiate a conversation, but he’s an excellent listener. He could watch you talk about Taylor Swift, the perennial hate for your Major professor who’s academia-obsessed since she sets a standard too high for her liking while her class is on the brink of dropping out, and how you were fascinated about him staying up all night for computer games and still ace programming exams.

  Suddenly, the crowd started to roar out of the blue, making him shake his head from spacing out. Still standing, much to his surprise since he hates getting tired, he realized that he’s just watching you being helplessly in awe at Taylor Swift no matter how neck-stiffening it is, how your eyes sparkled with bliss just like the days when you talk with him about the things you love.

  And then he felt the pace of his heartbeat quickened.

  The crowd was already singing along with excitement—he has no idea what kind of reason it is—but he remains watching you like you were excruciatingly hard to reach, despite how you could hear his loud heartbeat if this was an empty place.

  One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says “You're my best friend”

And you knew what it was

He is in love

  You screamed you’re my best friend at the top of your lungs together with other sixty thousand people at Taylor despite how your best friend, who’s silently watching beside you, couldn’t calm himself down unnoticed.

  You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

  Suddenly, you turn to Wonwoo as Taylor does her guitar break before singing the bridge, and you were surprised to see him just staring at you instead of watching Taylor from up above and tell you how skilled she was at playing guitar. The way he’s looking at you wasn’t even judging, teasing, or the usual antics that he does.

  He’s just looking at you fondly and you thought maybe, he’s extremely happy that you get to see your longtime idol live after all these years and you deserved it so much.

  ...except that your tentative guess is incorrect.

  “She’s really good, isn’t she?” you yelled at him proudly while pointing at Taylor with emphasis.

  Your best friend could only nod and gesture at you to look back on your idol.

  And so it goes

You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round

And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown

And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words

  That made Wonwoo look up to Taylor Swift in an instant and judged her as he could so. As Taylor stopped, the crowd screamed once again, but nothing is deafening as his heartbeat while watching you cheer in chorus.

  He didn’t know if he should feel betrayed, because you were his partner during graduation ball and you were just having the best time of your lives because fuck it, despite being anxious about what’s to come after the graduation, both of you were so happy to have been able to survive despite the shit hole life your university has given.

  He also happened to frame a picture of you in his office peacefully sitting beside the stacks of scratch papers for software development. He secretly requested for its original copy at the official student publication of your university during that one major event as he saw it on Facebook.

  He realized that he’s in love with you after all this time.

  Much to his misfortune, you suddenly looked at him again and your eyes met that he couldn’t look away, but this time it was replaced with worry. You caught him twice, and knowing Wonwoo, he’s not usually vocal when it comes to express his discomfort.

  You gently hold Wonwoo’s hand. “Are you having a bad feeling? We could go out if you want to,” you whispered just audible enough for him to hear.

  And that’s how he lost it. 

  It took him another deep breath to sink in that you chose his well-being over your once-in-a-lifetime moment with your idol.

  Like… holy shit, he was so lucky to have you in his life and he thought this time, he wants to step out of his shell and gather the courage to tell you how much you mean to his life. He’s had enough secretly pining over you for years.

  But first, he wants you to be happy and enjoy your time with Taylor. He shakes his head no and holds your shoulders to turn to Taylor who’s now descending for the next performance.

                      “I can’t believe she’s real, what the hell, she was fucking real, Wonwoo.” you sighed. “Oh my god.”

  You couldn’t stop wiping your face after spacing out which made Wonwoo chuckle. After the concert and almost a painful hour of waiting to get out of the stadium, you mutually agreed to stop by the nearest convenience store.

  Although you only bought a coffee and went back inside Wonwoo’s car.

  “Me too.” Wonwoo whispers. That made you remember what happened during You Are In Love performance. You looked at him and tapped his shoulder.

  “You looked unwell this evening. Were you honestly okay, Wons?” you ask.

  He only blinked in response.

  It took Wonwoo a few seconds to gather up his courage. Now that it’s only the two of you alone, he thought he must let it out.

  “Yeah, I was just overwhelmed. You don’t have to worry.” he jokes, his attention remained at the store. He could see from his peripherals how your eyebrows furrowed, obviously not convinced enough by his excuse.

  “What you told me about Taylor the first time you introduced her to me was...true,” he sighed deeply. “She sings what we couldn’t put into words.”

  For someone like Wonwoo whose eloquence is something to look up to, you were confused by what he meant.

  Wonwoo turns to face you and takes your icy palms to wrap them with his large, slender, and warm ones. 

  “I love you.” He says, straightly looking into your eyes.

  Your eyes widen in surprise.

  “Please don’t joke around!” You hit his shoulder, but all he does is let out a burst of breathy laughter.

  But honestly, your heart skipped a beat after hearing his sudden confession.

  Tracing circles on your hand, Wonwoo smiles at your bewildered expression. “You were wondering if I was having a bad time? No, it’s all Taylor’s fault for making me confess to you tonight. That took me a long time I guess.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I love you and Taylor made me realize that I should confess before it gets too late.”

  You looked up at Wonwoo while pulling your hand from his gentle hold and laughed. It was unbelievable how both of you have been painfully oblivious despite being helplessly pining towards each other.

  It was your best friend’s turn to get puzzled so you took the time advantage to confess.

  “Idiot, I liked you too, ever since we first met.” sounding bashful, you looked away hoping that you didn’t sound like an idiot. So much irony for making fun of your best friend a few moments ago. “I have no idea that you felt deeper than I thought I have.”

  Even if you already knew how Wonwoo’s mind works for five years, he is always full of surprises.

  Or maybe he was so happy tonight that he kissed your hand and never let go of it as he started driving you home.

[dinosaurtsukki]

BSD x university au hc’s | pt. 2

part 2 of the university au hc’s !! i am obviously a slut for chuuya and fyodor so don’t mind me. i hope you guys like this !!

check out pt. 1 here

***********************************************

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke:

i love akutagawa ryuunosuke my angst child but i’m just like ‘hmmmmmmm’ when it comes to what his course would probably be

after extensive research aka reading his character page on wiki i feel like maybe he’d be a history major because,,,, he likes antiques?

well his clothes do seem very dark academia-esque and i can see him liking something as cool as history

akutagawa’s probably into something like war history but he’s not weird about it he just finds it really cool how different strategies work or analyzing what exactly makes the winners win

he absolutely HATES the fact that he keeps having to read the Iliad for class

he’s also that classmate who INTENSIVELY DEFENDS achilles for being a bit of a little bitch (but he fully agrees that patroclus and achilles were gay af ok this was random moving on)

akutagawa has practically no social life. he doesn’t go to parties, he doesn’t talk to his roommate, he doesn’t even like to eat in the dining hall

BUT he absolutely loves being in debate team because WINNING

he’s such a nightmare to work with though but he just delivers so well when it’s time for him to speak. like, if he’s on a negative and it’s time to hash out rebuttals, just prepare to get MURDERED

other debaters: “esteemed scholars and adjudicators...”

akutagawa: “you, sir, have no idea how wrong you are.”

that is until dazai decided to randomly show up at a debate tournament all ‘la di da da’ like and completely crushed akutagawa along with his ego

from then on he started stalking dazai and just SOMEHOW managed to end up in his circle of friends

even though he’s antisocial in real life, akutagawa 100% runs a dark academia aesthetic blog on tumblr i’m right and i don’t accept criticism

it’s actually really good he has a ton of followers and even does requests for moodboards if someone asks nicely

atsushi was the one who actually found out about it but he’s nice so he didn’t tell akutagawa about it

kunikida probably follows that blog

Chuuya Nakahara:

if this part sounds like i’m just thirsting for chuuya then you’re absolutely right i love wine man

don’t get mad at me but i can ABSOLUTELY SEE HIM MAJORING IN FASHION DESIGN I MEAN LOOK AT HIM

he’s just always had such a good eye for fashion and he’s veryyy meticulous when it comes to snipping and putting together clothes

chuuya also carries a sketchbook full of designs and his drawings look amazing and he isn’t afraid to just show them off

that said he doesn’t dress like a tired uni student at all, like he just always looks so on-point and unbothered by his five million deadlines

dazai: chuuya, i said this was a CASUAL LUNCH

chuuya, dressed in what looks like silk pajamas: THIS IS CASUAL

tbh if he just wore a white t-shirt and jeans i would die maybe he’s actually saving us from this ordeal

he has so much talent though as a designer he’s probably had several internships with design companies all throughout his years at uni

i feel like chuuya’s also really active in extracurriculars and has been in leadership positions in some of them (he probably runs the student org for fashion design)

chuuya in a student band though oh my gosh i can’t breathe i can’t breathe him as a VOCALIST?? and wearing torn jeans and eyeliner and that same hat in concerts ican’t brEATHE

okay in all honesty he would thrive being in a band chuuya loves the attention and the creativity of being able to design their whole look and write songs

tbh i don’t know if he’d have a roommate chuuya’s probably the type who’d rather have one of those single rooms or just rent a flat for him to stay in even after graduation

because his social life is super vibrant, he does have a lot of friends and he does make an effort to get to know all of them individually 

but he’s more open around those who he’s been friends with for a really long time and as much as he’d like to say dazai isn’t one of them, he is

also chuuya is definitely the type to party hard during the weekends and has more than once crashed in someone’s house after drinking too much (dazai drew on his face on more than one occasion)

Oda Sakunosuke:

i love this man SO MUCH you guys have no idea i would literally die for him

100% this guy majors in creative writing because this is supported by FACTS and not just me wanting to be coursemates with him in this fictional world

super serious and diligent with his work especially since he’s passionate about writing. he loves to read in his spare time and is such a fan of classic novels about social realism or philosophy

oda spends 99% of his time in second-hand bookshops that the owner probably knows him by name at this point

he’s super old school when it comes to writing though, like he still keeps and writes in a notebook before typing it up on a laptop and no matter how many times dazai tells him its impractical, oda just keeps doing it

lmao whenever workshops come around he’s super nice with his critique. i bet a lot of his fellow classmates like sending their writing drafts to him

he draws smiley faces and always adds ‘nice work’ on people’s drafts omg i love odasaku

he’s such an old soul, he probably doesn’t do a whole lot of partying but he likes more quiet, private social events like drinking with close friends or just hanging out and talking at other people’s houses

he and dazai probably met when dazai decided to take an intro to creative writing class and wrote a long poem about double suicide on his first day that kind of put off everyone in the class from wanting to sit with him

odasaku was the only one who wasn’t exactly bothered but he did give dazai some comments to help him with his poetry and dazai instantly wanted to be his friend

in terms of extracurricular life, i can definitely see odasaku joining a writing organization and even the campus newspaper. he does find joy in interviewing students for newspaper articles

he’s also pretty into photography and uses a really old, second-hand camera that he bought at an antique store and fixed himself. at one point he won a prize in a contest

odasaku would be the best roommate. he’s super sensitive to when you have a bad day and will invite you to sit on his bed and hug his pillow and talk about your problems

scratch that, everyone talks to odasaku about their problems and now your room is like a therapist’s office

Edgar Allan Poe:

i swear this was the only gif i could find other than actual edgar allan poe

ANOTHER CREATIVE WRITING BUDDY AHHH I WOULD LOVE TO BE BESTIES WITH HIM AHHH

well actually i feel like since he’s super ambitious and already has a fixed idea on the stuff he likes to write, he’d probably double major in something like forensic science because he’d use it to write his mystery novels

omg that’s where he meets ranpo and now pretty much every main character poe writes is slightly based on on ranpo

it’s a problem. his professor brings it up more than once during his classes but it’s poe’s Thing now

he also has such an unending passion for gothic literature and he wears those white, long-sleeved blouses and waistcoats on a REGULAR BASIS

chuuya probably saw him once and was like ‘hmm, i could pull that off’

poe’s daily route is just going to the library and to class and then go home and that’s about it

he ended up working as a student assistant at the library because he’s just super familiar with the book collections and it’s a job that’s peaceful and quiet 

more than once though, he’d just be really in-deep with his writing to the point that he doesn’t even notice that the library has closed or that he hasn’t eaten the entire day

that’s alright though because ranpo always passes by the library at night to check on his friend and (reluctantly) give him some snacks

also since poe’s pretty much a recluse, he doesn’t go to any social event UNLESS it’s a halloween-themed one

he loves going all out with his costumes because he’s a Drama Queen like that but the problem is he keeps dressing up as gothic novel characters and nobody gets it

dazai, trying to guess his costume: umm,, Two-Face from Batman?

poe: IT’S DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

there was this one time when poe took it upon himself to host the halloween party and it was EPIC

he basically designed it as a murder mystery night wherein everyone who came pretended to be guests at a house and then a murder happened

the only problem was that ranpo was conspiring with poe and it was pretty much unfair

except for the fact that ranpo was frustrated at how bad everyone was at deducing that he ended up solving the mystery for them

Fyodor Dostoevsky:

one of my favorite scenes of him in s3 was of fyodor playing the cello because god damn that is beautiful and therefore i am hc-ing him as a music major and you can’t tell me otherwise

fyodor is an absolute music genius and he was definitely scouted by the university’s music program and then he was granted a scholarship (because in this ideal university, the arts are valued)

he purposely decided to go to a university rather than a music conservatory because he’s also interested in learning a bunch of other things

aside from his music classes, he ventures into comparative literature and philosophy, even a bit of computer science at some point

people always assume that since he’s a music major he probably wouldn’t do well in other subjects but SURPRISE BITCH

anyway, fyodor’s a genius because god clearly has favorites

aside from attending class, he’s even part of an official orchestra and has even landed a few solos 

that said, he’s quite busy and very preoccupied in his own work to actually have a social life either

you’ll often find him rehearsing by himself in an empty classroom for hours and hours on end (someone pls bring him food he’s also the type to forget to eat or even drink water)

if you are able to catch him perform at an orchestra or just practice by himself, it’s quite a mesmerizing sight. his eyes are often closed so he could focus on the sound alone and his fingers move so elegantly along the neck of the cello

(sorry i just love people who play any form of stringed instrument)

fyodor also takes such good care of his cello. also he would probably kill you on the spot if you touched his bow

he has a fairly small group of friends and they like playing chess together (even though fyodor is better than all of them) and just talk about um,, idk philosophy and stuff (whatever it is smart people do idk i’m not one of them)

i have a feeling he actually follows akutagawa’s dark academia blog and loves his content, even to the point of requesting ‘cello player moodboards’

also because he’s a cello player he needs to take care of his fingers so he wears gloves a lot (idk why i find this hot)

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